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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【 33.
Thirty-three
Vasl 】
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[ Vasl • union/meeting ]
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ROSALINE IS AT the door in a blur, within a mere heartbeat. She doesn’t even realise she’s unlocked and yanked the only barrier between him and her open—
—until her eyes are met with a familiar pair of onyx stones.
He’s here—standing right across her, on the other side of the threshold of her room—in all his six feet and some inches, jet black hair, and haunted eyes glory.
Here, standing right in front of her very eyes, within arm’s reach. Not more than seven hundred miles away, not a twelve-hour car drive away, not a four-hour plane ride away. But right here, exactly where she realises she wants him to be.
There’s a storm of questions she wants to send his way; how have you been? How are you right now? How did you end up here out of the blue? Are you mad at me for leaving you behind? Does the dirty little secret change the good terms we were on? How did you know to step into this house at the right time? How are you, Zach? How are you?
But all she can do is stare, one hand on the doorknob and the other dangling uselessly by her side.
“I would have made him wait downstairs,” Isabelle’s voice snaps Rosaline out of her speechless, shocked state and she turns around, only then noticing her mother’s impassive figure beside Zach. “…but your father could return at any minute, and I’d rather not see a hostile exchange play out.”
Rosaline stares at her, blinking. She opens her mouth, which now suddenly feels like sandpaper, and struggles to respond.
But the words don’t come and without meaning to, her face just turns back to Zach, still acknowledging the fact that he’s really here.
“Well,” Isabelle sighs, “I’ll leave you both to it.”
Rosaline understands, through her peripheral vision, that her mother leaves their presence—but she doesn’t fully register it. Every single part of her is so focused on the man filling her line of sight, all her energy concentrated on the fact that he’s physically an arm’s distance away from her, that she can’t comprehend anything else right then.
There’s a tensed silence between the two, and once again, Rosaline dares to look him right in the eye—and her chest twists when she finds that she cannot read them.
