The moment Caesar dropped me off, I ran towards my room. I threw my bag on the floor, shed my clothes, and walked into the bathroom.
Once I was inside the shower, I closed my eyes and turned the faucet to hot. As the heat intensified, I shuddered. It was scalding hot, almost unbearable, but I didn't turn the faucet off or adjust it to a more comfortable temperature. A scalding hot shower was what I needed. It would bring me back to my senses.
How careless could I be?
I was on the brink of losing the careful construction of myself, the person I had donned to survive in life. If I cared—if I suddenly let all those emotions I felt out—I would not survive. I would suffer the worst heartbreak someone could possibly go through. It wouldn't just be the hurt I felt when Henry left me; it would be all the pain I held together from my parents, New Heaven, losing my friends, my boyfriend, myself—that was my ultimate heartbreak.
I could not let this happen.
The plans, the steps I took to reach this point, were all measured and perfectly conducted. I did this to spare people from hurting me, though I didn't realize I would still get hurt in the process.
Water streamed down my body like a waterfall, burning hot and vengeful.
Clarity hit me at once, and I opened my eyes.
I had to stop myself. I had to remind myself that I just had a few months until graduation. Until then, I had to pull it together. No more unwanted feelings, no more crying for things that weren't mine, no more wistful wishing or wanting.
I was stronger than this.
I had survived worse.
I needed to protect my heart and myself first.
I quickly showered, stepped out, and wrapped myself in a towel. Coldness found its way to me, and I shivered. Despite nearly burning myself with the water, I couldn't ignore the cold biting me. Once I was sure I wasn't going to die from the cold, I changed into comfortable clothes—a pajama set would do.
I grabbed my old books from my desk and took the stairs.
I wasn't really sure where Henry wanted us to study or if he still was up for it after our talk, so I went to find him.
The third floor was quiet. Maybe Scott and Cam went out. There was something about a meet-up with the other lacrosse players. Mrs. Avilla wanted to take the two little ones—Alika and Chen—and spend some time with them. She wanted to spend most of her time with her family after work, and I bet she tried to convince Henry to go with her too, but he probably said he would study with me.
I was sure of one thing—Henry wouldn't be in the game room. If we were really studying, he would either be in the library or in his room. Since his room was closest and my arms were already aching from carrying my books, I thought it best to check his room.
I hesitated for a second. Maybe it wasn't a good idea. I could have just called him instead of standing in front of his door. Though it sounded weird to call someone you lived with, in this big house, it was hard to know if someone was around. But now I was here, and I wasn't keen on descending the stairs and walking back to my room with those heavy books.
I shook my head and knocked, not wanting to appear mannerless. "Henry?"
I waited a few seconds, even put my ear to the door in case he was trying to avoid me, but I didn't hear anything. I positioned my books on my left arm, in the crook of my elbow, then opened the door and glanced around.
No one inside.
I wasn't sure if I should step in or not. I knew Henry's room, but since we broke up, I had never been in it except for the one time I threw the black dress he gifted me at him.
Was it trespassing if I went inside? A violation of his privacy?
Was it stalking?
I grimaced. No, I was just looking for my tutor, and I wouldn't do anything inappropriate.
Of course, my initial plan—when Henry decided to tutor me in front of Principal Richardson—was to irk him by being in his room. But after what happened in Royals, I really didn't want to see him at all.
I had to, but if I had a choice, I would avoid him as much as possible.
Henry Avilla was playing with my mind and heart.
I stepped into his room and surveyed it.
Henry was the cleanest guy I knew. His room reflected that. Nothing was out of place. The bed in the middle was neatly made, and I put my books on it. The nightstands on either side held only a lamp and two framed photos. His textbooks were neatly stacked on his desk.
Even though Henry had a spacious room, he kept it as simple as possible. There was nothing special, nothing personalized except the two pictures in the frames. It looked like a plain guest room.
I walked to his bathroom and listened for any noise. When I was sure Henry wasn't inside, I opened it out of curiosity. It looked like any bathroom, like mine in the mansion, but I wanted to know if anything had changed since our time together.
After closing the door, I slapped a hand on my forehead because that was the dumbest thing I could ever do.
Who checks the bathroom while being in their ex's room?
Obviously, someone stupid like me.
