Sarah blanches and even I pull a face. What the hell is going on with me? Throes of passion—who do I think I am, William Shakespeare? Because I certainly am acting like a fool.
Jesus.
"I think it's adorable," Billy says, keeping his eyes on me—because he knows, he knows how badly I'm lying—and tightens his grip around Sarah's waist, pulling her closer to him. "Remember how passionate we were about each other?"
Sarah gives me a face of mixed disgust. I don't blame her. "Yes, but that does not mean I'd like to hear about my brother's sex life," she points out, and I happen to agree with her, I just can't tell her what I originally intended to say.
"And I'm sure Isla doesn't intend to go into details because she knows we wouldn't like to share that," Matt says, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. I don't think it's supposed to be reassuring—because it's definitely not—it's more of a symbol that says, “let's go right now.”
"Right," I say. "Well, I said what I needed to say. I guess I'll be going now."
"Okay." Sarah's still confused. She's looking at me like I need to be locked up. If only Billy weren't here, if only Matt stayed in the room, I'd be able to tell her everything.
"Maybe you can talk to me about how you handle, um, your monthly flow?" I say because Sarah still needs to know and I need to tell her, even if it means embarrassing myself about periods again. "Again? Just us girls so we don't have to put the men through the discussion."
I can feel the waves of disgust rolling off Matt's shoulders. Billy is giving me a similar look with his scrunched nose and furrowed brow. Even Sarah doesn't know how to respond, so she nods.
"Right," Matt says, dropping his arm from my shoulder to take my hand. "Now that that's finally done with, I think it's time we take our leave. G'night."
Chapter 19
"What was that?" Matt asks the minute we step into my room and he closes the door behind me. Maybe it's our room now, now that we're together and have slept together in more ways than one. I don't see him going down to his room to sleep by himself and I don't want to sleep alone when I could be sleeping with him.
I spin on the heel of my boot in order to face him. His eyes still penetrate me, still see straight through this façade I still think I'm good at hiding behind even with him, and they pin me to my place. They're not filled with judgment or annoyance; they're filled with questions waiting to be answered by me. My heart hammers against my chest and I can hear it echo throughout my head and I don't know how to answer those questions because Matt deserves the truth—I promised myself I will never lie to him, even if it is the easy way out—but if I tell him the truth about Billy he may very well leave me since I haven't told Sarah yet, and if I haven't told Sarah, I'm putting her at risk. I am. I can't even deny that.
But I don't want him to leave me. And now I'm afraid because if he does, I would totally understand the reason. It would be my fault, not his. I can't have that. But I also can't lie to him.
I know what I have to do. I'm not an idiot. I don't want to do it, but I do because I want to get this off of my chest and out of my system. I don't want blood on my hands, and I don't want to be responsible for this on my own. If Matt gets upset, it's understandable. He has that right and he has a good reason. I hope—I pray—he doesn't leave me for this, but I decide that if he does, it's his loss. I made a mistake by not going to Sarah immediately, but that doesn't mean I'm a bad person, that I'm not worth being with.
Right?
Oh boy. Here goes nothing.
"Matt," I say in a voice just above a whisper. I have no idea if Billy is just outside listening to our conversation because clearly he knows something is up. My behavior revealed my hand, after all. He just doesn't know that I know. Though he may be able to connect the dots.
Matt pushes his brow up, indicating I should go on, but makes no move to interrupt me. He's so good that way. He has the patience of a saint. Patience I wish I had.
God, I love him. I love him so much.
"I think Billy killed those girls," I tell him.
Matt furrows his brow, thoroughly confused. His eyes squint a bit and a wrinkle appears over the bridge of his nose. He doesn't get it. That's okay. I can explain and then he'll understand.
"I thought it was Corsa," he says. He tilts his head to the side, trying to figure this out. "That's why you found me that night. I was confronting her."
I bite my lip to keep from making a smartass comment. I know Matt didn't go out of his way to kiss Corsa that night. I would probably even believe that he didn't even like it. But it's hard for me to picture him confronting Corsa as she climbs in his lap and kisses him slowly. He could have pushed her off at any moment. He could have said no. He could have done something to prevent that kiss.
"You were confronting her?" I finally say. I feel like that's the safest question for me to ask without coming across like a jealous hag. Despite the complete disgust I feel at just thinking of Corsa and Matt together, the last thing I want to come across as is jealous. Because I do trust Matt, and if he says he was confronting her, I believe him. I don't have to like his methods, but I won't question him. I will believe him. I do.
"I was," he insists, a tad defensively even though I've given him no reason to be defensive. "I knew she and Briyella were friends, but they had similar tastes. Last I heard, they were squabbling over the same man—a wealthy customer who was a common patron here. He liked both of them together, though sometimes he picked one over the other. Corsa has always been the jealous sort, so when we found Briyella…I just assumed."
"Just because she has motive doesn't mean she did it," I say, and even though I'm trying not to come out like a jealous hag, it's certainly coming out that way. There's an edge to my voice I can't seem to rid myself of.
Matt gave me an annoyed look. "I know that," he insists, "but this is my sister's place of business. I had to check."
