DAWNING POINT (AgeTabooRomance)

Chapter 17 (Updated)

NOTE: I edited this chapter on October 7th, so if you read Chapter 17 before said date, I suggest re-reading the updated version so later chapters make sense. I made minor changes to the script and plot. Thanks!

Warning: This chapter contains mature content with descriptive explicit/sexual themes. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with written personal or explorative sexuality.

Author's note: Hi guys! I hate not getting time to write, but also I didn't want to give you half-assed crap, either. A big part of stories to me is being in the head of the character, writing their own exploration both mentally and physically, and honouring early experiences we can all relate to as young adults. Please vote, comment, and tell your friends if you enjoy the read. I would love to know what you guys think! There is so much more to come. Happy reading!! xo

***

Weeks. That's how long it had been. Weeks.

Weeks since Margot's birthday party. Weeks since the night Manning and I were consumed in the midst of our... entanglement, of sorts. Weeks since he and I shared that heated and wholly irrevocable moment, one I could only comprehend as an eruption of suppressed emotions and something else no longer dormant. Too many weeks since I sighted that man's hate searing, pain promising, heat lingering eyes...

Weeks.

It wasn't sure what I'd expected. Certainly not some random phone call or text or strange meet up as if I assumed some bullshit explanation at length. But I guess I expected something. Anything. More yelling, possibly? A scolding, perhaps...?

Nope. I got nothing.

I should have been relieved. Ecstatic that that mindfuck of a man was finally out of my way; what was that saying I'd heard once? Out of sight, out of mind...? But as it turned out, out of sight only made for a wandering mind, filled with what ifs, how comes and asinine assumptions a plenty. Like, what if the man didn't hate me at all? How come I saw a person the world clearly couldn't see? And why did he drop the thin veneer of composure he wore like a vest with me of all people? Had he been drinking? He had to have been– I remembered tasting the whisky on his breath–

I tasted the man's breath.

And Manning. Manning's scent. Manning's lips. Manning's tongue. Manning's–

What ifs. How comes. Questions without answers. Actions without motives.

I shook these rocks around in my head, feeling the swelling every time I recalled. If only one thing was for sure, at least, the man was most certainly a temperamental asshat.

A simple acknowledgement in passing that what happened between us was wrong and twisted and a total lapse in judgement would have sufficed well enough. A mixture of irrational feelings leant for the purpose of my injury–which had almost healed up now, the shadow of a permanent scar forming– and misdirected sympathy were reasonable explanations, right? In any case, instead of accepting our kiss as the meaningless, fruitless misunderstanding it was, Manning had apparently decided that I, Isla Harten, no longer existed.

The man was nowhere to be found. He wasn't at Kallum's and Drew's. He wasn't at The Harbour. Couldn't be spotted at the grocery store or the coastal beaches or at any of the Dawning fuel stations or Pointcliffe–not that I was looking for him or anything–and his black Silverado hadn't appeared on the roads.

Bastard, I thought, remembering that rainy night he'd taken me home in his truck against my will. Well, against half of my will, really.