After I hang up the phone, I just sit in my bed, stewing.
I feel awful. Absolutely awful. Matt was right: I acted like a spoiled little rich bitch, today. I hurt someone.
I sigh, leaning back against the headboard. The medication I took feels thick and clunky in my veins, fogging up my thoughts. I’ve got a throbbing headache, and I just want to go to sleep. But I can’t sleep, because I can’t handle being in this room anymore. I rub the back of my neck, my skin prickling, and let my eyes jump between the shadows, checking the wardrobe, and the bathroom door, and the bookshelves.
There’s a light tap on the door. Glen sticks his head in, running his eyes around the room. “Just on my rounds.” He turns to me, noting my red eyes. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“I’m not a sweetheart,” I mutter, guilt choking me. “I’m a total bitch.”
I did what I could to apologise to Nin. I even asked one of my lawyers to help chase up her child maintenance arrears. But I can’t really properly apologise, because I still don’t know what the Hell happened.
I think back to the moment when she knocked over the bottle. It was a split-second reaction—one minute I was fine, and the next, I was possessed. The sudden lightning bolt of fear that flooded through me scared the shit out of me. Even thinking about it makes my breathing pick up. I close my eyes and take a few steadying breaths. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
When I open my eyes, Glen is still in the doorway, studying me with serious grey eyes. “Do you want to talk about it, lass?” He asks, his voice so gentle, I want to cry. “It could help to get it off your chest.”
I sigh. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to curl up in a ball and die of embarrassment. But I know that I owe the guys an explanation.
Pulling myself together, I nod, sliding out of bed and following Glen back into the lounge. Both Kenta and Matt are sitting on the sofa, talking quietly over a laptop. Kenta smiles when he sees me, but Matt’s eyes are cold.
I take a deep breath and cross my arms. “Matt,” I say firmly. “I’m so sorry about your friend. You brought her here to help, and I was awful to her.”
His lips press together. “Well. She called and said you’d offered to pay for her lawyer. So, thanks for that, I guess.”
I nod, sitting on the end of the sofa, away from the guys.
“It did seem a little out of character for you,” Kenta says tentatively.
I snort. “Did it? I thought it was perfectly in-character. You’re talking to Britain’s Biggest Bitch, remember?”
“That’s not how you’ve come across to us the last few days,” Kenta replies. “Did something happen that upset you?”
I’m quiet for a long time, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Because the truth is, deep down, I do know what freaked me out so much. I just don’t want to admit it. “It was the lotion,” I force out eventually.
“You got upset because she spilled lotion,” Matt’s voice is flat.
Anger flares up in me. “Can you not judge me for ten seconds?” I snap. “You made your mind up about me before you even met me. I’m just a villain to you. A superficial bitch. That’s all you ever want to see me as.” I rub my eyes. “For God’s sake, a strange man wanked in my bed. I rolled into it. Got it all up my legs. I woke up in a puddle of a stranger’s semen.” My throat tightens. “I’ve never felt so terrified in my life. I thought I’d been drugged and raped. And now, even though it’s done, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s always in my head. So when she spilt that lotion, all over my legs, and my sheets, and it looked exactly the same, I just—panicked.” I swallow thickly. “And then I was so embarrassed, I lashed out. Made it her fault, instead of mine. It was a defence response, I guess. But it was an awful thing to do. And I hate that I upset her so much.”
There’s a few moments of silence. I can’t make myself look at any of them. “As for what happened at the event…” I wince. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I had a panic attack, so I didn’t think to warn you. My anxiety gets a lot worse when I don’t sleep.”
“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” Matt asks, his voice strained. “Have we been making too much noise at night?”
For some reason, I start to laugh. And then I just keep laughing. I laugh and laugh, until there are tears rolling down my cheeks. “No,” I gasp. “It’s not you. It’s not you at all.” I suck in a deep breath, trying to stop the hiccuping in my chest, but I can’t. It gets stronger and stronger, until I’m not laughing, I’m outright crying. The built-up terror of the last week finally rushes up and washes over me, and I cover my face as I start to shake with sobs.
