Page 111 of Carnival
The living room remains empty, with only me inside. The TV is playing a movie I’m not paying attention to; the volume is lowered. I’m alone with my thoughts, my hands involuntarily clenching around the soft pillow on my lap.
Luckily, Noelle managed to find Vivian. She’s in the basement, and I don’t want to know the state she’s in. Noelle, being Noelle, gave her a good beating before grabbing her and bringing her here.
Unfortunately, four men with bombs are dead. Vivian managed to detonate them just as Noelle was about to grab her, and it resulted in a tragedy. Four men lost their lives. They didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to their loved ones; they didn’t choose this.
Hudson did a little bit of digging, and the men they rescued were more than willing to write it all out. All the men with bombs were looking for a way out of Vivian’s business. She saw it as the biggest form of betrayal and took their tongues for merely suggesting to leave.
They’re dead because they tried leaving.
Sixteen people were injured in the blast; two of them are in the ICU. The rest only have burns because they weren’t directly in the line of the blast. That thought is comforting, because it could’ve been much more severe. It doesn’t lessen the guilt I’m feeling, though.
It’s eating me alive, my stomach constantly churning. It’s starting to get too painful, and no meds I’ve taken are helping it.Yet, I can’t find it in myself to cry. I’ve cried out all my tears, and I’m too numb.
Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself to cope with this.
I open my eyes, looking at the TV. I can sense him before I see him, my heart fluttering in my chest. A wave of calm washes over me, and his scent slowly drifts to my nose, my shoulders rolling off the tension.
“James,’’ I call out. “You can come in.’’
James steps inside, my eyes turning to the entrance of the living room. He’s dressed in casual clothes, a pair of grey sweatpants, and an oversized, white, cotton shirt. His wrist is in a cast, but it will heal with no problems.
Freya was worried — as worried as Freya gets, anyway — about the stabbing wounds on his body. The biggest concern was that they were untreated and that they could get septic. So, because James protested going to an actual hospital, Freya poisoned him — again. She used the same one she used on him before, paralyzing him enough for Arlo and Hudson to force him to a hospital. Not that he didn’t protest, though. He did and made sure we all knew just how much he hated the thought.
Thankfully, it will all heal eventually.
He strolls toward me, sits on the empty spot next to me, and pulls my feet onto his lap. I take the invitation, lying down, enjoying the feeling of his hand massaging my thighs. He doesn’t speak, the perfect, stoic mask on his face while he looks at me.
“How are you feeling?”
It takes me a moment to respond, trying to gather my thoughts. Instead of worrying him further, I give him a small smile. “I’m okay.’’
“Bullshit,’’ he says quickly. “You know you can’t lie to me, Rose.’’
“I’m… trying to deal with everything as best as I can. I’ll need to speak to my therapist, though.’’
“That’s smart,’’ he nods. “I don’t want you bottling everything up.’’
“How are you feeling, though?” My eyes fall on his cast.
“I’m fine,’’ he scoffs. “Do I look like a weakling to you?”
I raise an amused brow. “Definitely not. But you’ve had it worse than me. I don’t want you to strain yourself.’’
“I’ve had worse, trust me.’’
I roll my eyes. “Alright, alright.’’
A beat of comfortable silence falls on us. He’s playing with my thigh, massaging it gently, eyes locked on mine. I can see myself in those chocolate brown eyes, my reflection shimmering. Gently, I put my hand over his, giving it a small squeeze.
“I love you, James,’’ the words fall from my lips.
James tenses up, his hand gripping my thigh harshly. He’s silent for a couple of moments, staring at me, trying to find any sign of dishonesty or deception. When he sees none, he breathes out a small sigh, though his body remains rigid.
“Say it again,’’ he demands, in that damned low tone of his.
“I love you,’’ I repeat, confidence in my words. “I love you so much, James. So much.’’
He doesn’t waste a second more. He grabs my wrist and pulls me upward, and I immediately assume my position, straddling his lap, hands on his shoulders. He looks up at me, eyes dipping to my lips momentarily.
