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My soul careened around inside my body as Roger marched toward a taxi.
He threw his suitcase in the trunk.
We climbed in.
And we began the forty-five-minute journey into Istanbul.
Chapter Thirty-One
*
Nerida
AGE: 20 YRS OLD
*
(Love in Sanskrit: ?????)
SHRILL RINGING PIERCED MY EARDRUMS.
I shot upright, my eyes flying around Aslan’s sala-bedroom, my memories blessedly quiet. His wind-swept, masculine scent surrounded me as I fumbled in the bed coverings, searching for my phone.
The heartache that I could never get free from woke up far too fast, crushing my chest with the knowledge that even though Aslan’s scent surrounded me...
He didn’t.
He’s gone...
Tears gathered into a wet ball in the back of my throat.
Nine days since the accident and tonight was the first time I’d actually been able to fall asleep.
But only because I’d crawled into Aslan’s bed.
I couldn’t stay in my room.
Couldn’t stay in the house where every nook and cranny was melancholy and heavy, mourning Aslan as if he was already dead.
My eyes stung at the brightness of my phone screen as I swiped ‘answer call’ and noticed it was two in the morning.
“Hello?”
A crackle.
A delay.
And then, the best fucking sound of all.
“Nerida? Oh, thank God. I’m so sorry for calling so early there. I’m sorry for waking you. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait till a more reasonable hour but—” His voice cracked. “Kahretsin, seni özledim.” (Fuck, I miss you).
“Aslan—” Sobs I’d fought for so many days clawed out of me with needles and pain.
I cried.
I cried so damn hard.
Tears rained, and I rocked in Aslan’s bed. His bed where we’d hugged and touched and kissed. Where we’d whispered about our future and made so many promises to one another.
