Dusk (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 33 - Cold

TW: addiction, talk of suicide (please please please don't read if this will be harmful to your mental health.)

I'll be more specific- slight idolization of suicide by a character that is not Evan or Rowan, is not thought about in first person but discussed verbally.

***

The early morning rays of sunlight were slowly brightening the room, and my eyes felt like they were being weighed down by lead. Rowan had been gone for hours.

I worried for him. The expression on his face when he'd left had been one of fatigue, frustration. I wondered whose mess he was cleaning up, and if it would ever end for him.

I turned on my side, the bed was colder than it'd been earlier, when he'd been in it. I still hadn't fully given thought to what our night together would mean, for me- for him. I was scared to think about it, because the longer I did the more I realized it probably wouldn't lead to anything. Rowan seemed to have acted instinctively, and I knew he was dealing with a lot. I was only adding more stress, having him pick and choose what he could and couldn't tell me.

He was even dealing with my problems too. He'd helped me after both nights with Ray, come to my house after I'd found the red-stained paper... my hands covered my face and I rubbed my eyes hard in frustration. I realized how selfish I was being, only thinking about what I wanted.

My tired gaze wandered to Rowan's bedside again. It was the same as it'd been the night before- supporting two bottles of water, a reading lamp and a neatly stacked pile of books.

I scanned through the titles again, before my eyes rested on one that looked older, worn out. I glanced at the closed door before reaching for it, gently pulling it from the center of the stack.

Unbroken Brain: A Revolutionary New Way of Understanding Addiction by Maia Szalavitz.

The pages were ruffled at the bottom corner, like the book had fallen- or gotten thrown at something solid. I flipped it in my hands, the over-read paper feeling fragile in my fingers, as if one forceful flip could be their last.

Sorrow trickled through me at the realization that this was Rowan's most read book. The others had whiter pages, less creased edges. I turned the book over again and flipped to a random page without thinking.

I paused as heat slowly made it to my face, I shouldn't... I shouldn't have opened it. The pages were heavily annotated, Rowan's frantic handwriting scribbled along almost every line, circling certain words, phrases, crossing some out. He'd written in different colors, sometimes pencil, crossed his old words out, writing doesn't work next to earlier drawn question marks.

It was all very... personal. Private. I snapped the book back shut, I didn't want to see any more. I felt a strong rush of shame at the understanding that I'd just heavily invaded Rowan's privacy.

I slipped the book back to where it'd been before and laid back down on the sheets, covering my face with my hands.

I thought of Rowan, sitting in that exact bed and reading that book, over and over again. Searching for answers- searching for anything on how to put his family back together.

***

"Evan," there was a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I curled further into the sheets. They smelled like him. I wanted to ask what cologne he wore so I could buy some for myself, keep a bottle that'd bring me comfort.

I made an incoherent sound in response, and the hand traveled to my side, fingers softly dragging against my back.

"Evan, let's get you some food."