Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 48

Emersyn

In the dimness of my room, time feels like a concept too distant to grasp. My eyelids are heavy, like they're weighed down with all my sorrows and fears. I try to lift them, to see beyond the darkness that envelops me, but it's too much effort. I let them stay closed, surrendering to the heaviness.

I'm aware of my own breathing. It's slow and steady, a faint sound in the quiet of the room. The stillness is a blanket, comforting yet suffocating.

How long have I been sleeping? Hours? Days? The loss of the bakery seems to have stolen not just my job, but pieces of my soul.

I drift in and out of sleep, each time barely touching the edge of consciousness. I'm too tired to fully wake up, too heartbroken to face the reality waiting for me outside these walls.

In these moments of half-awakeness, my mind wanders to the bakery – the smell of fresh bread, the warmth of the oven, Carol's laughter. It feels like a lifetime ago.

There's a soft murmur of voices at some point, pulling me from the depths of my slumber. I strain to listen, but my mind is foggy, my thoughts tangled.

Marx? Fowler? Their voices are a blend, indistinct and distant.

I catch fragments – something about a fever. Someone needs to keep an eye on me. But the effort to decipher more is too much, and I slip back into the dark embrace of sleep.

In my dreams, I'm back at the bakery, but it's different. The walls are charred, the counters empty. I'm alone, reaching out for something that's no longer there.

And then Lyle appears, his face a reminder of another loss, another piece of my past that slipped through my fingers. He's saying something, but his words are lost in the crackling of flames.

The dream shifts, and I'm in a world where I never met Marx, Fowler, or any of the guys. It's a life plain and uneventful. I feel a pang of something – is it regret? Longing? I can't tell.

I wake up again, still trapped in the heaviness. My room is a cocoon, both a refuge and a prison. I want to get up, to shake off this lethargy, but my body refuses to cooperate. My mind is a battlefield, thoughts and memories clashing, leaving me exhausted.

I think about the bakery. It was more than a job; it was a dream, a piece of myself. And now it's gone, reduced to ashes and a handful of memories. The pain of that loss is a constant ache, a void that I don't know how to fill.

And then there's Marx, Fowler, and the others. They've become my family, my anchor in a world that seems to be constantly shifting under my feet. But right now, even the thought of facing them, of seeing their concern and pity, is too much. I need them, yet I can't bear to be seen like this – broken, lost.

I don't think I felt this depressed when Lyle cheated. This is a whole new level of pain.

As I drift in and out of sleep, my thoughts are a jumbled mess of what-ifs and if-onlys.

The fire, Lyle, my life with the guys – it's all a tangled web of joy and pain, love and loss.

And in the midst of it all, I'm just trying to find my way, to make sense of the chaos that my life has become.

Eventually, the pull of sleep becomes too strong, and I let it take me, hoping that when I wake up, I'll find the strength to face another day, to start picking up the pieces of my shattered world.

In this restless sleep, I'm seeking solace, a break from the storm raging inside me. But even in my dreams, I can't escape the reality of my situation. The bakery, my lost job, the uncertain future – they all follow me into my slumber, a reminder that no matter how far I run, I can't outrun my own life.

And so I sleep, caught in the limbo between reality and dreams, between what was and what could have been. It's a place of sorrow and longing, but also of healing and hope. In this space, I'm free to grieve, to mourn what I've lost, but also to dream of what might still be possible.

For now, that's enough. For now, I'll just sleep.

**

The world around me is a haze, my eyelids too heavy to lift. I'm vaguely aware of my surroundings, a feeling of being trapped in my own body. My skin is ablaze, each cell feeling like it's cooking from the inside out. It's an unbearable heat, consuming me whole.

I feel hands, strong and firm, cradling me. Their touch is both comforting and surreal. I'm lifted, held against a chest as hard as rock. It's almost comical, being held like a baby. I want to laugh, but my body refuses to cooperate. I hear murmurs about a temperature, but the voices are muffled, distant.

Who is speaking? I can't tell.

The sensation of floating envelops me, a strange mix of fear and relief. Doors open and close, the world shifts around me, yet I'm still lost in this feverish state. Am I awake, or is this another layer of my dreams?

Suddenly, there's a change in temperature. Cold tile presses against my burning skin, a sharp contrast to the inferno within me. The sound of fabric hitting the floor echoes in my ears, a reminder that reality is still functioning around my fevered body.

My clothes are removed, each piece sliding off, leaving my skin exposed to the air. The relief is momentary, a brief respite from the heat.

Then, I'm being lifted again, skin against skin. The body holding me is solid, radiating a different kind of warmth. We're moving, and water envelops us.

It's a tub, I realize. The water is cool, soothing my scorched skin.

I snuggle closer to the chest supporting me, seeking comfort in this strange embrace.

Could it be Cruz?

There's a stiffness in response to my movements, but slowly, it eases.

Not Cruz. But who?

The body relaxes, and so do I. The tension drains away, leaving me floating in this half-awake, half-dream state.

As I drift closer to sleep, I feel a tender pressure on the top of my head. A kiss? It's a gesture so gentle, so full of care, it makes my heart ache. In this moment, I'm not alone. Someone is here, taking care of me, holding me through this storm.

I let go, allowing sleep to take me again, the cool water and the warm embrace my anchors in a sea of fever and confusion. In this state of half-consciousness, I find a sense of peace, a fleeting moment of safety in the arms of someone whose identity remains a mystery.

In this fevered state, my mind wanders, but it's not filled with fear or sadness. Instead, there's a feeling of being cared for, of not having to face this alone. I cling to the feeling as I succumb to the healing power of rest and the gentle care of unseen hands.

As the cool water laps against my skin, a soothing contrast to the fever burning within me, I realize how much I've come to rely on the guys. They're not just roommates or friends; they've become my family, my support system.

In my most vulnerable moments, like now, they're here for me, offering comfort and care without judgment or hesitation.

Although, I'm still not sure who is holding me. It's familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. But I do know one thing, it's one of my men.

In this home and in these arms, I'm cared for, valued, loved. It's a realization that seeps into my bones, offering a glimmer of light in the darkness of my current state.

I feel the body holding me shift slightly, adjusting to make me more comfortable. The gesture is small, but it speaks volumes. It tells me that I'm not a burden, that my well-being matters. It's a feeling I've longed for, a sense of belonging and being cherished.

Slowly, the world around me fades away, and I'm left with the comforting rhythm of the water and the steady heartbeat of the person holding me. It's a lullaby of sorts, a melody that eases me into a deeper sleep.