Thanks so much for the reviews/favs/follows! They mean a lot to me.
And yeah, I could probably write a 2000-word essay about how bad of a decision it was story-wise to kill Dezel (and for more reasons than "My OTP! D:"), but I'll leave it alone.
Rose opened her eyes.
She lay on something soft. A bed—duh. Her head felt fuzzy, her throat was sore, and her stomach ached a little. The beginnings of a hangover, it felt like, except ... not. She didn't remember drinking last night. Actually, she didn't remember much of anything, except leaving the inn after dark with the others to check out that client, and then—
Oh.
No. Can't think about that, not now.
She threw the covers aside so forcefully they slid to the floor. She tried to sit up, but as she did, the dull pounding in her head intensified into a searing throb. She gritted her teeth, bracing herself against a wave of nausea. Don't puke. Don't puke.
She had to get up. She had to do—something. Anything. Anything to stop herself from thinking.
"You're awake!" Lailah hastened to Rose's side, with Edna on her heels. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she croaked—her throat was parched. Edna wordlessly gave her a glass of water Rose just realized was in her hand, and Rose downed it all in about two gulps. She cleared her throat. "When are we leaving? Actually—where're we going next?"
"We're not leaving until you're better," Lailah said. "Wherever it is. Sorey hasn't decided, yet."
"But I'm fine," Rose insisted. She'd walked off much worse in her time. Maybe she did feel tired, just a little, but she doubted she'd be able to fall asleep again. The liminal space between wakefulness and sleep was where all the thinking happened, and Rose intended on staving off thought for as long as she could. "Where's everyone else?"
"Sorey and Mikleo are out in the city, something about 'Asgardian architecture' or whatever," Edna said, sitting on the end of Rose's bed. Lailah gave her a pointed look, which she ignored. "Zaveid—he's stuck around for some reason, by the way—he's somewhere downstairs. And Dezel's ..." She paused, face unreadable.
"Out," Lailah finished, looking as if she wanted to say more. Rose recognized that look—softened eyes, straight mouth, lowered brows—as concern. But she wouldn't have any of that. No concern, no talking, not now. Talking would be even worse than thinking.
She faked a yawn—well, it started off fake, but then turned real. "I'm pretty tired, actually. Maybe I'll sleep some more."
"Yes, you should get some more rest," Lailah said quietly. But she didn't move, and neither did Edna.
"Uh, guys? Mind giving me a little privacy? Unless you like watching me sleep."
"Right," Lailah said. She still had that look on her face. "We'll leave you to sleep. But Rose ..."
"Yeah?" She dreaded what would come next.
"If you ever need to talk, just ... you know we're here for you, right? All of us."
"Sure."
Edna left, but Lailah took a moment to pick up the fallen blanket and place it at Rose's side. Rose avoided her gaze, and she left without another word, gently closing the door behind her.
As desperate as she'd been for them to leave a moment before, now, she felt a strange hollowness at their absence. Stupid.
The dull walls, the worn oak furniture, and the small window near the corner of the room gave little in way of distracting her, so she'd have to leave. Rose counted to sixty, then crept to the window.
It wouldn't budge at first, but with one hard shove, it suddenly slid open with a screech. She pressed her forehead against the cold window pane and breathed in the fresh air.
She waited, but no one came. Good.
She was one storey up by the looks of it, with nothing directly below her but the cobblestoned alley. The landing would be hell on her head, but other than that, she'd be fine.
One leg over, then the next. A moment of hesitation, and then she let herself drop.
Pain exploded in her skull when she hit the ground. She crouched there for a few minutes, her eyes squeezed shut, until it finally subsided. When she stood she was a little wobbly, but all in all, she was okay.
Now that she was actually out, she didn't even know what she wanted to do. A sea of people milled around the market, and their chatter didn't make her head feel too great, but she pressed on, letting herself be directed by the flow. A good crowd to get lost in.
Maybe the Scattered Bones would have another job, if anyone was around. Jobs were nice—in jobs, all she had to do was act on instinct, just do as she'd been taught. No thought necessary. They'd really have to be vigilant in briefing the next client, though, considering how the last one was—
Nope. Don't think.
