I spent the next week in isolation.

I know, I know. It was a very drama-queen move, I'll admit that. I was just having a hard time processing things.

The sunlight creeped into my room, finding its way through the blinds and into my eyes. It seemed to light the place on fire. I silently glanced at the clock on my sidetable. Almost 12:00 p.m., and I was still in bed.

Not that it really mattered. I stared blankly at the ceiling, cold sweat clinging to my forehead. The cuts in my palms had healed, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the rest of me hadn't. A certain name was ringing in my ears, and it'd been especially dedicated to robbing me of my sleep lately.

Yep. This nightmare marked the seventh in as many days. 

I groaned and rolled onto my side, contemplating the situation. In a few days, it'd be time for the ball. The day before that, I'd be dealing with a whole different issue, one that resurfaced every year, like clockwork. I wasn't looking forward to it. 

And the nightmares weren't helping. I shuddered involuntarily—they were truly horrific. It hadn't been this bad since immediately after the incident, three years ago. I'd thought they'd get better with time, but they were only getting worse. 

Actually, not totally true: I thought they'd get better with distance. 

Specifically, distance from the one person who'd been starring in my dreams—nightmares—for the last seven days straight. Go on. Take a wild guess who I was talking about.

That's right: Haltie. 

What a stupid nickname, I thought, but to my chagrin I still felt a half-smile pulling at my lips.

I reluctantly swung my legs off the bed and yanked the sheets off to throw in the wash. Rather than dwell on the disturbing contents of my latest nightmare, I opted to focus on some more pressing news. Namely, the Evaluation Competition. 

With the drone of the washer in the background, I padded over to my fridge and withdrew a bottle of water. As I took a long draught, my thoughts drifted. The ecomp was in two days. That meant the ball was tomorrow.

I sighed and slammed the fridge door shut. As I turned away, I caught my reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. 

Yikes.

I hadn't exactly been lavishing in self-care these past couple days, so it stood to reason that I'd look less-than-my-best. But this? This was bad. I looked like a troll. How was I supposed to go to a ball looking like I lived under a bridge?

I cast a sidelong glance to my phone, sitting innocently on the counter. It was currently powered off, but the battery was full. I could call Lisa, I thought tentatively. She'd know how to fix this.

But if I did that, then I'd have to . . . talk.

"Ugh," I groaned, flopping onto my couch. The bottle of water rolled out of my hand and onto the floor. "This is stupid. I'm being stupid." My eyes darted again to my phone. "I should just call."

But I didn't. Unable to bring myself to it, I instead busied myself with straightening the place up. I finished the laundry, rearranged the couch cushions, did the dishes, vacuumed, showered . . . basically everything I could do besides touching my phone.

Procrastination is indeed the secret to being productive. Who knew?

Finally, I found myself bent over the counter, nervously studying the block of metal before me. I didn't know what my problem was. 

I'd forgiven Rokim and Lisa about five minutes after I'd come home. They were family, or as close to family as possible. I wasn't that angry about what they did, not really. Sure, the execution was a little flawed, but their intentions were good. And it's not like I was one to talk about making mistakes.

Needless to say, I was done with Vanessa. I'd called her up that day and basically told her not to come round anymore. She didn't really take it well, but I hung up after around the fifth 'fuck you,' so it all worked out.

There was one other person who was bothering me, though. I hadn't seen him in 11 days—yes, I was counting, and yes, I was ashamed of it—but I'd have to see him soon. The ball was tomorrow. I didn't know how I'd handle that, especially considering the fact that he knew about the whole Vanessa thing. At least I'd have another day before I saw him again.

I groaned, putting my head in my hands. My phone sat before me, untouched. Maybe I should just leave the country again, I thought ruefully. It worked the last time. Kinda.

A sharp knock on the door ripped me out of my musings. 

I rapidly glanced around the room, panicked and searching for an escape route. "Ohhh no," I murmured. "Nonononono." 

Of course. Of course someone would come knocking. I should have expected that Lisa or Rokim would have sought me out. They knew how I was. They knew they'd probably have to drag me out the door before I'd contact them voluntarily.

