Divergent souls || 2

Twenty six

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX ⇆ ANGELINA
"We should drink something first for this." Rowan says, motioning at the kitchen, I swallow the lump in my throat, ignoring the way my stomach is on the verge of flipping.

He's staying with me tonight, in my apartment, due to my lack of phone, so whether this talk goes well or not, I'm going to have to face the consequence of it tomorrow.

I stand up, abandoning the seat I was trying to get comfortable in but failed, miserably actually, I grab a bottle of champagne and pour some for me, I do the same with red wine for Rowan, since that's the only thing he drinks other than whiskey.

When I come back I place both of the glasses in front of us, sit back down, trying to calm my erratic heartbeats in my chest, trying to ignore the resentment toward him that's still lingering at the bottom of my mind.

Just shoved deep due to last week's incident, or maybe that's what I'm thinking, Rowan is the reason behind the ongoing depression I had, I didn't get out of it until last year of college.

Rowan fucked up a whole bunch of years in my life, and a week full of familiar sickeningly beautiful moments isn't going to erase that, why am I reminding myself? For the sake of not getting that disappointment rushing through my body, heating it up, and building self hatred through my mind.

That I don't need, "Where will we start?" He offers after a beat, his voice isn't near the playful tone he'd throw, it's full of tension I'm feeling in the tightness of my muscles.

"When it all happened." I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my messed hair, the gesture giving off the anxiety I'm feeling prickling all over my skin, "I just want to say something." He holds up his hand, as if to defend himself.

God, I don't have a good feeling about this, "Go on." I gulp, he looks directly in my eyes, "You're not always in the right. And I'm not the villain." He states and i glare, genuinely feeling anger boils in my veins.

"Look at how you're starting it, Rowan, you made a mistake and you're trying to explain what you did, don't try to make it more beautiful, you're not innocent." I let out in one go, unable to contain my feelings, the feelings I've tried to suppress for years.

He narrows his eyes, frustration filling his features, maybe even anger I can't decide what's this about, when he stays silent, my tongue betrays me, and everything I've kept bubbled up inside of me unravels, just like that.

All years of self-control and faking calmness when I wasn't feeling it are being crumbled all over the floor.

"Don't try to sound innocent because you're not, not even close to that, if someone here is then it's gonna be me, but I don't like looking at things from this side, it's pathetic." My words are harsh, but they're genuine, just like most of the stuff I throw in his face.

His expression twists in something I can't explain but he lets me ramble on, "I'm the one who didn't give up on you even after the main incident, even after I came to you because I needed you, and well—you did what you did, I still kept texting you when you didn't show up at school, I still called you daily, even when my calls stayed unanswered, and when all this kept failing I still had hope, that you'd come back to me." I choke out, inhaling harsh breaths after this.

It feels as if I just poured my whole heart out, an empty hole dulls in my chest, not the relief I expected, "But you didn't, did that make me stop? No I kept going on for a month, and 6 whole days, I sent you letters when your phone failed me, guess where those are? Boom, gone." I mock, laughing bitterly.

His brows pull together, "What letters?" He asks and I shrug, exaggeratedly, "Why would this specifically matter? They're probably rotting in your mailbox now." I smile again, nothing about this is funny, but it feels good.