It's a fact that you can't help who you fall in love with. And for Rosaline Davenport and him, it definitely shouldn't have been each other.
Because, sometimes, love stories have blood on them.
[warning: this is the mother of all slow-burns]
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this is quite a long, long chapter <3 do feel free to give me feedback; nothing will make me happier :')
+ to the first few readers of the previous chapter, i suggest going back and reading the small note i added at the end yesterday to clarify something!
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【 13.
Thirteen
Rafaaqat 】
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[ Rafaaqat • companionship ]
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ROSALINE TRACES HER fingers over the calligraphic print of Laurie scribbled on top of the box, feeling her heart grow increasingly heavy as each breath passed. This is all she has. This is all she has anymore. There’s a tight fist being wrapped around her heart—she can feel it, squeezing and squeezing, making her entire chest ache so unbearably.
There’s a slight movement in her periphery and it comes as a distraction from the sudden flood of grief. She tilts her head, catching Zachary’s figure leaning against the side of her car, his head hidden from view with the trunk popped open and her bending into it slightly.
He didn’t say a word throughout the ride down in the elevator and the walk towards the guest parking lot of the hotel, where her car is. Occasionally, she’ll feel his eyes flicker to her and shift away—like he’s checking for something. She thinks it might be for signs of a breakdown, or yet another cramp, or a bodily pain of some sort. She can’t be too sure, and she feels an odd nervousness to just ask him about it. There’s this surge of discomfort inside her when she considers directly asking him about his occasional glances thrown her way.
Rosaline shifts her gaze back to the box laying right in the centre of the storage space, and tucks a corner of her bottom lip into her mouth. It’s small enough that she can carry it into the hotel and to her room with one hand—if she is to balance it between the crook of her elbow and her chest.
The problem, however, is in taking the box out of the car. She can’t pick it up with one hand.
Her eyes dart to where Zachary is, patiently waiting by, and then back to the trunk of the car. She could ask for help, but…
But there’s this irrational possessiveness that takes a firm grip of her sense at the idea of someone else touching something that has been only hers for so, so long. Micah never really went through the contents of the box—Rosaline always figured it was probably because he believed she’d appreciate having that piece of Laurie’s life only to herself. It wasn’t true, though. And maybe she should’ve told him that before it became too late. She should’ve told him that he belonged in that world she created inside her heart for herself and Laurie. She should’ve told him that there was a space inside there for Micah as well. That Laurie was just as much as his as he was hers.