Another loud knock sounded through the room. Whoever it was, they didn't sound too happy. I stared at the entrance apprehensively until they rapped on the wood a third time. 

Might as well get this over with, I thought reluctantly. With yet another groan, I walked over to the door. 

The dark oak seemed to taunt me as I stared at it. It was times like these I wished the door had a peephole, so I could at least rehearse in my head who I'd be apologizing to. Not that I'd be able to reach it. I'm still five foot two.

I took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. One beat passed, then two. On the third, I finally yanked the door open.

And lo and behold, the person who stood there was none other than the last person I wanted to see in the world.

"H-Haltie?" I blurted, dumbfounded.

Rian lifted a brow, one hand raised to knock again. He looked angry. His phone was clenched in his other fist, with the screen still on. 

But I heard an automated female voice saying, 'the person you are trying to reach is unavailable right now' and then I understood, because that voice grated on my nerves and I hated it. Honestly, who didn't?

"Haltie?" he ground out, looking downright murderous. I swallowed nervously. I hadn't meant to say it, but then again, I hadn't expected to see him here.

"Uh . . ." I scrambled for something to say. He just silently stared down at me, anger radiating off him in waves. "Is something wrong?" 

"It's 2 o'clock," he growled. "Where the hell have you been?"

I frowned, regaining some of my wits. "I've been here. Why does it matter?" 

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "Eleven days later and it's like you never even left," he muttered in irritation. 

My frown turned into a scowl. What was his problem?

He opened his eyes again, and those dark irises once again fixed on me. "Prof and I have been trying to get in touch with you," he began stormily. "Your phone's been off."

My eyes widened. "Crap. Did something happen? Is Prof okay?"

Rian nodded tersely. "He's fine. We were calling about the Evaluators' Ball." I sighed in relief, but it was short-lived. "You need to change into your dress," he continued.

"What? Why?"

"There's some dress rehearsal thing Prof planned," Rian said, gripping his phone tighter. My mouth dropped open in horror. "Dance lessons or something. You know, to make sure we don't embarrass ourselves tomorrow." He glanced at his watch annoyedly. "But we seem to have done that already, since we're now late."

"Oh crap," I breathed. It was only then that I took in what he was wearing; a fitted and expensive-looking suit, all in dark tones save for a midnight violet tie. 

I could only admire his appearance for a second before he pushed inside the apartment, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket.

"We need to get you dressed and ready for an appearance with everyone," he muttered, while I was still dumbstruck at the doorway. He picked up the bag with the dress in it and looked inside briefly before handing it to me. "Hanna," he called, pulling me out of my stricken state. "Go put this on."

"Right," I said, finally snapping into action, not even bothering to get mad that he was ordering me around again. "Sure." I headed for my room, but paused at the last second and turned around. "Wait. I need someone to do my makeup."

Rian looked up at me, one eyebrow raised. "You can't do it yourself?"

My cheeks went pink, and I crossed my arms. "Unfortunately not." I wasn't exactly the best at that sort of thing. Whenever I tried, I ended up looking like Cruella de Vil. 

Instead, I reached for my phone, still on the counter. "Let me call Lisa and see if she's available."

Rian stopped my hand. I flinched when I felt his fingers on my wrist, but I didn't pull away. "It's fine," he said. "We don't have the time. I can do your makeup for you."

I paused, letting his words hang in the air, before snorting. "You? You want to do my makeup?"

He rolled his eyes before using his grip on my wrist to yank me forward. I sucked in a breath as I nearly crashed into his chest. "What are you doing?" I protested, but my voice died as he released my wrist and instead moved his hands to my face.

"Hm," he said, examining my upturned features. I looked up at him, half-scared, half-spellbound, as his fingers brushed over my cheeks. "Maybe I'll skip the rouge," he murmured, his warm breath washing over me. "You're looking a little flushed. I wonder why that is?"

