Page 45 of This Cruel Fate

Xolia froze. Her hand was still on the faucet handle when Rowan’s voice filtered through the opening door. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’ll be in and out.”

Rowan had her phone up to her ear in one hand and a suitcase in the other. As soon as Rowan caught sight of Xolia, her face dropped into an impassive mask. “I’ll call you back.” She shoved her phone into her pocket and dropped the suitcase. “What are you doing here?”

Xolia, who had been afraid and then angry that she’d been afraid, was now just angry. “I live here,” she said, jaw ticking. “What are you doing here?”

“Picking up clothes so that the other person who lives here doesn’t have to run into you,” Rowan said scathingly.

“How mature of him.” She didn’t want to be angry. She had felt bad when she hurt him, but everything about Marshall and Rowan just seemed so trivial. Xolia was about to be thrust into the limelight of politics and take her seat next to Peter, and here she, was playing at avoiding an ex? It was beneath her and pathetic for all of them.

“You hurt him,” Rowan said.

“I told him to leave,” Xolia defended. “It’s not my fault he didn’t listen.”

Rowan looked at her with pure unbridled derision. There was no other word for it. Her lips were curled up and her eyes were hard. “You are supposed to be in control of yourself.”

“I would’ve been if I hadn’t been on suppressants for seven years,” Xolia shot back.

“No one told you to stop taking them. It’s a privilege to no longer be tested, not the okay to do whatever the hell you want.”

Xolia slammed her empty cup down on the table. “Right. Just get what you need and get out of here.”

Rowan pushed past the fallen suitcase until she stood in the kitchen, facing down Xolia, righteous anger curling around her. “Let me make something very clear to you—you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

Oh, how Xolia wanted to yell at her, wanted to reveal that should FAR win the re-election Xolia very much would get to tell Rowan what to do, wanted to mock her for being so defensive over a situation she knew nothing about, but it didn’t matter. Rowan didn’t matter. Not anymore. If they ever had been friends, it had been conditional. Neither met those conditions any longer. “Whatever. Tell Marshall that he’ll need to stop hiding behind you so we can break the lease.”

“He’s not hiding. I wouldn’t talk to you anymore either. He was trying to make things work, Xolia. We were all just trying to help you.”

Godsdammit. Why were they both so insistent on getting under Xolia’s skin? Xolia chewed the inside of her cheek. It was clear that Rowan had her mind made up. Power coursed through Xolia. She was better than these people and their trite dreams and meaningless lives.

Xolia reached out and caught onto the thread of Rowan’s bloodstream. She would give her and Marshall something to commiserate about together. She yanked on it, pulling Rowan to the ground. Her nose hit the linoleum flooring harder than Xolia had intended, and a wretched crack filled the air. Shit. “Let me make something clear, Rowan. I’m not interested in your help. I’m not interested in anything you have to offer. So get Marshall’s shit and get out of here.” She released Rowan, who curled into the fetal position and gripped her nose.

“Sel, what did you do?” Rowan groaned, her voice strained and partially muffled by her hands.

“Move,” Xolia snapped.

A broken nose shouldn’t have taken long to heal for a variant free of suppressants, but as the seconds dragged on, and Rowan remained prostrate on the floor with no visible signs of healing, it dawned on Xolia that Rowan still took her suppressants. Eventually, Rowan looked up at Xolia, her eyes were bloodshot and streaked with hate. Xolia clenched her jaw and mirrored the disdain. “Why are you still taking suppressants?”

Rowan struggled to get back up to her feet, one hand still clenched around her nose. Already, the skin under her eyes was darkening into a deep purple. “It’s my choice to take them.”

“You wouldn’t be in this position if you didn’t.”

“It’s not your choice to make, Xolia.” Rowan winced. “Get out of my way.”

Xolia stepped to the side, tracking each shallow breath Rowan made as she picked up the suitcase and walked over to the cramped bedroom. Because she could, she followed Rowan. She offered no help as Rowan only used one hand to open drawers and throw clothes haphazardly into the quickly filling case. Once it was full, Rowan had to let go of her nose, red and sticky with blood, to shut the thing. Xolia backed out of the bedroom doorway, but not so far that she could avoid Rowan shoulder-checking her on her way out.

Rowan left without a word, dropping the suitcase long enough to slam the door shut behind her. Xolia walked over to the front door and pressed her hand against the painted wood grain. I shouldn’t have done that. She dropped her head against the door, castigating herself for resorting to violence so quickly.

She clenched her jaw. For the first time that day, she was glad to be alone. Adonis couldn’t see her like this; she didn’t even want to know what he would think about the situation. Xolia slid down to the floor, dropping her head into her hands, hiding away from the day. One moment she had been so powerless and a moment later, the most powerful person in the room. It wasn’t fair that no other feeling came close to the euphoric rush of bending people to her will. Is that how you will handle all your opposition as vice chancellor? Xolia rocked back and forth. I don’t want this. I don’t want to feel this way.

That other voice whispered in her mind. You do want to feel this way. That’s why you keep doing these things. It’s who you are.

“No, it’s not,” Xolia said. She repeated it to herself, aloud, over and over again until all the voices in her head quieted down. Trying to maintain her fractured sense of calm, Xolia got up and went to her bedroom, pulled out pajamas, and shed her sweats and sweatshirt to get into the shower.

As the hot water burned trails into her skin, Xolia tried to work out her thoughts. Something about Rowan and Marshall made her forget everything except violence. It was hardly her fault that she pushed back when provoked. It was just like the fights; if she didn’t defend herself, she would be hit. All of her actions were simply self-defense.

Satisfied with her self-justifications, she crawled into bed. The sheets were freezing, and the bed swallowed her up whole, her wet hair clinging to the sides of her neck and face. She was about to give up on sleep entirely when, finally, she was able to relax enough to slip away.

Xolia stared at herself in the mirror. There were no imperfections or blemishes on her skin, and her hair was pulled back and out of her face. Dressed in a soft sheath dress, she felt mostly appropriate for a meeting with the chancellor of the country.

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