[Book #2 in the Nystrom series]
[18+TW: mature content, heavy topics, language]
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 close...
I apologize for leaving you on a cliffhanger the last chapter, I can't promise to never do it again though ;)
Don't forget to vote, comment, follow and share!
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ROWAN'S POV
Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word—something George Raymond Martin wrote that I didn't think I'd experience. I was wrong.
It seems like a bomb is going off in my heart when she says those three words, and I need to control myself because they are going to be the reason I die. She says it like a thief trying to avoid being caught. She is going to be the cause of my death, and I don't care.
"What–" My hand moves to my chest to rub the skin while I try to speak, but my heart is beating too quickly for my own good due to her. "What do you mean by that?"
She doesn't say anything, but as she pulls out a book, I can see her stifling the sobs that are trying to escape her lovely lips. I frown at the reason she's giving it to me, but as soon as I flip it open, I see a picture of the two of us when we were little.
As soon as I understood what she meant when she said she remembered me, I found it difficult to breathe.
"How did you remember..." I manage to ask her but even then my voice trembles. "I started remembering when I read this diary and then when I...when we–" She stops talking and I watch her cheeks grow a slight shade of pink and I try to suppress my smile.
"Why did you not tell me sooner?" Amaya murmurs, and I want to hug her and cry because she remembers me. I am no longer simply the one who hurt her and I am no longer the one who she should be hating. "Would you believe me if I did?"
As my hand approaches her face, her face begins to get red with every single movement I make. I know she is acting this way because she has to be getting anxious now that she knows I have known her for pretty much our whole lives.
"No," She mumbles the truth before her eyes eventually connect with mine, at which point she turns away from me as if it had just hit her and as if she was numb and experiencing too many different feelings at once.
Her chest rises and falls at such a rapid rate that it worries me as I watch her eyes travel to everything in the hotel room except for me. She shakes her head. "I am so confused, where are my pills. Am I going insane?"
Just when she is going to pick up her bag, this time when I hold her wrist, she doesn't try to pull her hand away. Instead, she just gives my hand a fascinated glance. She looks at it as if she is standing before a God—as if she is meeting a famous artist for the first time.
She looks to be on the verge of falling in love. And that—that thought makes me feel like someone is burning off my skin, consumes my heart, and kills me.
