“We won’t let him come after you,” JJ says resolutely.
“We need to call the police,” Tate repeats JJ’s words from earlier.
“You can’t.” I shake my head vehemently. “They’d never believe me. And then everyone would know, and Father would hate me. And it was all my fault, and...”
“It was not your fault, Roo Roo!” Tate cries.
“No matter what happened,” Charles adds, “it was never your fault.”
“You weren’t there,” I whisper, even though there’s a truth in Charles’s voice that speaks to me. Even though a part of me knows that he’s right, and Father should never have hit me. Not even if I was annoying and I couldn’t stop humming and I could never do my chores right.
“Roo Roo, it was not your fault,” Tate repeats, more gently this time. “And if you went to the police, Dr. MacAulay would be a witness.”
“The campus doctor?”
“She asked me if I suspected someone was hurting you,” Tate says softly.
“Was that when she asked to talk to you in private?”
Tate nods.
“I thought she was mad that I didn’t have a student ID.”
“No. She was just worried.” Tate gives my shoulder a little squeeze.
“And she told Tate that if you were in danger, to call the police,” JJ adds. “That they can help, and she can, too.”
“Please don’t call the police,” I whisper. “I—Just don’t, okay? Please?”
“We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do, Roo Roo,” Tate says. “But we’re here for you. If you ever want us to confront him, just ask.”
“Don’t. Please?” I whisper, looking over at Charles.
“Not unless you tell us to,” Tate answers for him.
“Promise? Promise you won’t go over there or call the police?”
Charles looks like he’s going to argue, but then he looks over me at Tate and gives a curt nod. “I promise.”
“JJ?” I whisper.
“As long as you never go back there,” JJ says, taking my hands in his. “Promise you’ll never go back to that house?”
“I promise,” I whisper.
“Roonie, what you do about this is your choice, and I respect that.” JJ gives my hands a squeeze. “But think about calling the police, okay?”
I nod, even though the thought fills me with panic, and I know I could never do it.
“I’m going to bed,” Charles snaps, getting to his feet. He doesn’t look at me as he crosses the living room, and I suddenly feel cold even though I’m enveloped in Tate’s warmth.
I watch as the Beast stops in front of his bedroom door. He turns, a frown on his face like the one he had the day I arrived here. With one last pointed look, he enters the door and quietly clicks it shut.
“We should all get to bed,” Tate says softly. “You can have my room tonight, Roo Roo. Come on.”
He gently pulls me to my feet. JJ gives my hand a gentle squeeze and says a soft goodnight as Tate leads me to his room.
“I promise everything will be okay from now on, Roonie,” he says softly as he opens the bedroom door. “The guys and I would never let anyone hurt you. You know that, right?”
Quietly, I nod.
“Do you want me to stay? I can sleep on the floor or—”
“No,” I whisper. All I want is to be alone. Talking to the guys, having everything out in the open, feels like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, but I still have this urge to cry.
After Tate leaves, I let the tears flow. Like a silent river, they wash away my fears, until I’m filled with a sense of peace. I sit and listen to the sounds in the apartment slowly die down. Footsteps, the shower running, and then a quiet nothingness.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. I wait and wait and eventually climb out of bed. The apartment is dark and silent as I make my way to the balcony. Tate’s fast asleep on the couch, so I keep my footsteps light and leave the balcony door open as I step outside.
The campus is still very much awake. Down on the ground, warm lights glow and laughing students wander along the pathways.
A gentle wind carries warmth and the smell of roses. It caresses my face and softly rustles my hair. I look down to the garden below, which is illuminated with enchanting spotlights. Flecks of pink and red dot the greenery; the roses are in full bloom.
I softly hum a song about Beauty and the Beast, keeping my voice low so I don’t wake Tate—until I become aware of a presence behind me. Instantly, I whirl around.
I expect to see my Prince Charming, but Charles’s tall, dark, and handsome figure looms over me.
“Roonie,” he says my name stiffly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his roommate.
“Charles,” I whisper.
He’s dressed for bed but looks wide awake. He’s still got the same tension from earlier, and I get this sudden urge to throw my arms around him. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks softly.
“What? Of course not!”
Charles bends down so his eyes are level with mine. His stare is intense, piercing into my soul. “I just want you to know that you’re safe here.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Wait here, okay?” As suddenly as he appeared, Charles disappears back into the suite. Seconds pass and then he returns with his five thousand dollar brandy in hand. He closes the balcony door, locking us both alone in the tiny space, and turns to face me.
“Is that...?” I trail off. To be honest, I can’t finish the sentence because I don’t understand. Why did he bring it out here?
“It is,” Charles replies, confirming nothing. He holds up the bottle like he’s a fancy waiter; one hand under the bottle and one hand behind it.
Then, he looks me dead in the eye and rips the foil off the cork. He unravels it, letting it flow along his fingers like a cascade of ribbons. With one effortless flex of his bicep, he pulls out the cork. The resounding popping sound echoes through the night air.
“No!” I shake my head vehemently. I have to get out of here.
“Roonie,” Charles growls, blocking the balcony door, which is now closed.
“I can’t,” I beg, my pulse racing. “Please, Charles.”
“If you’re afraid of a man who drinks,” he says, moving to the railing and lifting the bottle over the edge of the balcony, “then I won’t drink.”
Before I can utter a word, Charles tips the bottle and lets its contents rush free. The deep amber liquid splashes forth, chugging out of the bottle and over the edge of the balcony. I gawk as five thousand dollars of liquid luxury pours into oblivion. Every second of this brandy river must be at least a hundred dollars.
I watch, hypnotized. one hundred dollars, two hundred, three... Even as relief fills me, I have to ask... Is Charles insane?
“Charles,” I breathe. “That’s... that’s expensive.”
A playful smile crosses his lips as he turns the bottle fully upside-down.
“So?” he asks.
“So... you could have sold it. Or... or...”
He shakes his head.
Then, a shrill voice screams from the pavement far below. “What the actual fuck?”