In that time, I could have snooped around his things.
I wrenched my fingers together and realized that if I didn't do something sensible, I'd go crazy and really snoop around like a crazy ex-girlfriend.
I walked slowly to his bed and sat at the edge. I drew one of my psychology books towards me and opened the first page. I tried to concentrate as I read the table of contents and noted the page numbers for each chapter, but I was sitting so uncomfortably.
So, I crawled towards the middle and sat down. I put Henry's pillow against my back so my spine would be comfortable and draped his blanket over my legs and up to my waist too.
I leaned back and started to aimlessly browse through my textbook.
I had so many memories in this room.
From seeing it for the first time, joking about how clean it was, to late-night movie sessions, late-night talks, late-night kisses, and exploring each other's bodies, to never sleeping together but cuddling and feeling safe, sleeping next to each other.
I leaned further down and took the pillow with me. My cheek rested on it. For one moment, I closed my eyes, but exactly at that moment, the door opened.
"Yeah, I'll get it quickly from my desk...what the hell?" I heard Henry before I squinted my eyes open. "I'll call you back in a few. What are you doing in my room, Emerson?"
I might have tried to act like I was just an illusion, not really here, but my breathing might have given me away. Or maybe it was because I snorted. He really called me by my full name. And everyone knows most of the people who called me by my full name were either aggravated by me or disliked me.
It must be both for him.
"Can you answer?" he said impatiently, walking up to his desk.
I made a face, which he fortunately couldn't see, and sat up. "You didn't say where I should go once I was here."
He stopped rummaging around in his drawers and stared at me. "So, you barged into my room?"
I rolled my eyes. "I didn't barge into your room. I knocked and then walked in."
Henry pinched his nose like he couldn't understand the difference between what he was accusing me of and what actually happened. "Look, I never said that I'm going to tutor you in my room, and I really don't want you in my room."
Weirdly, whatever he said stung. Why were his words affecting me? It was his right not to want me in his room because I was no one to him. Just his ex. But still, it stung.
His phone started ringing, and I fisted my hands. Surely, it was Juliette, I thought bitterly.
"I have to take the call, but when I come back, I want you out of my room and in the library. Okay?" He was already at the door with a paper in one hand and his phone in the other.
Henry looked at me expectantly, so I mimicked his voice and said, "Okay."
He glared at me before he went out. Nothing new, when he stared at me like that.
I huffed and hugged the blanket to me.
There was nothing wrong with me being here, but then I wouldn't want him in my original room in my house either.
I guess it's true when they say to never let your ex in your room again. After all, they broke your heart, but the memories stayed in your room until you moved on or forgot about your ex.
After this thoughtful moment, I had another great idea—what if I stayed here for another few seconds before I went out? I mean, it wasn't like Henry would come right away. Phone calls took time, and if it was his girlfriend, it would take longer.
I settled back on the pillow, my eyelids halfway closing with an image of a boy with black hair and green eyes smiling before I fell asleep.
"Em, wake up," a voice said softly. A voice I heard too often in my sleep, repeating those three words so frequently that I resisted opening my eyes out of spite. But also because the sleep I had felt so good to be true. The best sleep I had ever had.
Again, I felt a hand on my shoulder, shaking me softly, and I couldn't stop myself when my hand snaked around and grabbed the shirt of the person trying to wake me up—all with my eyes still closed.
The person chuckled, and the sound was so familiar, so beautiful, so easy and light. Then I felt fingertips pushing a stray hair away. "Always so violent when it comes to waking you up from sleep."
My heart pounded louder as my brain registered who this was. The image of the boy with black hair and green eyes resurfaced in my mind, and my eyes popped open.
The first thing I saw were green eyes, close to mine. His upper body hovered over me, his nose touching mine, hair tickling my forehead, and his lips smirking mere inches away. His hand gently caressed my cheek.
Henry.
Now, I was painfully aware of how close we were and how intimate this position was. My hand fisted his white shirt. I was scared of what I might do because it was so easy to do something wrong, yet so exciting to follow my heart.
I felt his breath on my face, and before I could do anything foolish, I pushed him away and sat up.
Henry's face turned expressionless again, and I stopped trying to read him. I looked around and noticed how dark the room was. My eyes slowly registered that it wasn't my room. Oh, shit.