So she walked, letting the sights, sounds, and smells of the city distract her. She passed locksmiths and shoemakers, cutlers and seamstresses, toy makers and brewers. She lingered a little by a bakery, savouring the warm scent of fresh bread, but quickly moved on when a nearby fruit vendor accosted her. She wasn't in the mood for conversation.
She didn't run into anyone she knew. Usually that would have disappointed her, but now ... she didn't know how she felt.
She wondered where Sorey and Mikleo were. She wanted to talk to them, but at the same time—not. If things could just go back to normal, then she'd know what to say. And then she wouldn't have to fear what they had to say, either.
But things couldn't go back to normal. Because—
Dezel. Walking in the crowd, alone, just like her. Coming straight for her.
She turned around and walked the other way. Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me—
"Rose!"
Fuck. She continued on, pretending not to hear him. Maybe he wouldn't be an obtuse jackass for once and actually get the message.
"Rose!"
She ducked into an alley. If she climbed the wall, onto the rooftop, maybe he'd lose her, and then—
"Rose."
There he stood, at the mouth of the alley, looking the same as he always did—too tall, standoffish, and so impassive he could've been made of stone. The same as always, except everything had changed. She wanted to punch him in the gut.
"Hey," she said, faking a smile. Maybe if she pretended nothing had happened between them, he'd go along with it. After all, he had much more to gain from that than she did.
He spoke in a low voice. "We need to talk."
"Really?" she said lightly. "I can't think of anything we'd need to talk about."
"Rose, don't be stupid."
She stared at him. Stupid? I'm stupid?
Something in her stilled. Her body tensed, and her throat tightened, but somehow she kept her voice level when she said, "Fine. If you wanna talk, we'll talk. You can start off by telling me why you—why you did it."
"I ..." At least he had the decency to look ashamed. He spoke quickly, his words nearly tripping over each other. "I had to make things right, for Lafarga, and I was willing to use any means available. I know that's not a good reason, and it doesn't make things right, but I'm sor—"
"You're right, that doesn't make it better," she blurted, folding her arms across her chest.
He turned his face away from her, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Back then, I wasn't in my right mind. Everything I'd loved had been torn away from me, and I—"
"Shut up," she said. "I don't want to hear your stupid excuses."
"If you didn't want to hear them, then why did you ask for them?" he said tersely, with his jaw clenched.
"I don't know!" Maybe because she wanted him to magically have a good enough reason to justify his actions. That way she could just forgive and forget, lock this all up and throw away the key, never to be hurt by it again.
But she was beginning to realize there was no reason good enough, no excuse big enough to pardon him. She turned around because she'd rather stare at the wall than face him, and hated the emotion in her voice when she said, "Just go away. I don't want to talk to you right now."
"But I need to know how I can make it better."
"How the fuck should I know that?" she snapped. "Isn't figuring that out supposed to be your job?"
She heard him take a few steps forward. "Rose—"
"I said go away already." When he didn't, she added, "And there's no point in trying to make it better. You can't. So fuck off."
Silence. For far too long.
"What, you're not gonna say something?" She whirled around. "Dez—oh."
He was gone. Probably dissipated into thin air. He had a habit of doing that mid-conversation, when it was about something he didn't like.
Well, you did tell him to fuck off.
"Idiot," she said. She didn't know if she was referring to him or herself. "Fucking idiot."
She stood there, listening to the muted sounds of the city. Tears forced their way to her eyes, and she dug her fingernails into her arms until they stopped. She hated crying.
When she'd finally composed herself, she left the alley.
A few hours later, she'd finally made her way back to the inn. Her migraine had come back with a fury, and she was hungry and thirsty; otherwise, she'd have stayed out for longer. Gladly.
Lailah scolded her for leaving without telling anyone, but Rose could tell she was more worried than mad. Rose said she was fine, there'd been nothing to worry about—she'd just needed a little fresh air, was all. Of course, Lailah didn't look as if she believed that, but at least she didn't say anything.
Rose almost wished she had. Not quite, but almost.