His comment made my scowl return. I pushed on his chest, trying to move back, but he wouldn't let me go. Upon seeing my struggle, his eyes focused back on mine in dark amusement. "Have a little faith, Hanna. Weren't you the one who said I could have gone to MIT for my skill as an artist?"

I froze. His mention of that day in my kitchen reminded me of our useless competition. And that, in turn, reminded me of the whole Vanessa fiasco—as well as the fact that Rian knew about it, knew about my weakness and desperation for human connection, even to the point where I'd deluded myself into thinking a snake like Vanessa was my friend. 

It was a sobering thought.

It also gave me the strength to pull away with renewed force. I succeeded this time, and Rian let me go with that darkly enticing smile still on his lips. 

"I'm gonna go put this on," I said, clutching the bag and attempting to hide the wobble in my voice with obstinance. "Call Prof and tell him we're on our way."

"Anything for the belle of the ball," he said sarcastically, throwing in a mock bow. "Try to keep it quick. No need to make us later than we already are." 

I scowled at him one more time before stomping into my room to dress.

Five minutes later, I emerged, freshly perfumed and dressed to the nines. I'd added a few choice pieces of jewelry, and I'd already done my hair after my shower earlier. I was good to go.

Except for one thing, of course.

"Alright, let's do this," I said, swishing over to where Rian had collected all the makeup that had been lying around my apartment. He was leaning against the counter, in his usual arrogant pose that always managed to irritate me. Upon hearing my voice, he turned.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

I smothered a smirk as his eyes roved over my body, drinking in the sight of me in the exquisite dress Lisa had picked out. His gaze wandered all over, and my smugness faded as I caught the undisguised hunger in his face. 

It occurred to me that we were alone, and unlikely to be interrupted since everyone was at this dress-rehearsal. And as good as this dress looked on me now, it just might look even better elsewhere. Say, on the floor.

Rian abruptly cleared his throat, pulling us both out of our reveries. His eyes landed on mine again—as usual, they seemed to see into my very thoughts—and I couldn't hold back a blush. At the very least, he had the decency to look embarrassed. 

"Okay," he said, regaining his composure. He tilted his head to the counter as he busied himself with arranging my makeup. "Sit up here."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with the couch?"

He turned back to me and looked me over again, but with none of the obvious desire he'd displayed earlier. "Not sure you've noticed, but we're not exactly the same height," he said witheringly. My blush deepened, and I glared at him. "The easiest way for me to do this is if we're at eye-level. So," he said, tilting his head to the marble once more, "counter."

I huffed, but marched over anyway. "I assume you don't need me to help lift you up?" he asked smoothly, but the mocking undertones were clear. 

I made a face at him and hopped up onto the counter with ease. "If I ever ask for help from you, you have permission to shoot me."

He chuckled ominously. "Oh?" he asked, lifting a makeup brush. "Then what do you call this?"

"Necessary," I retorted flatly. "You were the one who said not to call Lisa. Now let's get this over with."

He smirked, spinning the brush expertly between his fingers. "Anything for the belle of the ball," he murmured. 

His hands landed on my knees, and I tensed as he moved them aside and stepped between them. 

"I need the right angle," he explained, but I swallowed apprehensively anyway. He was far too close, but it'd only be for a few minutes at most. I could handle it.

He drew nearer, and my eyes fluttered closed as I felt the brush settle on my cheek. "I thought you were going to skip the rouge," I mumbled. 

"As much as I'm sure we'd both enjoy it, I'm not gonna be stuck to your side all day," he responded lowly, the touch of the brush feather-light. "I figure you need something to keep up that blush in the meantime."

"Shut up," I muttered, but my heart was already beating faster. I couldn't tell if it was out of fear or something else—after all, if the nightmares were getting worse, maybe the episodes were too.

We passed the next few minutes in silence. I kept my eyes closed, partially for efficiency's sake, but also because I had a history of being particularly vulnerable to his gaze. Today was not a day to be vulnerable.

