Page 65 of Hate Wrecked

“No, this is my fifth read. I don’t know. I feel drawn to it. Every summer I try to read a new book, and I’m pulled back to this one.”

“So I can’t borrow it?” I joke, clutching it to my chest.

Rowan smiled. “You can. Just don’t lose my place. And we can talk about it.”

“A book club for two?” I set the book between us and turned to him.

“If you want.”

“I’ll just get my own copy, and we can read it together.” I would pick up a copy the next time I went to the book store. I was thrilled at the thought of reading something so dear to Rowan, something that excited him.

Rowan placed his hand on the book, picking it up. “They say it’s cursed, and I want to know if it’s true.”

“First hand?” I shook my head. “Why?” Boys. Why were boys like this?

“I know,” Rowan laughed. “It’s morbid. But I hope I’ll make it happen someday—five or ten years from now, probably.”

“Let’s go now,” I offered.

Rowan looked at me, scrunching up his face. “And how would we do that?”

“I have the money. Let’s do it.”

Rowan stood up, placing the book on the table. “No, that’s not how it works.”

“What do you mean? It would be like a gift.” I didn’t know how to show my feelings in any other way then. It was my love language, what was shown to me. If I love you, I will buy you something. If I can’t tell you I love you, I will take you on a trip to an island. Offering it made me feel foolish, but I didn’t know how to show Rowan what he meant to me with words. Words that would result in him telling me I wasn’t allowed to care for him.

It’s why we’d snuck away like this. We’d been skating the line between friendship and more.

It all had to end somewhere; why not go down in flames?

“I can’t accept gifts from you, and if I go there, I want to earn it, not…take advantage of someone. I’m not like the other people in your life.”

“I offered it to you. You wouldn’t be taking advantage of anyone.”

Rowan huffed out a breath. “That’s not how it would look.” The silence stretched, and I could feel it. Questions and wonderings between us, ready to crawl out. He confirmed my feelings. “What is this anyway, Riley?”’

I stood, hands clenched at my side. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you want to come here to my apartment?”

“To see where you live.”

“You knew that would be a…scary experience for me.”

“Is this scary?” I asked. “Am I scary?”

“Kind of, yes.” He crossed his arms, looking around the sparse space.

I walked to him, placed my hands on his clenched fists, and undid the binding of his arms. He looked down at me, and when his eyes softened, I hugged him. I wrapped my arms around him and held him close to me. It’s not what I wanted to do, but it’s as close as I could get. “There’s nothing to be scared of, Rowan. Just come home to me.”

TOUCH HIM EVERYWHERE

RILEY

After a week of nonstop rain,the storms that prevented us from our daily tasks finally relent, leaving behind a world drenched and glistening under the newly emerged sun. The air is thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth, a refreshing change from the musty dampness that filled every corner of our tent in the Hilton—shrouded in darkness. The week spent in the building forced me to relive our past less and our recent interactions more—I saw myself singing, and I heard Rowan admit he wanted me. I lie awake at night, grappling with the reality that none of that matters.

When I want to escape that voice, I turn to the papers in my suitcase: my mother’s book. I hold it close, consumed with wonder, but I never open it. Instead, I write in my journal, capturing every feeling I experienced in that house, in the years that followed, in the hollow.

---