"You realize Sarah is older than you and is a capable adult, able to take care of herself, right?" I ask. I'm not even trying to control myself at this point. My arms are crossed over my chest and there's a knowing look on my face that insists I'm going to think what I'm going to think, regardless of what he says.
"I'm allowed to care about my sister," Matt says. Now he's defensive, and not just a little defensive. His brows are drawn downward into a V and his jaw is tight. "I'm allowed to check up on her and do things for her. It's what siblings do."
I clench my jaw. Even though it's not an obvious shot at me being an only child, it's easy to decipher what he means by it.
"So, you're saying you kissed Corsa for your sister?" I ask, pushing him just as hard as he's pushing me.
His brow shoots up, high beneath his hair. "I didn't think it was possible," he says, "but you're just like her, aren't you, Isla? You're jealous."
I feel myself wince at the comparison. Matt's eyes flash with momentary regret at his words, but it disappears immediately from his brown eyes and he looks away. He locks his jaw; he isn't going to apologize for it, at least not yet.
"I'm not jealous," I insist.
I shouldn't have to tell him that. It should be obvious. He should know I'm not that kind of girl. But maybe he doesn't. Maybe there's something in my tone or the look on my face that reflects jealousy. Whatever it is, Matt believes I'm experiencing it and I hate that feeling of doubt that fills my stomach. Not that I doubt myself, but that he doubts me. We're supposed to be a team. We're supposed to have faith in each other and work together and we aren't supposed to hurt each other. But Matt is hurting me and—
Maybe you're hurting him in turn and you don't even realize it, a voice inside of me points out.
I want to dismiss it and hang on to my insistence that I'm right and he's wrong, but I force myself to tease it out, to see what new insights I can acquire from seeing where this thought goes.
Think about it; you're pointing out that he kissed her when he's insisting that it was reversed. You didn't even see the initial kiss, you
just walked in on them already kissing. Don't you think you're doing the same thing by saying he kissed her? And now he's lashing out because you're hurting him, and he wants to hurt you in turn. It's not the healthiest way to handle stuff but it's human nature; it's not uncommon. If you want a different reaction from him, you need to handle it differently.
But why does it have to be me? I ask myself, my tone both annoyed at the prospect of being the bigger person and frustrated that Matt isn't attempting to do the same thing.
If I had the power to hear an eye roll, I would have heard it from the first voice. That's your pride talking, Isla, it says. What's more important: being right or being happy? Because oftentimes in relationships, you can't have both.
I think about it. I feel the defensive tension leave my body and throw my eyes at Matt. We haven't even been together for twenty-four hours officially and already we're fighting. Is that a bad sign? Is that a signal for doom in our relationship? Or do things like this happen and I'm overthinking it? I hate that I don't have experience with this because I genuinely have no idea what to do.
"You're certainly acting like you're jealous," Matt puts in. His tone is snippy and totally immature, but I force myself to remember that he's hurt and he's attacking me in response to that.
God, this is hard. No wonder I avoided this all my life. But I’m hoping all the songs and books and movies are right—that, in the end, when it’s with the right person, it’s always worth it.
I want to lash out. He has this tone that drives me up the wall and I clench my teeth together and let out a growl that I hope he doesn’t hear. It’s like I’m trying to calm down, to calm both of us down, but it’s difficult when he doesn’t seem to want to calm down right now. At least, not yet.
“Listen,” he says, looking back at me. Those brown eyes look defeated, perhaps even a little regretful. “I don’t want to fight with you. Can I give you my surrender? Can we be friends again?”
I try not to smile as I watch him put up his hands. He looks so adorable with those big eyes and the slight pout in his lips and his high cheekbones and I can’t look away from him. I can’t be mad at him. Not when I love him so much.
I realize it’s easy to forget that. I know I don’t have that much experience with matters of the heart. And I can totally accept that. But in the heat of the moment, I can see how easy it is to give into anger. How easy it is to lose control of yourself. How easy it is to forget that you’re arguing with your best friend. I don’t want to lose that. Not with Matt. But I’m also aware that I have a quick temper. I feed my anger with negative thoughts, not only about him but about myself. Even now, in this moment, I hear vultures in my ears, screaming about how much prettier Corsa is than I am, that she probably pleased him more because she’s much more practiced. She’s cooler than me, she and he have a history and history always wins. And I felt myself give into those thoughts, give truth to those thoughts, and suddenly, I was arguing not with Matt, but with my fear, this deep dark fear I didn’t even know I had. It morphed into this threat of losing my relationship, and I’m blinded to it even now.
I can’t lose myself again. But I probably will. I just need to remind myself. And if I’m not strong enough, I hope that he will.
“Of course, we can,” I say. I want to throw my arms around him and bring him to me. I want to forget this ever happened. But I want to resolve this more. I don’t want to fight over the same things constantly. “I’m sorry if I sounded jealous. I wasn’t trying to, but I can understand why you might think that.” I look away. I can’t lie to him. If I’m going to do this whole relationship thing right, I have to go all in. “Okay, maybe I was a little jealous.” I shrug, like this is no big deal, but in reality, it’s a very big deal. I never get jealous.
