I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

46 (NEW)

NAKAMO

"They're still in the treehouse?" I ask Reba, who peeks from a living room's window, holding a cream curtain to the side.

"Yes, Chris just got off the phone. They've been up there too long."

I notice the disapproval in her voice. Hmm...interesting. "If it was me up there, would you be having a cow?"

"No," Reba says, not taking her eyes from the blinds. "I don't trust this guy...he seems manipulative." She turns to me. "What do you think?"

I shrug. "Well, I just met him. I need more time to get a good read."

"I met him through that FaceTime stuff....he isn't as worthy as he was then."

I lean against the frame of the doorway that leads into the room. "Only Thor is worthy," I crack. "How about we talk about something else?"

"Oh!" Reba speeds from the window to me; the wood floors creak under her feet. She comes in close for a whisper as if she could be heard by Sam and Chris, who are yards away behind glass. "I need you to get some information out of Chris. He's hiding something from me. I can feel it in my bones. Maybe he'll tell you."

"Something bad?"

She nods. "Feels like it is."

I press my lips together in sternness. "How bad?"

"He tried to tell me, but he censored himself and came off very cryptic. As if I would attack him if he spilled the truth."

"Hmmm," I eye the window she was just at.

"I messed up with something...I'll tell you later. But he hasn't told me anything; then he said: "my selfishness made me change my ways...I'm not proud of how I handled things. Life decisions. I'm trying to be a better person." She continues on whispering.

"That sounds like he's just maturing," I admit.

"What did he mess up with?"

"Maybe a relationship, or his job." I scan her anxious face. "I think he may have worded it wrong, that's all."

Reba shakes her head. "Hmm mmm." She disagrees forlornly. "I know when there's something more."

The way she says this gives me goosebumps and causes a tug of dread to my heart. She could be exaggerating. What does she think, that Chris is here hiding from something? "I'll keep an ear open." I reassure a woeful mother.

Reba strolls to peek out the window again. "Thank you."

I take a lasting look at her at the window...before leaving the room. The strange thing is, the sight of her at the window stays burned in my vision, like a watermark. The portrait of a helpless mother hoping to find out the troubles of their kid.

My eyes lower. Chris did seem different when I first saw him... maybe that was just the result of a long time no see. The sadness in his eyes was normal...he left home, left me, and the feels overtook him. As for the debating he did before hugging me, that was simply him differentiating me from Sam.

I'm not his boyfriend anymore. I must admit that Reba is right about the: "I messed up with something" part. Was it with Sam? No...no, then they wouldn't be here together. Was it with his job?....well it's not like he can't get another one....especially with retail. Hmmm, is there even something to decipher?

No, there isn't.

Reba is just upset about Sam, that is what's clouding her judgment. But for her sake, I'll analyze.

My booted feet creak on the wood floor below, as I walk to use a restroom. As I take a piss, my mind replays Chris's voice, searching it. He sounds normal, no secrecy in his tone, no off-putting reactions. Chris sucks at shielding the truth, so that's not the issue.

A beeping comes for my back pocket. Ah, my trusty, deep pockets have yet again hidden my phone. I flush the toilet, wash my hands, knowing that it's my fiancé ready to give me a mouthful about not being home yet. I dry my hands with napkins, then answer the call.

"Where are you?" Waynoka tone is suspicious.

"I'm still at Reba's place; catching up with an old friend." A brief, tingling silence comes between us; a thickening of the atmosphere kind. "I'll be back soon, I promise," I add quickly.

"Is it Chris?" Waynoka sighs longingly. "Of course, it has to be...I thought we talked about this."

"Yes, and we agreed, so why are you making it a problem?" I say with an edge to my tone. She's fishing for drama.

"Because you're tempted to go back to your old ways...to the lifestyle you left. That's why I'm bringing it up. You need to keep your priorities straight; keep your word!"

"I am," I reply warningly.

"Then come home."

"I will soon."

"Now!" She hangs up.

I stand in the restroom, growing angry that she would even mention something from months ago. I allow myself to release this hate...not caring about my peace of mind at the moment. Not recalling my father's advice against rage consumption. This rage is well needed.

I can't stay bottled up like this with everything.

My breathing picks up alarmingly. I close my eyes and rub my temples, clutching my hands into fists, which go to bang at the sink, hovering over it mid-air. My eyes watch as my hands prepare to hammer at the porcelain bowl. Red sabotages my vision.

Hatred. Resentment. Regret. Fear. All in one...but the one to really sum up the dilemma is self-pity. I stop before my hands hit the sink, fighting an inner struggle cheering on the violent act. Fighting my protruding veins, my racing heart, my cold eyes. My unforgettable decision.