a/n: Miss me?
disclaimer: I'm not making any money here.
The three o'clock sun fell gracefully across Adrian's face through a crack in the black-out curtains. It was late, and he was tired and heartbroken, and he recognized the odd detached feeling in his chest as a signal that he was, once again, hovering on the edge of insanity. One hand twitched inadvertently, a subconscious desire for a cigarette, or, preferably, some hard liquor. His other arm tightened around the naked shoulders of the beautiful woman in bed next to him. Rose Hathaway stirred in her sleep, but didn't wake up. Adrian guessed that meant she was as exhausted as he was. Guardians were usually light sleepers.
He wondered what sick world he had been born into, that he had lowered himself to sleeping with a married woman. There had always girls (and nicotine, and booze), but they had all been single. He thought. Not married, at least. He would have noticed a wedding ring, even through the self-medicated haze that he was usually clouded in. But for Rose, he would do anything. Even if it meant sneaking into her guardian's quarters at the palace when Belikov was off with Christian on official Ozera family business. Even if it meant playing on Rose's sympathies and her instinct to save people. Even if it meant that he lived for these brief stolen moments of happiness in another man's bed.
The blackness coiled uneasily in his stomach. He imagined for a brief moment that anyone looking at him would be able to see it leaking into his blood. Rose would be disgusted by the stickiness of it, he mused, especially with her newfound freedom of the shadows. Always the victim, she'd say, needling him with that holier-than-thou voice of hers. Just a spoiled rich boy, too immersed in his alcohol to help himself. Who was he, compared to those around him? Lissa, who gave up everything to be the queen her people desperately needed. Jill, who gave up just as much to be the girl-behind-the-scenes. And Rose herself, giving up happy, normal family dynamics to protect Moroi. To save him. Adrian wished his magic away feverishly.
His uneasiness seemed to be making Rose slip from her dreams into reality. He hadn't even slept yet, and she would be waking up soon. She would be too uncomfortable to say much to him; she would just mutter something about "you should leave" and would slip into the bathroom before he could respond. The shower would come on, and he would be creeping out the way he came while she washed him from her hair, her skin, her lips. And he would be alone, alone with the shadows and his booze and his cold, empty bed for weeks or months until his next opportunity came.
Rose was right, he thought darkly. She didn't complete him. She ripped him apart, again and again and again.
