A Runaway Mate

Chapter Twenty.

Rebel’s Point of View.

 

 

            Standing in front of Finn’s door, my heart berated in my chest at a painful rate. I would have to reject Finn, the only boy I’ve ever truly loved. He’ll be safe, and that made me feel better to what I was about to do. He wouldn’t be dragged into my mess.

            Knocking lightly on the door, I walked in. Finn sat at his desk, shuffling through papers but paused to peer over his shoulder at me.

            “That better be homework,” I joked, closing the door slowly behind me.

            He smiled, a smile that lit up his face and caused the corners of his eyes to come together. I was a smile I was going to miss. “You were taking a while so I decided that I should do some work.”

            I nodded, plopping down on the bed. My nerves spiked in my body, running over my skin. “Finn, can we talk?”

            Finn looked over at me, rolling the chair so he sat in front of me. The same smile appeared, but when he was near I watched as his eyebrows twitched with confusion. He could feel my emotions. He swallowed, his hands finding mine.   

            I stared at our conjoined hands, my thumb running over the back of his hands. “You’ve always been curious about my past, right?” I asked. “Like, always asking about my mom and dad. Where I came from. Why?”

            “Yeah,” he said, growing suspicious.

            “Well, um,” I cleared my throat. “My mom’s dead and my father left me. But before all that, they had divorced when I was five.”

            “Rebel.” Finn’s face fell, scooting his chair closer to mine.

            I smiled, my bottom lip quivering. “It was going good, I would stay with my mom during the weekdays and my dad during the weekends. My mom was better at waking me up in the morning,” I joked. “But soon, my mom—she, uh, she got sick, really sick.”

            I could remember the day my mom told me she wasn’t going to get better. The way the shine showed through the window and onto her pale skin. Her blue eyes filled with unshed tears. I was confused, I didn’t have any idea how sick she was. My own eyes started watering, but I shut them tightly. Finn’s hand found the back of my neck and pulled me to his chest. With my nose buried on his chest, I inhaled his natural smell.

            “She had leukemia.” My voice was muffled by Finn’s shirt. “She died when I was seven, and I had to live with my dad.”

            Finn’s arms tightened around me, and I knew he grew angry at the mention of my father. He was breathing heavier, mostly due to the range of emotion swimming inside me.

            “I had always looked up to him,” I explained. “But after Mom’s death, he noticeably changed. He stayed out later, leaving me in a dark house late at night. He drank more during dinner, a simple glass of wine soon turning into a two glasses of whiskey. He started gambling and smoking, inviting strange people over that scared me at the time. I didn’t know that those people were bad people.”

            Finn’s hands cupped my face, his eyes meeting mine. His pupils grew, almost surrounding his irises. “They didn’t—they didn’t touch you, did they?”

            My head shook, my hands covering his. “No, no. They would just look at me with strange looks.”

            “Okay.” Finn nodded, more to himself than me. “All right. Good.”