Rowan told me he has one half-brother and then his parents—no other close family. And he never mentioned having friends.
Definitely not any young, hot friends who take showers at his house, wearing what I’m pretty sure werehisclothes, and lounge around without their bras on.
Of course he would have other options. I mean,lookat the guy. And he never said we were exclusive anyway. I just…
“But I’m serious about you. Really serious…”
I guess our definitions ofseriousare different, too. Because my definition doesn’t include fucking other people.
That ache in my chest—the one that went from something I could bathe myself in and turned into something irrational and angry? Now it is a destructive sadness that is swallowing me whole.
I can feel it in every inch of my skin, in the very depths of my soul. I’ve known this man for less than three weeks, and I already know that this heartbreak will hurt me worse than any singular other thing in my entire life.
I’m fucking pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
Not only because I thought I could hold onto a guy like Rowan, but because I finally found a way tofeelsomething, and this is where I end up.
Stupid, traitorous heart; I simply would rather it never started beating than for it to have started for him.
Saturday night I would have smiled and giggled at the mere thought of Rowan Avery Alexander. But now… fuck.
I’m an easy target, being as inexperienced as I am when it comes to emotion. Did he know that? Could he smell it on me?
Maybe John had it wrong, and the locals were the smart ones all along.
And yet, as I shower and ready myself for a sleepless night, I crave him even still. I find it impossible to imagine him so vicious and malicious. I didn’t think that was in his nature.
But is this just another side effect of my lack of emotional intelligence? Am I only sitting here, hoping and praying for a viable explanation—or reallyanyexplanation—so that I can forgive him and continue on this charade, all because my fucked-up heart is settling for the one person who’s stirred it?
Maybe these feelings were never a crush or love.
Maybe they reallywerea warning sign—a misread neurotransmitter from my brain to my heart.
That is something I’d fuck up after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Rowan
The steam crowding my bathroom makes it impossible to see my own reflection, but that’s alright. I’m not too desperate to catch a glimpse anyway.
To put it plainly: I’m fucking exhausted, and I’m sure I look it too.
I’ve been communicating heavily with a bird reserve in South Carolina for the past two days, and the requests they’re making of me feel more outlandish each day.
I have no desire to travel to the East Coast. Nor do I have any desire to hop into another big project, such as helping document photos for a huge bird reserve.
Don’t get me wrong—what they do is admirable. But can’t I catch a damn break?!
Outside of those tedious calls and emails, I’ve also been dealing with Marissa’s surprise visit to Fort Myers, as well as my extracurricular hobby of following Elijah around and taking photos of him.
Or Iwasenjoying it until Marissa flew in yesterday morning and I had to put the camera down.
On the bright side, I have a few new photos of him hanging on my corkboard. On the not-so-bright side? Marissa saw the corkboard.
When she called to say she had landed, I was shocked and rushed enough to forget all about it, so by the time I brought her home it was too late to hide my paraphernalia.
Marissa most definitely called me a stalker and threatened a therapist and potentially legal action—but after hearing that we’re semi-dating and that all I do is take photos of himin public, she dropped it. Although I do think her opinion of me may have changed just a bit.