“Briar—” Kenta starts, his voice soft.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper. “I’m falling apart. I see people, everywhere. Shadows in the mirror, in the bushes, behind all of my furniture. My bedroom feels unsafe. No matter how much I wash my sheets, my bed feels dirty. Whenever I go out, there’s people watching me, shouting my name, taking pictures, following me, and I have no idea if he’s there. If he’s one of them. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. It’s like the walls are just closing in on me.”
“Christ,” someone mutters. I feel the sofa cushions sink, and inhale the warm scent of spice as Kenta sits next to me. He puts a cautious hand on my back. When I lean into it, he starts rubbing smooth circles between my shoulders. “Briar,” he says quietly. “I am so sorry.”
“W-why?” I spit. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“We have. Briar, look at me.” He crooks a firm finger under my chin, directing my face up until our eyes meet. His expression is serious. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “We should’ve noticed that you were feeling this way. The psychological effects of being stalked can be very severe, and they’re incredibly normal. I’ve got a background in psychology, for Christ’s sake. I should have realised that you were struggling.” I gulp. He sighs, patting my back. “Up until now, you acted so strong, I thought you weren’t bothered by the threats.”
I stare at him like he’s speaking another language. “How could I possibly not be bothered by them?” I whisper. “What human being wouldn’t be?”
He shakes his head, looking at his lap. “I’m sorry. It was incredibly negligent. You’re right. We have been making assumptions about you based on what we’ve seen in the media. Which is disgusting.”
I sniff, reaching for the tissue box on the coffee table. “It’s not your job to be my therapist.”
“It’s our job to keep you safe,” he impresses. “If you feel so unsafe that you’re getting physically ill, then yes, we’re not doing our jobs right.” He pauses, thinking. “I have some literature which might be able to help.”
“She doesn’t need books, she needs a therapist,” Matt says bluntly. He looks like he wants to hit something.
I wipe my cheeks off. “I know I do. I’ve already booked an appointment.”
“That’s great,” Kenta soothes. “And what about right now? Is there anything we can do to make you feel safer, short term?”
I sigh. I know the answer straight away, but God, it’s embarrassing. “Just… look, could one of you sleep with me?”
They all stare at me, speechless.
My cheeks stain, but I didn’t get this far in my life by not asking when I wanted something. I cross my arms. “I mean, two of you are going to go sleep in the pool house, right? If one of you could just… come sleep in my bedroom with me. I keep feeling like someone’s going to come in, and I won’t wake up, and—”
“Who?” Kenta asks firmly. “Who do you want with you?”
My eyes flick to Glen. “You don’t have to,” I say. “This is pretty above your pay grade.”
He stands. “You pay us to make you feel safe, lass,” he rumbles, picking his way across the carpet. “C’mon. Get in.”
He holds open my bedroom door, and I head back inside. The room is dark, cut through by moonlight, but the shadows don’t seem as deep with Glen standing behind me like a guard dog. We’re still for a moment, then I nod to the bed.
“You can undress,” I tell him. “You don’t have to sleep in your trousers.”
He hesitates, then slowly unbuttons his shirt. As he shucks it off, I see more scars striping up the skin of his upper arms. I turn to the bed just as he reaches for his belt, flipping up the covers and sliding under the quilt. There’s a zipping sound behind me, then the rumple of cloth as Glen’s pants fall to the ground. I feel the mattress dip as he climbs into bed next to me. I lie there for a few seconds, my heart beating in my throat.
I don’t remember the last time I slept with a man. I’m not a massive fan of sex, and when I do have it, the last thing I want is the guy sticking around afterwards. But right now, here in the dark, the feeling of having him so close is better than I could ever have imagined.
“Is this okay?” Glen asks quietly.
I nod, rolling a bit closer. I’m so close that I can smell him. His deep foresty scent curls through my veins, softening my thoughts far better than the Xanax did. For the first time in a week, my brain finally gives in to the heavy, pressing exhaustion, slowing down and whirring to a stop. I curl up, putting my head by his pillow, and let the steady sound of his breathing lull me to sleep.
