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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Ramadan Kareem to all those honouring the holy month <3
(Also i have no other forms of entertainment - and, no, writing does NOT count - so pls pls leave feedback, it's all i have)❤❤
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【 35.
Thirty-five
Lamha 】
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[ Lamha • moment ]
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ROSALINE BITES HER lip, debating for a moment about the question she wants to shoot at Zach, and then tosses the worry to the wind, deciding to go ahead with it anyway.
“Hey, Zach?” She keeps her tone levelled with just enough curiosity, glancing up at him from where she’s still seated at the foot of his chair, her knees raised to her chest. “You said something about overcoming and getting through the aftermath of that shooting… does that mean you suffered from, well, psychological—”
“Don’t sugarcoat with me, Rose,” he tells her, eyes serious. “You don’t have to. Not with me.”
She exhales softly, “PTSD. Were you diagnosed with it?”
Zach nods, expression solemn. “Wreaked havoc in my life. Lead to insomnia and a whole pile of other shit.” He sighs then, loud and heavy. “Think I got through alright, though.”
Rosaline makes a vague noise of acknowledgement, her mind flashing back to the panic attack Zach once had in the hotel. She recalls being worried about the way he reacted, like whatever started as a panic attack only led to something more intense and vulnerable. Now though, it makes sense—and her suspicions from back then are satisfied.
“I had a fleeting suspicion back in the hotel,” she explains to him, despite him not having asked for it. “I guess I just felt like getting you out of your panic attack took more than the average effort. I mean, it was quite the task to even get you to acknowledge your surroundings and that you weren’t in a hostile territory.”
“Sorry about that—”
“No,” Rosaline cuts in, sharp and stern. “No way. I treated you like a patient during that moment; I looked at you from the perspective of a doctor. And I’ve never stood—and never will stand—for my patients apologising to me for whatever wounds they need me to tend to, whether it be of a physical or mental nature.”
Something glimmers in the depths of Zach’s obsidian eyes, almost making it appear like starlight within the dark sky he holds in that soulful gaze, and Rosaline wants to bet it’s pride – pride on her behalf, that is – but she can’t be entirely certain. She can’t read him as well just yet, not the way he can read her.
