TOXIC FROM THE START

CHAPTER TWO: WHAT JUST HAPPENED?

Rosé POV

Barely awake, I raced to the door.

Ignoring the silence.

I do not quite remember deciding to move; I just felt a sudden need to do it. My feet carried me to the door, while my hand shielded my face from accidents - like slamming my face on the wall or the door.

My fingers reached the door handle and gripped it harder than it was necessary.

I could literally hear my chest pounding faster than the exhaust of a sports car,

I forced the door open and found no one there. The long hallway stretched out empty on both sides, reflecting the dim light that hung beneath the ceiling.

For a moment, I was convinced I was awakened by a knock on the door.

I could have sworn that a knock had pulled me back from sleep.

I heard it.... I heard my name.

It felt like an interruption. The sense that someone was there, standing just behind the door, waiting for me to answer. I tried slowing my breathing, so I could focus properly because I was losing it, as I retraced my steps.

There were no sounds, no footsteps, or any sign of movement. Nothing but the hum of the city far below and the sound of the alarm I had forgotten to silence.

The knock had not been real.

I stood still with my left hand covering the part of my face it could, wondering to myself,

What just happened?

I have a limited choice. At this point, all I can do is to walk back to my bed, lay down, close my eyes and maybe all of it might actually end up wiped out from my memory".

I slowly walked back to my bed with the quiet certainty that something had already gone wrong.

Not the same feeling people portray when they talk about bad dreams.

There was no sign of panic in my chest, I wasn't scared. Just a revolving awareness that stayed too close to home, like smoke after a fire had gone out.

This wasn't exactly a nightmare.

At least not one that I'm surprised about,

For fifteen years, I've always had this dream, the same blurred face, the same girl, the same scent that arrives before anything else, the same place, the same desk, the same voice. It's all familiar

I expect all of it. What I'm never ready for is the time it ends.

Being pulled from that library back into a body that is lying in a bed in London with the curtains not yet drawn and the ceiling doing nothing interesting above me.

But the worst part remains that

I always submit to her

I lay still, eyes open, staring at the lazy ceiling, waiting for my body to catch up with my mind.

But it didn’t.

The alarm rang instead...

At least that fully woke me up.

The issue wasn't the content of the dream, but how easily I allowed it all to happen, over and over again.

How I stayed, and accepted it all, her gentle touch across my neck, the taste of her lips as she kissed mine, her consistent thrusting that left my feet numb, the happy tears rolling down my cheek, the way she kept tossing me all over the place without hesitation, like I was being rewarded for being her good girl.. It became more clear that whatever line existed between "wanting" and "allowing" had completely vanished without argument."

The knock wasn't real.

That should have made me feel better.

But instead, it left me aware. Maybe a little strange feeling of disappointment that i refuse to entertain.

I needed to get over it, so i sat up and just pushed the thought aside.

Dreams aren’t real life,

And it doesn't determine or express what a person is actually feeling. They only piece things together without meaning to reveal, they are not confessions, they are not warnings, they are not real. I repeated it to myself..

I did not look at my desk.

I didn't want to.

Routine. I thought to myself.

A cold shower, and I will be rescued.

I stood and paced across the room trying to own the ground. The AC had been on for forever and it left the floors cold. I walked to the curtains and drew them wide open to invite light in. The familiar weight of my robe slips over my shoulders. Everything where it should be. Everything is under control.

I stepped into my bathroom to take a bath, letting the water run just a few degrees colder than necessary, welcoming the peace of it. Staring at my mirror, it reflected a woman composed and awake, I gently pulled my hair back with care, maintaining a precise posture. No evidence of fracture. No sign of whatever had lingered in my sleep.

Good.

I took it a step at a time. Getting dressed was a victory. I carefully selected clothes that did not invite attention, neutral tones. Clothing has always been armor to me. It reminded people where the boundaries were. It reminded me.

I checked my safe for matching accessories,

-This should do

I tried it on and it fit properly.

I was thinking if I should do breakfast or just get brunch later when the thought surfaced uninvited. It wasn't an image. Just the awareness of absence. Like something was missing, I dismissed it immediately.

It was just a dream... Everyone dreams.

I'm stressed. Maybe if I overwork my mind, today will be a great day. I told myself

That explanation fits neatly enough to be useful.

I moved through the apartment efficiently, gathering my bag, browsing through my schedule, reviewing the day ahead.

It's my PhD graduation day today and my parents flew into London to celebrate with me. Plus, I also get to see my boyfriend Brody. That alone should elevate my entire mood.

This was my last quest, next was to move back to Thailand to help secure the family business.

The familiar structure of a life built on intention rather than impulse. There was comfort in knowing what was expected of me, in fulfilling roles that came with clear rules and visible outcomes.

Desire complicates outcomes. I had learned that early.

I should go get that certificate," I said. As I reached for my keys, I paused, not because I had forgotten something, but because a sensation brushed the edge of my awareness. The faintest impression of being observed. It was absurd. I was alone. The apartment was secure. Still, the feeling persisted long enough to irritate me.

I straightened my shoulders back,

Control returns quickly when you demand it.

And I'm always in control.

Leaving the room was another victory. Stepping outside the hallway, aiming my feet towards the elevator, I felt like myself.

No signs of weakness. The dream had been filed away where it belonged. The day waited, and it would be different from whatever had happened in my sleep.

To maintain that thought, I had to recite snatches of poetry in my head, concentrating on the rhythm of words until it slowed my thinking.

No one was around to hear, and the distraction got me to my car.

I inserted my key, kicked off the ignition and pulled my glasses down to cover my eyes.

I appreciate this silence, it's just silence.

But right now, I don't think I want to hear my own thoughts.

So music or radio news will do