The Fabric of our Souls
: Chapter 22

No man has the right to feel as weightless as I do in this moment.

Wynn grips my hand tightly as we hurry back to our room with our towels feebly wrapped around us. I feel like a criminal with the way she’s acting; it’s exhilarating.

The second we get to our room she shuts the door and locks it.

The grin that crests my lips makes the cut on my jaw sting. “You know people fuck in there all the time. You walked in several times just this week.” I laugh as I pull open a drawer and fish for a pair of boxers. She grabs one of her nightshirts, but I have a different plan.

There’s a large black shirt lying at the bottom of my drawer that she’d look perfect in. My cheeks warm at the thought of her wearing it.

“Hey… you should try this on.”

I toss the shirt at her and she barely catches it. Her brown eyes are wide and warm when she unfolds it.

“You’re giving me this?” she says cautiously, eyeing me like it might be a prank.

“Yeah. I mean, it doesn’t suit me, you know?” I lie, hoping she won’t catch on to the sentiment behind that shirt.

It was a gift from Neil and I cherish it. Even if I never see her again after our time here. But my heart tells me that Wynn won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, at least not anywhere I’m not.

She pulls the shirt on and it falls to her mid-thigh. Her cheeks blush and she looks up at me shyly. “How does it look?”

I walk over to her and brush her wet pink hair over her shoulder. “Perfect.”

She fake scowls at me, and God, her smile is enough to ruin me.

“Do you think they’ll tell the counselors what we were doing in there?”

I think it’s cute that she’s so innocent. She thinks they give a shit what we do once they’re off the clock? Or even on the clock, for that matter.

“Wynn, we’re roommates. I think they know what people do behind closed doors. I kind of think they expect it, to be honest. Part of the treatment.”

She wrinkles her nose like she’s in complete disbelief at this place.

“Well, let’s get your jaw patched up. It finally stopped bleeding,” she says with a bit of a sting.

She’s mad at me, and I don’t blame her.

Her fingers are soft and gentle as she applies the ointment to my cut. The burning slowly fades, leaving that incessant itch in the back of my mind that wants more of it.

She makes quick work of my jaw, and then we slip into my bed and I hold her. I run my fingers through her hair and press kisses to her forehead.

“Remedium meum,” I whisper with my lips coasting her skin. Her hair smells like lilacs. I pull her against my bare chest. Her legs are warm. I can’t remember the last time my heart was this full, and my mind this at peace.

She scoots in closer and kisses my throat gently. “Dream of me.” Her voice is low and sleepy.

I hold her tighter. “Only you.”

Saturdays are my favorite. Sleep in, take a walk, drive aimlessly. Who knows what the day holds.

But we have plans today. Tattoos.

My phone vibrates relentlessly and I groan as I roll over to snatch it off the nightstand. Who the fuck is texting me this early?

Mom:

Your brother is visiting.

Be nice to him. He loves you.

Jesus Christ.

I toss my phone back to the nightstand and take a deep breath. It’s okay. I’m not going to let this ruin my day. Perry visits too often lately. I wonder if everything is all right at home… He couldn’t possibly be getting worse. It’s not like my mother will tell me either way. She only ever says the same three things. He’s coming. Be nice. He loves you.

She might be fucking crazy, but she’s my mom. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?

I sit up and stretch, remembering I’m not alone in bed, and look down at Wynn. She’s wrapped up in the blanket and still fast asleep. We had a late night. I shouldn’t wake her. We still have plenty of time before our appointment in Bakersville.

My shoes are still wet, so I slip on the rehab-issued slippers and throw on sweats and a hoodie before heading out of the room. I check my phone again; it’s only seven a.m. I’m never the early bird around here. Does anyone get up at this hour?

I head toward Lanston’s room. He’s one of the few people here that isn’t required to have a roommate, probably because he’s basically done with his program. I don’t want him to leave though. He’s my only friend besides Wynn.

The light under his door is on. I quirk a brow and knock a few times. It takes him a few seconds before the door cracks open and he peers out. He smiles with surprise.

“Hey, man, get in here,” he whisper-shouts cheerfully like he’s already fully awake.

I step in and the aroma of coffee hits me like a brick wall. I take a seat at his small bistro table and point at the pot of bitter, black soul nectar.

“Please and thank you.”

Lanston laughs and pats me on the back. He scoops his baseball cap up off his bed and puts it on backward as he grabs two mugs.

“Are you always up this early? You look like shit,” he says more seriously as he looks over at me, worry tugging in his eyes.

I run my hand over my face and shake my head. “No, I’m usually deceased until about noon on Saturdays.” I give him a weary grin. “You know that.”

Lanston chuckles and nods. “Yeah, that’s why we made the appointment for late afternoon. God forbid someone wakes you on a Saturday morning.”

He sets both mugs on the table with a bottle of creamer on the side. I take the mug and drink my coffee straight black. I hate bitter coffee, but it eases the itch in my mind having it this way.

“Okay, so are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He stares at me with that knowing look of his.

Part of me really doesn’t want to talk about it, but I wouldn’t have walked my sorry ass here if I didn’t intend to. Still… I can’t bring myself to do it.

I set the mug back down. “You think me and Wynn could work out? Like after we get out of this place?”

Everything is controlled here. The environment, our schedules, our food. The real world isn’t like that. And that scares the fucking shit out of me.

Lanston’s eyes widen and he sets his mug down too. “Like as a couple?”

It’s weird to talk about it with him, with anyone, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from counseling, it’s that you have to talk shit out. “Yeah.”

“I mean… maybe. You two are so different though. She’s like the girl version of me—sad, hopeless, and pretty.” I scowl at him and he shrugs innocently. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. You’re always so callous and broody. Have you asked her what she thinks?”

Fear dips deep into my chest. No, I haven’t. I can’t handle rejection. I’d rather ignore things and avoid them than ever deal with them outright. “Of course not.”

Lanston smirks, takes a long sip of coffee, and exhales slowly. “She’s special, Liam. I know you like her, but be careful. Her mind is her worst enemy and love might be too overbearing on fabric as thin as hers.”

My brows pull together. “Fabric as thin as hers?”

“Yeah, her soul is like chiffon, with plenty of tattered rips and tears. The fabric of our souls is thin and worn. We must be gentle and love tirelessly.” He leans back in his chair and threads his fingers together. A warm smile spreads across his face and I know then that he loves her too. “Hers is so beautifully torn that even wolves like us are drawn to it.”

His hazel eyes stare distantly at his mug. I’m not sure how to respond—not sure if I should.

“Anyway, just be careful with her, okay?” He grabs both mugs and sets them in the sink. His shoulders slump with his thoughts.

“I know how you feel about her,” I murmur, my eyes low.

He turns, not quite looking at me. “Yeah?”

“And I don’t care. I love you, brother.”

“Love you too, man.”