Many materials danced over my cheeks, eyelids, mouth. Every so often his fingers would brush over my lip, or slide over my jaw to hold my head in place, and my breath caught a little bit each time. Like this—with my eyes shut, with him touching me, without hatred or regret—it was so easy to imagine that things were different.

But unfortunately, fate wasn't so kind. 

"All finished," Rian announced quietly. I almost lamented having his hands pull away, and as the cold air whooshed in to replace the space where he'd stood, I was tempted to catch him and pull him back to me. I didn't, of course, but it wasn't good that I wanted to.

I opened my eyes. Rian was already packing up the makeup kit and putting it back where he found it. He glanced at his watch and cursed. 

I blinked—that was new. He'd never used profanity once in the past couple weeks. Now that I thought about it, he'd changed quite a bit since I'd returned from France. He was still cold, but not as stiff or unforgivably formal. To my chagrin, I realized I liked it.

"We're late," he muttered, moving quickly. "We're so late."

"Shit," I murmured. "Sorry. I should have kept my phone on."

"Yes, you should have," he replied irritably. I rolled my eyes a little. Was a graceful acceptance of my apology too much to ask?

My thoughts were interrupted by the sensation of his hand sliding into mine. I looked down in shock, then back at up at him, but he was already tugging me towards the door. He gave me a brief, impassive glance as he rushed us out of the apartment.

"But the lateness is my fault," he continued grudgingly, grabbing one of my nicer coats off the stand. I blinked in surprise. "I took too long with the cosmetics. When we get there I'll take the blame."

We were well on our way to the elevators now. Both my eyebrows were raised, and I hid the beginnings of a smile. Was Rian—Rian, of all people—trying to be nice? "We'll both take the blame," I said firmly.

The doors slid open and we stepped inside. He gave me another sidelong glance, then rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised? You love to argue."

"So do you," I retorted, pressing the button for ground floor. It hadn't escaped me that our hands were still intertwined, and I was nervously waiting for a pang to rip through my chest. But nothing came.

The doors dinged open and Rian strode out, pulling me with him as we exited the building. I stumbled in my heels—Prada, ironically—and he finally seemed to notice the glaring disparity in our leg length. He slowed down and stopped near the curb.

"Put this on," he commanded, swinging my coat over my shoulders. I shrugged it on, noticing that we were catching a few eyes on the crowded sidewalk. It occurred to me that I didn't even know what my makeup looked like. I hadn't had time to check my reflection before Rian dragged us out of the apartment. 

"Do you have a mirror?" I asked distractedly, looking for my phone.

"You don't need one, trust me," he said, hailing down a taxi. I frowned, unsure what he meant, but forgot to ask as I caught a woman eyeing our cab and edging closer to it. 

"Oh hell no," I growled, ushering Rian inside the car. I gave the woman the stinkeye before shutting the door in her affronted face. "Animals, all of them," I muttered.

Rian gave the driver the address and we pulled away from the curb. I leaned forward curiously. "So where exactly is this dress rehearsal thing?" I asked.

Rian stiffened, seeming to remember something unpleasant. I frowned as I saw his demeanor shift, closing back up into that familiar cold fortress. He shifted away from me, and that pang I'd been waiting for shot through my side. 

"We're going to Branbury Hall."

I froze, realizing why Rian had tensed up. An awful dread descended over me, and I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. 

Branbury Hall was only a block away from where the incident had taken place.

It was more a community centre than a banquet hall, and I used to go there all the time. Rian did too. But I hadn't laid eyes on it in three years, and I wasn't sure if I could. Especially not today, without any warning. With him.

"I see," I murmured, strangely feeling like I ought to be at McDonald's—that was the only reason so many painful memories should be flowing through me so quickly. But I'd be there soon enough—tomorrow. For now, I was stuck here.

I leaned back against the leather seat and looked out the window. Rian didn't say another word, and neither did I. It seemed that whatever progress we'd made today was gone, because the trip went by in silence.

Ten minutes later, and we were there. Another pang tore through my right side, but I suppressed it. I'd need all my focus for this, especially with Rian at my side.

Today wasn't a day to be vulnerable, after all.