Chapter 11

 

Nathan never brought up my declaration in the following weeks. At least not in words. Sometimes I caught his expression flicker, like he was thinking about what I told him—about being his. It faded as soon as it showed up, and I figured that the thought of it made him edgy.

Every day, his agitation grew. It was subtle, hiding in his perfected act, so most people didn’t notice, but I knew him better than they did. His fingers combed and tugged at his hair and neck more often, his leg bounced in an increasing tempo, and his fuse became shorter.

All in all, he was a ticking time bomb.

His nightmares shook the bed almost every night. His grip was bone crushing as he clung to me, trying to keep it all in. I soothed him as best I could, but I knew it would take more than me to fix him. He needed to let it all out, not keep it in. Purge himself of the emotions he kept tightly locked away. Pot calling the kettle, coming from me, but his pain was earth shattering compared to my own.