Page 26 of Depraved
“I don’t understand how you aren’t four hundred pounds.”
He burps and sighs.
“Ew. That was really hard to watch, you know,” I tell him as Matthew magically reappears to take the tray away. That man has impeccable timing.
“Dessert?” Matthew asks as if this is a serious possibility and not completely fucking insane given the amount of food he just handed my mate.
“Not yet, thanks,” Jonah rubs at his belly with a contented look on his face. “Maybe in a little bit.”
“In a little bit?” I resist the urge to shove his arm playfully and end up twisting the comforter in my hands instead. “If I’d eaten what you just ate, I wouldn’t be able to think about food again for a month!”
He starts to shrug but then hisses. “Ugh. How long until everything stops hurting?”
I gently reach for his hand, and he lets me thread our fingers together. Unlike the first time, his hand isn’t limp in response, but curls around mine, reassuring me. “The healers aren’t sure. You and Pluto … well, I guess you’re kind of a special case. I’ve looked at your records. There’s a ton of internal bruising still and some fractures left that are knitting together.”
He grunts as he settles back against the pillows, and I study his face. “Do you want me to call your parents?” I offer. “They’ve come by several times; your mom’s blown up my phone. I’ve caved to giving her hourly updates. But the healers said you weren’t ready for a lot of people.”
“No. I can’t see them.”
His response stuns me. Jonah adores his family.
I tilt my head to the side. “Are you feverish?” I keep my words light but my intuition pings. He’s been pulling away from me but from his family? They couldn’t have done anything.
“Jonah, what is it?”
He stares down at the blankets reluctantly.
“You can tell me anything,” I whisper.
His brow furrows. “I … I … ” He trails off, and his eyes look so full of misery that it makes me ache.
I wait. It’s hard to sit silently and patiently, but I force myself to do it because it’s clear that whatever is wrong is eating at Jonah.
Eventually, he drops his gaze and whispers, “I’ve lost my place.”
Confused, I press my lips together as I wait for him to expand. But he doesn’t. He simply sits in silence as the sun slides away and shadows that are as dark as his thoughts start to wrap the walls around us.
Finally, I’m forced to say, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I don’t know where I fit.”
“In the pack?”
“With them. Or with you.”
His words smash into me, and I can’t breathe for a second. Fear and desperation rip away all other thoughts.
I was right.
It kills me to hear him think he doesn’t belong. The human side of me wants to rip apart anyone—including myself—who makes him feel that way. He belongs. How can he even think he doesn’t? He’s light and goodness; he’s selfless kindness personified.
But right now, his expression is pained. I can almost feel the sadness radiating from him like he’s carrying a cloud inside, and the water vapor is dampening the very air.
No.
Not my Jonah.
Inside my head, Fluffy’s nose drops, ashamed.Bad mate,she scolds me. I completely and utterly agree with her. He should never question his place, especially not with me. I’ve failed him. This is on me, not him.
