87. Rosalyn

EIGHTY-SEVEN

ROSALYN

Nathan's voice comes from somewhere in the condo, so I do my best to stay quiet.

He'd help.

He'd insist on it.

But I have to pee, badly, and I don't want help doing that.

Plus the bathroom is right there .

Every inch of my body aches when I sit up and swing my feet over the side of the bed.

The crutches are propped against the nightstand, so I'm able to reach them.

It's a little bit of a struggle to get to my feet, balancing only on my good leg, but I manage.

The first step on crutches is sketchy.

So is the second and the third. But then I finally get the hang of it and make it into the bathroom.

I don't want to turn the lights on, but I also don't want to trip on anything, so I squint my eyes and flip on the light.

Of course there's nothing in the way. I should've remembered that the floor in here is pristine, like the rest of Nathan's home—as far as I can tell .

My head is throbbing by the time I make it to the little toilet room, water closet, whatever it's called. But as I pull the door shut behind me, I feel pride at making it on my own.

There's another light switch inside this room, and I turn it on, then notice the dimmer and slide it to its lowest setting.

The glow is just enough to see by and perfect for my headache.

After leaning my crutches against the closed door, I push my sleep pants down my hips, so they drop to the floor, then lower myself onto the toilet.

My knees sting, and my thighs are sore, but nothing can take away from the relief of going when you really have to go.

Finished, I'm reaching for the toilet paper when I hear a sound.

I freeze, trying to listen, and that's when the door handle jiggles.

Like all the door handles in this place, it's a lever—not a round knob—and it starts to lower.

I didn't lock the handle. Didn't think I had to. Because it's not like anyone else would be using the bathroom.

"Um, I'm in here." I feel like an idiot saying it out loud, but seriously, what is Nathan doing?

Instead of a response, the handle jerks all the way down, unlatching the door.

"Nathan!" I shout, mad he'd invade my privacy like this.

Then several things happen at once.

The weight of my crutches pushes the door open.

They clatter loudly against the tile floor.

Charles lets out a yowl as he leaps out of the way.

And my own shriek mixes with the cat's.

But there's no Nathan.

No human on the other side of the door.

Just Charles.

The cat in question picks his way over the downed crutches and walks into my little room with a noisy purr.

"Jesus Christ, Charles." I try to huff out a laugh, but all those loud noises have amplified my headache.

My sliver of humor is quickly cut off by the sound of running feet.

"Rosie!" Nathan's voice echoes through the condo .

Oh god.

"Rosie!" He's closer now.

"I'm fine!" I try to shout back, but my headache spikes.

"Rosie, where are you?" His voice has entered the bedroom.

"I'm fine. Please go away," I say at a normal speaking voice, knowing he can hear me now.

But he doesn't listen.

He's a man. Of course he doesn't listen.

"Rosie." Nathan appears in the doorway, wearing sleep pants and a white T-shirt.

I slap my hands over my lap and slam my knees together, causing pain to zip up and down my limbs.

"Nathan. Get out."

"Are you okay?" His eyes jump from Charles to the crutches to me. To my hands. "What happened?"

"Your cat opened the door." I press my legs together tighter.

"But you're okay?" His eyes roam over me. "Do you need help with…" He gestures toward the toilet paper.

"Oh my god." I strive for a calm tone. "I appreciate the concern, but I need you to go away."

He sighs, like I'm the one being absurd. "Rosie, I hate to have to remind you, but I've already seen those pretty little curls between your legs." He drops his eyes to my lap, then back up to mine. "And when you're feeling better, I'm going to put my mouth on them. So there's no need to cover yourself."

I blink at him once.

The thought of Nathan going down on me is appealing.

Very appealing.

But not when I'm currently sitting on a toilet. With my pajama pants pooled around my feet.

"Nathan, if you ever want to have sex with me again, you will get the fuck out of the bathroom. Right. Now."

His eyes rove over me once more, his expression turning more serious. "Come to the living room when you're done."

Crouching, he picks up my crutches and leans them against the wall of the toilet room where I can reach them .

He takes a step back. "C'mon, buddy." Nathan pats his thigh, and Charles lets out a sound of assent, then follows his human out of the bathroom.

Pinching my eyes shut, I don't move until I hear the main bathroom door shut.