I didn’t follow him and went to my bedroom. It was prepared for my arrival as well, with fresh flowers everywhere, the bed already turned down for bedtime. There was a hint of floral fragrance in the air, and sometimes I wondered if the housekeepers sprayed a scent in the room when they cleaned to make it smell like that.

I took off the dirty clothes, showered, and then got into bed.

I was so happy to be home. Could finally get some sleep.

I was on my side, the lights off and my eyes closed, drifting off instantly.

Then the bedroom door opened.

My eyelids rose at the sound, seeing Fender approaching the bed in his sweats, like this was every other night.

I sat up in defense, wanting him to leave for the first time ever.

He stilled at my reaction, his eyes narrowing in surprise at my response.

“No.” That was all I said. There was no better way to describe my feelings. Even if he wanted to sleep with me now, I wouldn’t allow it. It was the first time I really wanted to push him away, to get him as far away from me as possible.

He continued to stand there, reading the unspoken words in my stare.

“Leave.”

His eyes narrowed. “I—”

“I said leave.”

He remained still, absorbing the command slowly. He probably had never been spoken to that way in his life, and it took him a while to understand reality. But he stepped away from the bed and walked out without saying a word.

I stayed in my bedroom the next day.

I woke up refreshed after a good night of sleep, had breakfast and lunch in my living room, and spent my time reading. As the sun moved, I sat in different places to feel the warmth coming through the windows. Sometimes I was on the couch, and sometimes I was on the rug in the center of the room, just to feel those rays.

In the evening, I was on the couch, still reading, when the door opened.

I knew it was him—and anger immediately flooded my body.

His footsteps came across the hardwood then turned muffled on the rug. They stopped altogether when he was in my living room.

I kept my eyes on my book. “I still don’t want to talk to you. Leave.”

He inhaled a deep breath, full of irritation.

I turned the page and kept reading.

“What—”

“I said leave.” This time, I looked up and met his eyes.

He was livid. His face was tinted red, and all the muscles of his body were flexed. But he kept his mouth shut and clenched and left.

This went on for a couple days.

He would come into my bedroom every night and stare at me.

I’d ask him to leave.

He would obey.