Divergent souls || 2

Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN ⇆ ANGELINA
"No, Rowan." I insist weakly, holding up a finger, "Just let me." He offers lightly, wiggling his brows and my body seems to relax at the return of his playful way.

Am I going crazy?

It's definitely cause I'm sick, speaking of that, that's exactly why Rowan is currently insisting on making me dinner, at midnight, "I can't eat right now." I explain, voice tight, he narrows his eyes and turns, "That's why?" He asks with an arch of his brow.

"My agent will kill me." I explain and his jaw ticks, "I don't give a fuck, you need to eat and I'm feeding you." He holds up a fork in my direction and places a pan on the top, "With burnt food?" Rowan is awful at cooking, he tried to bake with me once and the cake turned out black.

And it was a vanilla cake.

"With anything, be grateful." He points out, I cough, feeling my throat clamping down, he approaches me in a second, holding me upright as I straighten, "Here, drink." He passes me a bottle of water.

I gulp down half of it, feeling my lungs relax, I've been coughing too goddam much lately it's tiring, it happens a lot when I'm running too, "You have a fever." Rowan suddenly says and my brows furrow.

Shaking my head repeatedly, "No I don't." I insist and he places a hand on my forehead, nodding over and over before opening my right drawer and shoving the thermometer in my lips.

I sigh, looking up at him, I feel a tightness in my chest that I can't explain, it's a build up of emotions I've been feeling for so long, so long I can't even remember when it initially happened.

Moments pass before he retrieves the thermometer, "Thirty eight, not severe but you have a fucking fever." He states in a gruff tone, "Why are you being so grumpy? It's not my fault that I'm sick." I protest, but breathe out when I notice my energy burning up.

He must notice because his glare thickens, "It's mine though." He grits out from between his teeth, guilt clear in his voice, a part of me wants to reach out and assure him, but the other part is emotionally drained and full of trust issues.

Of possibilities that I've experienced before.

"How?" I find myself asking when he doesn't offer a clarification, his jaw ticks, and he looks into my eyes, "I didn't keep an eye one you, I was—in my fucking thoughts." He explains with tightness in his voice.

"You're not my father." I protest with annoyance, with weak annoyance, he narrows his eyes, "Just because I care about you doesn't mean that I'm your fucking father." He explains with frustration.

"Brother then." I shrug dryly, "Im not your fucking brother." He snarls almost instantly, the corners of my lips lift at his irritation, "What's up with including 'fucking' in every single sentence?" I question, genuinely.

Arching a brow as I search his face for an answer, he doesn't usually show this side of him, the angry—human side for the matter, "You and Elias have this lovely trait of correcting my way of talking, huh?" He jokes but his voice isn't playful.

"Rowan." I almost yell, my throat shuts off and I cough again, guilt eats up his features and he sits beside me on the bed, there's nothing I hate more than sitting like this, helpless.

"I'm fucking sorry okay, my mind is—just messy, I didn't mean to lash out on you." I absorb his words slowly and nod after a beat, letting what he just said settle in my mind.

A part of me is screaming at me internally as I speak but I can't help it, "You can talk." I blurt out and his eyes snap up to mine, surprise and uncertainty in them.

"To me." I add in a lower tone, breathing out and feeling a pressure get off my chest as I wait for him to reply, he clears his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he does so.

"Just the usual." He shrugs, plasters a weak forged smile over his face, whatever look he sees on my face makes it fall though, he pinches his eyes momentarily, "Let's just move on." He starts and doesn't even give me time to absorb his words before he stands up and leaves the room.

"Rowan." I yell, fucking asshole, I throw the blanket off me and get in my slippers as I walk toward the living room, he's stubborn, and I sure as fuck am too.

He's standing in front of the window, cigarette lit between his lips, and his other hand casually in his left pocket, his side side profile enhanced beneath the dim light of my apartment.

He notices my presence almost instantly and turns, his jaw ticks while his eyes soften further, "You need to rest." He says gently, his voice soothing and calm, unlike the fire erupting in his expression.

"I need you to let whatever it is that's inside of you out so that I can rest." It's a subpar manipulative technique but hopefully it'll work, he glares, it's working then, "Okay, but rest first, let's go inside." He starts and puts off his cigarette.

I repeatedly cough when he comes near me, I've always had sensitive lungs but it's becoming unbearable nowadays, he instantly grabs a bottle from the counter and passes it to me.

I gulp down the water and breathe, before we both sit on the couch, "Where do you keep your medicines?" He asks after a beat and i gesture toward a specific drawer.

Beats pass and he places a paracetamol pill in my hand, I gulp it down with the earlier water again and look up at him, "It's my father alright, he's been giving me shit about the deal, because there's an upcoming event." He explains and my stomach dims.

Slight guilt spreading through my body, I don't owe him anything, I need to remind myself that, I clear my throat awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck, "I agree." I let out calmly.

Raising my eyes to meet his in a strong gaze, shock courses in them, "What do you mean?" He starts, uncertainty clear in his tone, "I agree to your deal, it'll help me, with my modeling career of course." I feel the need to add.

He lets out a humorless laugh at first.

And then his face breaks into a smile, "I almost gave up." He splutters and I can't help the smile that stretches softly over my face, as it makes his widen.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"Thank you." I say under my breath as I shove another spoonful of the soup Rowan made, "Did my cooking abilities get better?" He asks teasingly, I nod, shrugging, "It's something." I raise an eyebrow.

Moments pass and I place it away, tugging the blanket tighter to me, I have a feeling that my fever is spiking but maybe I'm hallucinating.

We're sitting on the couch, it's huge, I bought it for the exact reason, that our crazy friend group needs this much space, "Do you want to watch something?" He offers lightly and i perk at the question.

But then force myself to hide the excitement, it's something I've always did, for some unknown reason though, "How about pride and prejudice?" I suggest,

It's my favorite movie, always have been and always will, even though the book is better, except for that line where Darcy confesses his love to her that they removed, it's annoying though.

"What is that? please don't tell me it's a classic." He starts and my glare is enough to tell him what he doesn't want to know, "Is it a book?" He asks, the question sparks a light in my stomach but I dim it off.

"Yes." I reply, he sighs exaggeratedly, "Fine, whatever you want, my lady." He teases and I narrow my eyes at the tone he just used, "Ignore that." He adds a moment later.

He eventually turns on Pride and prejudice, and we spend what's left of the night together, both of us quiet, but it's comforting, it's safer than anything I've ever felt before.

And that feeling is scaring me.

It's terrifying.

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I just started school so my schedule is messed up a bit, I'll get back to posting daily in a couple of days when I settle things down 🩷