[Book #2 in the Nystrom series.]
[Check tws before reading]
[Dual pov]
I push the feeling away and ultimately concentrate my gaze on his upper body, which still bears the traces of my lipstick. "You did not remove them?" He smirks and closes the boo...
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- AMAYA'S POV -
I put on my helmet, which I rarely use, and get on my motorcycle, and for some strange reason, as soon as I do, my limbs start to shake. If there is an outage, Adams—fuck it—Rowan's electricity is also out of service. I am the one who can truly understand how it feels to face your greatest fear.
As I race off, everything around me blurs while I ignore the water raining down on my body and soaking my hair. He hates me, I know I should not help him. I do, however, want to help him.
My knuckles turn white as I pass the few cars on the road at a speed most likely way past the speed limit. I glance down and almost as if to confirm my assumption the speedometer starts to go crazy.
I almost leap off my motorcycle when I stop driving, switching the engine off, and letting out a little sigh as his house comes into view. I take off my helmet and go through my pockets, looking for a hairpin. I came prepared.
When I notice that there are no lights on, I dash to his front door and crouch down to pick the lock. I almost smile as I hear the door click, opening the door. I barely manage to restrain myself from running inside while I let the door slam behind me.
I let my helmet fall to the ground, and Rain immediately runs over to me while barking hysterically. She turns around as soon as she notices me, which I take as permission for me to follow her.
She brings me into the living room, where my eyes slowly wander over a seated figure with his legs pulled against his chest but I can not see his face.
Instantly, I find myself running in his direction and lowering myself in front of him. "Rowan," I attempted to reach out to him with a whisper when his head whips up and he flinches. He has red bloodshot eyes, and his breathing seems to be the fastest I have ever witnessed.
"Don't touch me," He pleads. "Please, just don't touch me."
My lungs are blocked from breathing and he looks lost—as if he does not realize I am here to help him.
"Where did you put the candles and the lighters, Rowan," I ask him and his eyebrows furrow, he looks like he is about to pass out. "The lighters, Rowan. Tell me where they are."
"My room... Why?" Rowan mumbles weakly and I stand up, running up the stairs and into his room.
My mind is clouded by confusion and I know what I am about to do, but I still open his drawers in a hurry, searching for the candles and the lighters. I feel sick to my stomach just looking at them—it's like someone is twisting my limbs until they become rubber bands.
