Page 51 of Wounded


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There’re only a few more weeks left here, but this needs to end before that. To save Rowan the hurt I know I’d cause him otherwise.

Speaking of Rowan, rubbing his face into the pillow below him, he starts to stir. I’m always up before him, so I’m not surprised he slept in. He rolls onto his back, pillow lines all over the side of his face, arms raised over his head as his body contorts with a lengthy stretch. The softest of sighs echoes from him, the noise redirecting the blood in my body below the waist, and when he peels one eye open, and it lands on me, a sleepy grin tugs on his full, pink lips, twisting something inside my chest.

“Morning,” he mumbles with a sleep thickened voice.

With a smile I know looks forced, I say, “G’morning.”

Rowan’s stomach rumbles loudly, making him chuckle and rub his belly. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” I quip. “I’ve never met someone who can eat the minute they wake up like you can. It’s not normal.”

He bats his long, black lashes at me, biting down on his bottom lip. “I’m a growing boy,” he says in a too-sultry tone, accentuating his point by sliding his hand down under the covers, gripping what I can tell is his morning wood. Like I said, he’s always hungry… in more ways than one.

Rolling my eyes, I climb out of bed before he can start anything. “Then get dressed. Let’s get some food.”

I don’t miss the way his face falls when he realizes I won’t fuck him. It’s not that I don’t want to. Fucking around with Rowan has been fun, but with the impending darkness comes a disinterest in a lot of things that normally bring me satisfaction. Sex being one of them. The idea of putting effort intoanythingsounds horrible and daunting. Rowan would be better off leaving me alone during this time, however long it lasts.

After he pouts for a few moments, he finally throws off the covers and pulls some clothes on. He doesn’t say anything, not even when we head downstairs, but I know he wants to. I can feel it coming off him in waves. Rowan doesn’t seem angry by any means, but I know he’s bothered, and he isn’t one to keep quiet about shit like that.

The restaurant isn’t too busy, and we get seated right away. Food is the last fucking thing I want right now, nothing sounding good, but I could use some coffee. I’m not fucking sleeping well, and it’s starting to show with how sluggish I feel.

The dread in my gut… it grows and grows. Heavy. Toxic. Unavoidable.

I hate this feeling, the one I know is on the horizon. What I hate more than that, though, is that I know it’s coming, and I can’t do a single fucking thing to stop it.

CHAPTERTWENTY

Rowan

Something’s up with Caspian.

I felt the shift the moment I woke up this morning. And now, glancing across the table at him, where he won’t even look at or talk to me, I can feel it in spades. He’s sick of me, I think.

We’ve been having fun over the last few days. Hanging out, going down to the waterfalls, smoking, listening to music. Fooling around. He even let me sleep in his room. But he’s losing interest. I can see it with my own eyes.

My palms are clammy, and my heart races a mile a minute the longer we sit here without saying anything. We ordered breakfast a few minutes ago. Well, I ordered breakfast. He ordered black coffee.Gross.

He’s barely said more than three sentences to me since I woke up. I have to fix this. Make him not want to get rid of me.

My food comes. It smells so good. I got the French toast. I always get that. With scrambled, cheesy eggs, bacon—extra crispy—and a nice large glass of chocolate milk. Caspian told me I ate like a child a few weeks ago. He said it with a smirk on his face and endearment in his eyes. Like he thought it was cute.

Now, though? He looks at my plate with disgust before his blank eyes stare off somewhere behind me.

My stomach sinks.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, hating how my voice comes out shaky.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t even glance up at me.

“Are you sure?” I press. “You seem a little off. Did I do something?”

His gaze finally slides to meet mine. “I’m fine,” he repeats, harsher this time. “You didn’t do anything, Rowan. Not everything is about you.”

Ouch.That stings.

“Okay…” I pop a piece of bacon into my mouth, trying to will away the pressure building behind my eyes. Why am I so emotional right now? He said I didn’t do anything wrong. So, why don’t I believe him?

Because he doesn’t want you. You’re annoying him.