"Sorry. W-What happened?" I rasped out, my voice dry from sleep.
Before Henry answered, he handed me a glass of water. "You fell asleep."
"How long did I sleep?"
He shrugged and checked his phone. "Probably an hour, if not more."
I stared at him, remembering falling asleep. "And you didn't try to wake me up?"
He frowned and put his phone back in his pocket. "I did, but you wouldn't budge."
I gripped the sheets tighter. "I didn't wake up?"
"That's what I said." Annoyance flickered over his features.
But he didn't know what a big deal this was for me.
I didn't wake up. That meant I didn't have any nightmares. Every time I fell asleep, I would wake up in sweat, in tears, or in a paralyzed state. And I could never fall back asleep because the things, the people that scared me, were still waiting if I closed my eyes.
"Nightmares, huh?" Henry's voice startled me. I probably said my thoughts out loud. Before I could respond, he spoke again. "You still have them."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
I didn't say anything, nor did I do anything to confirm that I still had nightmares.
Henry knew I had nightmares.
Those nightmares consisted of my mother's words, of not being enough for her, of being treated as if I wasn't her daughter, and of not being worthy of my parents' love. After all, both of them left me alone.
But he didn't know about the new nightmares that haunted me. These nightmares were darker and had more impact on me.
Back then, I was haunted by my mother's verbal attacks. Then, it was a world full of hate and rage towards her.
Now, I was frequently haunted by soulless eyes and a lifeless body, angled like a broken puppet as if it wasn't real. Now, it was a world full of pain, darkness, anxiety, and the bitter feeling of being a monster.
Henry didn't need to know that. No one did.
"I should go," I pressed out and pushed the blanket away.
I was ready to bolt from the bed when I felt Henry's hand on mine. "Stay."
I looked at him, perplexed. "An hour ago, you wanted me gone."
Henry huffed and massaged his forehead. "I know that, but we didn't even study, and we still have some time. Also, how about every time you understand a topic and complete one of your assignments, you get to stay in my room and sleep for an hour?"
I gaped at him, but before I could say anything, he added, "You always slept well here."
Memories of me sleeping in his room, of movie nights together, of pillow fights where I mostly ended up on the floor, of studying together, and of kissing each other flooded my mind.
I did sleep well in his room because it was my safe haven.
Not the room, but him. I realized that after we broke up.
Wherever Henry was, I felt safe.
Henry was my safe haven.
"I should go, Henry," I repeated, exhausted.
I shouldn't trust his words because he always changed his mind and his stance. He was always cold to me, and sometimes hot if he felt like it. Right now, he was hot. It meant he tried to be nice to me, but what if he changed his mind and suddenly didn't feel the urge to let me sleep in here as a reward?
And honestly, it sounded so bizarre. I would be stupid to accept his offer because what kind of ex-girlfriend would ever want to sleep in her ex-boyfriend's room after he called her a slut, labeled her a cheater, and didn't let people her age talk to her?
That kind of girlfriend, who still had a soft corner for her ex, a voice inside my head whispered.
No. Simply no.
I didn't have a soft corner for Henry. I just had to remind my heart of it. My mind was with me, but my heart was another matter.
You just couldn't control your heart.
It was a lethal weapon. One that had its own mind.
Henry suddenly stood up and pulled me with him. "Let's go downstairs, eat some homemade pizza, study, and talk about it later."
Before I could protest or pull my hand free, he led me out the door, and in a daze, we found ourselves in the kitchen, seated at the dinner table. All I could feel was Henry's hand in mine. How perfect his hand felt against mine. How easy and habitual it was to hold his hand.
The next hour we spent discussing how I should start with my assignments and organized a well-structured plan to pass this ultimatum to graduate. I finished writing it all down and stacked my books and notes in my arms.
I started to leave, but then I turned around and looked at Henry, his half-eaten pizza against his mouth. I couldn't help myself and smiled. "Thank you, Henry."
I didn't wait for an answer. I didn't want one in return, anyway. I wanted Henry to know I meant it. I meant my thank you.
Even if Henry would act indifferent tomorrow, I was happy that he was my Henry for today.
The guy I knew and fell in love with.
But I had to remind myself over and over again that he wasn't mine anymore and that he would never be again.