Rose’s POV
I stood there, stunned, the bottle still in my hand as I stared up at Reagan, trying to figure out if he was joking.
"You really used this?" I asked, raising the bottle.
"Yes. Something the matter?" he questioned, like I’d asked him something as simple as What’s your name?
I blinked once.
Twice.
Was he... actually serious?
Normal people used antiseptics.
But he used this? I stared at the bottle in disbelief.
Who in their right mind disinfected a head wound with alcohol meant for drinking?
Nothing about Reagan had struck me as ordinary since we’d met. But this? This was on a whole different level.
"As you can see, it’s fine, so you can take your leave," he said, snatching the bottle right out of my hands, practically dismissing me.
"I’m trying to be nice here."
"You could’ve been nice with that racket."
"I thought you were a burglar!" I shouted, defending myself.
"And I thought I asked you to leave."
"Fine. Here." I threw the first aid kit at his feet before storming out.
"I pray the yeast used to make that alcohol rots your brain!" I yelled from behind as I slammed the door shut.
The moment I was out of his room, my bravado crumbled. My knees shook slightly, and goosebumps spread across my skin.
I leaned against the wall outside his room, pressing a hand against my chest.
Breathe.
Why was my heart beating so fast?
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t curse.
He didn’t yell at me to leave.
But his stare...
His stare screamed the words he never said.
Running.
I felt like running away.
The moment I spoke those words...
The moment he lifted his chin and looked at me...
I wanted to run.
Somehow, I managed to walk back to my room without falling, amazing myself in the process.
What was that?
I hated that one look had shaken me more than actually hitting him with a racket.
Once inside, I let myself slide down the door as I tried to collect myself.
What’s wrong with me?
Or better yet...
What’s wrong with him?
I paced around my room.
Stood back up.
Sat back down.
Then paced again.
No matter what I did, I kept replaying the scene in my head.
The bottle.
His voice.
That stupid stare.
I groaned into a pillow.
I needed an outlet.
I needed to call Sierra.
"Hey, doll! What’s up? Calling so late? You must have some tea. Girl, spill!" she squealed excitedly.
Meanwhile, I was still too shaken to speak.
"Babe? You there?"
"Yeah... I am," I answered.
She must’ve sensed something was wrong from my tone.
"What’s wrong?"
"It’s just... I don’t know. It sounds stupid, but something just happened, and it kind of rattled me."
"Go on."
"To sum it up... I hit Reagan with a badminton racket—"
"You still have that old thing?" she interrupted.
"Bitch, focus. That’s not the point."
"Oh yeah, yeah. Wait... why’d you hit him?"
"You would’ve known by now if you hadn’t kept interrupting."
I inhaled sharply.
"Sorry," she apologized with a sheepish laugh.
"I hit Reagan because I thought he was some sort of burglar. Even though I didn’t want to, I felt guilty and eventually tried treating his wound."
"So?" she questioned, still not understanding why I sounded so shaken.
"He used alcohol instead of antiseptic, and when I tried to help, he fucking told me to get out!" I spat, annoyed.
"First of all, that’s badass. Not the ’get out’ part, the alcohol part. But... is that it? Everyone gets annoyed once in a while. Maybe you caught him at a bad time. I mean, you did swing at the poor guy," she said, holding back a laugh.
"You’re not getting it. It wasn’t about the ’get out.’ It was the way he said it. It was the way he looked at me. I had to leave the room before my legs gave out... and before he could hear how loud my heartbeat was."
"I’ve been yelled at before, everyone has," I admitted quietly.
"Teachers. Parents. Even random strangers."
"But this felt... different."
"He barely raised his voice."
"I couldn’t even explain why... but it deeply unsettled me. There was just something about him in that moment that made every instinct tell me to leave."
I hugged my knees.
"I don’t even know why I’m telling you this because it sounds ridiculous out loud."
"So... you weren’t just horny?"
"What?" I shrieked, my eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.
"I mean, you got all the signs. Quivering legs. Elevated heartbeat. So yeah... definitely horny."
"What the fuck...? How did we get to that conclusion?"
"I mean, you literally just told me he looked at you funny and your body decided to become a massage chair."
"Sierra!!"
"What?" she questioned innocently, like she hadn’t just called me a massage chair.
"I’m being serious. I swear there was something about the way he looked at me. It sent chills through me."
"Mmm... chills," she teased. I could already picture her wiggling her eyebrows.
"Can you be serious for one second?" I sighed, already feeling this conversation hit a dead end.
"I am! Okay, fine. Did he hit you?"
"No."
"Swear at you?"
"No."
"Do some crazy shit? Punch a wall?"
"Sierra, what’s with the questions?"
"Girl, just answer the question."
"Ugh... no," I answered, rolling my eyes so far back I saw black.
"So what?!" she yelled.
"Hmm... I guess you’re right," I admitted, convincing myself.
"Darn right I am. And maybe you’re a little horny too," she said, giggling.
"Jesus Christ, Sierra, would you stop? He’s my brother!" I finally snapped.
"Not by blood."
"By marriage."
"Your mum isn’t married to his dad yet."
"Babe, that’s not the point," I sighed. "It’s just... weird having to talk about him like that."
"I guess you’re right. But he is kinda hot, you have to admit."
"Sierra!!, you know what? I’m hanging up."
"You always say that."
"I mean it this time."
"You’ll call me tomorrow."
"I won’t."
"You absolutely will."
"..."
"You read me like a fucking book," I grumbled
She burst into laughter before the line went dead.
I stared at my phone for a long second before dropping it beside me.
Somehow...
I felt a little better.
Tomorrow would probably be less weird.
...Right?