I n d o м ι т a в l e

(11)

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"It was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together...and I knew it."

― Tom Hanks

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{Chapter: 11}

Unedited ✖

{ A S P E N M O N T G O M E R Y }

I move the food around my plate in silence, taking a small bite ever few minutes. The chicken is cooked to perfection, brown in all the right places and the mash potato's have a perfect milky texture with brown gravy spilling over the sides. The green bean casserole, although is left overs, still tastes amazing.

But even the delicious food can't calm my inner turmoil. My thoughts are scrambled in a knotted mess of yarn inside my brain and I can't seem to find the correct string to pull that undoes the huge clutter.

Nicholai sits opposite of me scarfing down his food like a dog, no pun intended. After our little talk I decided I was hungry again and after hearing my obnoxious stomach grumbles Nicholai decided to cook some food and dang, is it good.

His experience in the kitchen surprised me and when I'd asked him how he learned to cook so well he answered, "I've been doing it for a long time."

I shrugged and thought no more about it.

I'm abnormally calm about the situation, Nicholai must have thought the same because he's been sending me odd looks all evening. But I don't really care.

I'm to the point where I feel so much I feel nothing at all. Numb. But it's a good kind of numb. I'm just not looking forward to the moment when everything begins to make itself painfully known again. I need time to think about everything, and I can't very well do that with a muscular werewolf sitting across from me, distracting me because since when did eating like an animal become so incredibly attractive?

And, ah, that's another thing; I'm not quite sure how I'm feeling about all these tingly, gooey feelings. A blush threatens to fill my cheeks once again as I recall his earlier words, the 'sexual tension'.

Every time I'm within even ten feet of him, an electric shock runs down my spine, my stomach twists into a cherry knot and, when his fingers brush against my bare skin, my goodness I have no words.

The feelings are foreign, and I've made a decision to ignore them the best I can. It's nothing, I tell myself. How could it be anything but nothing? I've barely known him for a week and I'm already week at the knees. Must be a mate thing.

Mate.

I'm a mate to a werewolf. If mom cold see me now, I think to myself dryly. Mom knew how much I loved fantasy books, especially werewolves. How ironic.

The thought of my mother brings another shot of something painful and I try to push it back down. I can't think about this right now. I've shed so many tears and I have no doubt in my mind that if I dwell on the subject for too long the flood gates will open.

I can't recall ever seeing my sister cry. I knew she wanted to, but she disappeared right after the funeral before I could say or see anything. We were much alike in that sense, never wanting to reveal the weaker side of ourselves.

I remember how hard it was keeping my cool the day she was buried. Staying calm during a funeral, especially your mothers, proves to be the worst and most painful experience I've ever had. And that's saying something given I've had to put up with my father for sometime now.