[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...
We're already at chptr 40, it's like it was just the intro a few days ago 😭
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AMAYAS POV
"Do you think she hates me now?" I whisper, talking about Ivy to Rowan who just got into bed too, but I have no idea how I will be able to sleep after everything that has happened today.
With his body to me and his hand reaching for my hair, Rowan tilts his head as he lays on his side and gently pushes a piece of hair out of my face. "Of course she won't hate you. She just needs some time, it's not a normal thing that happened today." He comforts me and I nod, but even with his reassurance, I cannot seem to stop my mind from wandering back to Ivy and her father.
Her father who I murdered, and it is not like I can lie about it—she knows what happened, and I know that maybe I should not feel guilty about it—but the manner in which I fired the gun without even considering Ivy causes guilt to nag in the back of my mind.
"Try to stop worrying about the situation too much and get some sleep, love." My throat still seems like it is becoming smaller with each breath I take, even after all he said, so I turn around on the bed so that my back is toward him.
"Amaya," I hear him call my name from behind me, and it jolts me out of my pessimistic thoughts, nearly like a train would wake you from a dream or a free fall would wake you from sleeping. "Mhm?" I hum, still not sparing him a single glance. I cannot, I cannot—I cannot look at him, not right now.
"Turn around," He tells me before he adds, "Please."
I let out a sigh but shook my head even though I have no idea whether he caught it or not. "I do not want to turn around." As my voice breaks like a glass hitting the ground, I mentally scream at myself, which only makes me clutch the enormous blanket covering my body even tighter—too tight till I can feel the way my hands cramp.
"Why?" Rowan whispers, his voice too gentle for someone like me. Even though we knew each other since childhood and he has seen me cry too many times to even count them, I cannot bring myself to do it now. He always considers me a strong, independent woman.
But right now, I am everything but strong—I am just a woman living in a world where men who appear to be considerate and kind are actually just cars that like driving through red lights. I am a woman who was once a young girl, and yet even then, men could not divert attention—being a woman ought to be a gift rather than something you wished you were not because of the people in your life as you lie in bed.
"Because I am tired, nothing more." I mumble, wiping away the tear that made its way down my cheek and yet even with my many tries, Rowan Adams does not back down that quick, not with me, never with me.
