Page 21 of We're Not Strangers Anymore

“So, you were stalking me because of Frank?” I ask, trying to sound disgusted. But the dark side of me wonders what he saw. Or if helikedwhat he saw.

He stares for a moment, licking my body up and down with his eyes.

“No. You’re beautiful. Unlike any woman I’ve ever seen. I just liked looking at you.”

“I doubt that. I’m sure you fuck plenty of women that look a lot better than I do.” I look down, suddenly feeling stupid for how insecure I sound.

Grayson tips my chin up.

“I’ve fucked women with plenty of money. They spend it all on their appearance and don’t manage to look half as good as you do in your work t-shirt with your hair in an effortless ponytail. I don’t know why I watched you, Rowan. Maybe I just wanted to look at you. Maybe it was a protective feeling. Maybe I liked feeling in control when I stroked my cock over your sleeping, defenseless body inside your little studio apartment.” He smiles maliciously.

My body is reacting in a way with what he’s saying that my brain doesn’t like. What kind of fucking creep breaks into a womans home to get his rocks off? My brain wins. I go to slap him and he catches my hand, pulling it to his cheek.

“Don’t pull a stunt like that, Row. Next time there will be consequences, and I think you know what that consists of,” he says with a grin. “Now as I was saying, at that time I started watching you, I got curious about your relationship with Frank. So I dug deeper and gained access to his phone carrier account. I noticed that you two don’t speak. Why is that?”

“Long story.” I say, pulling my hand out of his.

“Do you remember anything about your mother?” He changes the subject.

I laugh dryly, swallowing the pain that comes with the thought of her. “Yep. She was kind, she used to love me. Then she ended up on drugs and wasn’t the mother I knew. She left when I was still little.”

He sits back, silent for a moment. “Did you ever find out what happened to her?”

I look at him quizzically. “No. Why do you ask?”

“She died, Rowan.” He looks into my eyes, waiting for a response.

All these years I’ve wondered about her. Where she went, what she was up to now. I shouldn’t care I really shouldn’t fucking care. She never even made things right. She wasn’t there to save me from Frank and his fucked up ways. She was never around to teach me how to stay away from boys that are trouble or to help me pick a prom dress or to help me understand my first fucking period.Does my dad know about this?

“H-How?” My mind is racing and I can’t form the rest of my sentence. How does he know? How did she die?Whendid she die?

“Drugs. Frank told me almost a year ago. I’m sorry, Rowan. I thought he would’ve told you.”

I scoff. “Fuck off, Grayson. I don’t know if you’re trying to find a weak spot and fuck with me or what your motive is but I don’t give a fuck. I’m glad she’s dead.”

Grayson nods. “I understand if you’re upset but–”

“I’m not upset I don’t fucking care!” Just as the words fall from my lips, I feel tears stream down my face.

I don’t care. I know I don’t. But it would have been nice to know why she did what she did. I’ll never have closure and I had to hear about this from the same man that took me against my will. It’s bullshit.

Grayson moves to the cushion beside me and wraps an arm around me. If I were in my right mind I’d push him away, I wouldn’t even be crying in front of him. But I don’t even care right now. At least he told me.

Rowan

“Sit down, Row.” Grayson says, barely above a whisper and motions me next to him on the edge of the king size bed in our room. “I understand this is a lot to take in. I don’t always say the right thing or know what to do in emotional situations, but if you want to talk I can probably understand you better than you think.”

I sit next to him and just break down, laying my head on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’m going to take care of this. I can promise you that.” He whispers, wrapping both arms around me and pulling me to sit in his lap. What does he mean?

I wake up to Grayson stroking my hair. My eyes are still swollen from crying. I don't know at what point I fell asleep on his lap, but at some point he moved me to lay on his chest as he sat against the headboard of the bed.

“How long have I been sleeping?” I ask him, sitting up.

“Not long. About an hour.” He says, looking exhausted.

“I’m sorry.” I say to him.

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