Matt’s lips curl up into a smirk at my admission and his eyes shine. “I know,” he says. “It’s nice to hear I’m not the only one.”
“You’re jealous?” I ask. “Of who? I haven’t gotten hit on by anybody.”
“Hit on?” The phrase sounds foreign in his mouth. “Please tell me this is one of your future euphemisms because if anyone has hit you, I swear to the Heavens that I will—”
I nod. “Yes, yes,” I say. “It means to get charmed or wooed by a potential partner. Not actual hitting. I’m not sure why we call it that, but that’s what it means.”
Before he can stop himself, Matt strides over to me and takes me in his arms. His hands are on my forearms, my hands clutching his chest. I find now that we’ve been together, I don’t very much like to be away from him.
“Isla,” he says in that way only he can say my name, “you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t deserve you. I’m a man with a black heart. I’ve done very bad things in my life, and many of them I do not regret. You are the one I want to be with, not some whore I barely even remember. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve laid eyes upon, both inside and out. That hasn’t changed. It never will.”
I want to question that. I want to tell him that there’s no way for him to know that; even the people who are most in love can’t accurately say that they’ll be together forever. But it’s something I bite my tongue on because I’m trying this new thing where I trust him without question, without worry, without thinking of a future without him. Because that’s not a future I want to even entertain.
“And yes,” he says, taking one hand from my forearm and tilting my chin up so I can look him in the eye. “I’ve been jealous of any man that looks at you a certain way. Perhaps you don’t notice it, but I do. I have no choice but to notice it. I’m not the only one who realizes just how beautiful you are, you see.” He pushes his brow up to emphasize his point.
I feel myself smile as my cheeks turn pink. “You’re pretty beautiful too,” I say. The words come out awkward and jumbled and I shake my head internally at my completely botched compliment, but he chuckles and pulls me close until we’re kissing.
Everything is right again. The world is still spinning on its axis. Everything is okay.
And then the door bursts open and Billy stomps inside, breaking us from our kiss.
Bastard.
Matt breaks apart from the kiss so quickly I nearly topple over.
"Billy," he says. His body is tense, his eyes are narrowed in slight suspicion, but he's not completely guarded. Why would he be? He doesn't know any better; he doesn't know what a monster Billy is. "Everything all right?"
Matt questions Billy because of the dark look on Billy's face. His brow is furrowed so low over his eyes, his hair falling in his face. The wrinkles on his face are somehow more defined, the shadows zigzag across his prominent features, making him look even more intimidating than he already is. His shoulders are hunched, and his eyes are looking at me—no one else, they're locked on me. I swallow, because jeez, I am intimidated by him. I mean, I feel okay with Matt there. I know there's no way in hell Matt would ever let anyone hurt me, especially not Billy, but I don't want anything to happen to him.
"Actually, no," he says, his eyes still on me. He's not even looking at Matt, even though Matt is standing in front of him. "Your new and probably temporary fuck knows something I need to talk to her about."
Matt rolls his shoulders back, appearing taller and broader than he really is. He uses his height to his advantage, and he looks down at Billy over his nose. His jaw is locked, his eyes turn black as they narrow even further at Billy, and his voice is a quiet roll of thunder off in the distance—a warning that a storm is coming, and damage is inevitable. "Excuse me?" he says.
"You heard me." Billy doesn't much care about Matt's warnings. I’m not sure if Billy is just naive to Matt's threats or if he genuinely doesn't care—which would make Billy dumber than I originally think he is. "I need to speak to Isla. Now."
I swallow. How do I even respond to that? I watch as Matt curls his long fingers into fists and even though he’s silent, I can see those fists start to shake. He’s angry—more than angry, he’s furious
. I don’t think he expects Billy to talk to him that way, especially about me. I don’t think Matt reacts well to blatant disrespect, of himself or of his girl. He doesn’t know how to handle it, especially considering the man in question is his sister’s husband.
I don’t know the proper protocol either. I wish I could help him, but I don’t want to say anything that will contradict Matt and thus cause proof of a divide between us. So I keep my mouth shut.
“I don’t think so,” Matt says, leaning his body to the side, blocking Billy’s view of me.
“Don’t make me hurt her, Mattie,” Billy says. “Although, I think I’d enjoy doing so. Very much.”
Chapter 20
"I swear to God," Matt says as he blocks Billy from coming to the door, "if you touch her, I will murder you with my bare hands and no one will be able to recognize your sorry excuse for a physical form."
I watch from the bed as Billy narrows his eyes at Matt. He still makes no move to push past the pirate and get inside, though I'm sure the thought has crossed his mind. Billy's not a complete idiot. The only stupid thing he's done is start up a relationship with a young prostitute in his wife's brothel and then get caught. Then, after finding out who knew, murdering the two people who found out. Also, letting the girl he had the affair with get away. Also, underestimating Matt's talents as a pirate and at rescuing his only family from certain death, bringing her back here so she came back to her husband and her job safely, and essentially, freeing her from any possibility of getting arrested again.
To Ruin a Rogue: Page 16