CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

**GABRIEL**
I shook my head and chuckled to myself as I flipped through the pages of the morning paper in front of my face, surprised at the gnarling headlines. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Oliver saunter into the living room and stand at the entrance, his eyes fixated on me, burning a hole into my flesh.
Since that night at the festival, he had been acting strange, out of place, as though he were walking on eggshells. I continued to read the paper, my mind tuned in to his actions. He muttered something under his breath, and strolled into the living room, taking a seat on the sofa that was farthest away from me.
In the back of my kind, I could feel my wolf whine about not having his mate near, but I knew he didn’t want me close to him in that moment, if he did, he would have sat himself close to me. Even as he sat, his eyes were still on me, and his feet tapped incessantly against the floor. I spared a glance at him, and he quickly looked away, shifting his body weight with him.
His behavior was strange. No. It had been strange since we stepped foot into this place. My heart sank. This was supposed to be a fun retreat to a nice, small, quiet place where we spent time together…loving each other, holding each other. But no, he was fighting demons…my Oliver…demons he wouldn’t tell me about. Demons that were eating deep into him.
“Are you going to say something, or are you going to just sit there staring at me like I killed your dog?”
His head turned slowly to me, his gaze icy. “I don’t have a dog,” he hissed through his teeth.
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it, folding my newspaper, and depositing it on the coffee table.
“What is the problem, Oliver?” I asked.
Silence. He turned his head away from me and stared at the wall holding pictures.
“You know you can tell me anything, right? You’ve been different since we got here.”
“There’s nothing to tell, except that I want to leave this place!”
I was taken aback, and my brows drew down in confusion. I sat up in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees.
“I don’t understand. I thought you loved it here…you’ve gotten along so beautifully with everyone. My friends…Carrie…”
Oliver laughs hysterically, his voice carrying around the house. He turned to me, his eyes blazing with an anger that was strange and yet familiar. “I hate your friends, and Carrie is nothing but a bitch! And this place is ducking hell in the backwaters of nowhere!”
I felt my heart skip in my chest and a pang in my heart at his words, uncertainty swirling within me. For a moment, I questioned whether I had been dreaming when I saw them talking extensively at the festival, lost in their world. No, I quickly reminded myself; I wasn’t imagining things. Something else was happening beneath the surface, something I couldn’t quite grasp.
With determination surging through me, I stood slowly to my feet, ignoring the ache in my chest. The pain was a reminder of my fears, but I refused to let it hold me back any longer. I needed to confront this head-on, to unravel the truth behind the whispers and hidden glances. Whatever was going on between them, I was done sitting idly by, allowing doubt and confusion to consume me.
“Oliver…please, talk to me, my love…”
Oliver jumped to his feet and turned to me, his eyes blazing in anger, and his muscles taut with apprehension. His eyes look at me but seems unable to focus. They love from one end of the room to another, eyes scanning everything within their reach and focusing on nothing.
“I want us to leave!” He screams, the veins in his neck straining from the effort. “Don’t you get it?!”
“But why? What do you mean? I thought you liked it here.”
“This place…this place is suffocating!” He said and began to pace the link by room. “There’s no air…I can’t breathe. I want to breathe!”
“What?”
“That bitch, Carrie…” he mutters. “This is all her fault.”
Oliver was getting hysterical, his eyes were opened wide, and he hugged himself tightly while his fingers scratched his arms in a way that I knew was painful for him. But he didn’t feel any pain or rather, his mind wasn’t registering his fingers digging insistently into his arms, even digging into the injuries sustained.
“What do you mean?” I asked slowly, my brain struggling to understand the situation as it was unfolding. “What does this have to do with her?”
He ignored my question and paced the room even faster. “This place is unbearable,” he said and continued to mutter it like a prayer. “She’s unbearable…”
Then he stopped abruptly, turned to me, and for the first time since our interaction, focused on me. “You’re unbearable,” he hissed through his teeth, bitterness dripping in each word.
I felt my heart skip on my chest and a new wave of pain washed over me. He was looking at me with anger, and something akin to hate. I couldn’t bear to continue looking into his eyes, they were too raw…too open, and so I looked away.
“Let’s not say things we don’t mean, Oliver,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Did Carrie do something to you?”
Oliver scoffed and turned away from me.
“Did she hurt you? Say something to you? I promise that I’ll call her to order and she won’t do it again.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Gabriel!” He screamed. “I hate it here!”
Oliver made a beeline for the pictures and I stood and watched in shock as he proceeded to knock them off the walls. Pictures of my father and I when I was a child, pictures of when we were a happy family, pictures of my mother, all falling to the ground. The sound of glass breaking filled the room and broke me out of my thoughts.
“Stop, Oliver!” I screamed, hoping to be able to get through to him through the madness that was being displayed.
He didn’t stop. He got worse. My heart threatened to beat out of my chest when he grabbed the vase proper up on the pier table. A picture of I and my mother smiling happily in the field as I rushed to catch the bubbles she blew. The only one of its type.
I returned to my senses when Oliver raised his foot to stomp down on the picture with the frame already broken and the picture closed and vulnerable.
“Stop!”
My eyes opened wide and I returned to my senses, I ran to save what was left of the photograph. Just as I reached down to pick it up, Oliver’s foot came down on my hand, the picture and the shards of glass on the floor. I winced and grimaced as I felt pieces of glass pierce into my hand just as my hand touched the picture.
“Fuck!”
I picked up the picture and rose to my feet, my eyes fixated on my mother’s genuine smile, which radiated warmth and love despite the throbbing in my hand. The ache served as a reminder of the turmoil surrounding me, but the sight of her beaming face provided a momentary escape. It was a glimpse into happier times before the chaos and uncertainty had taken over our lives.
As I held the picture, I felt a swell of emotion—nostalgia, longing, and a hint of sorrow. Her smile reminded me of the bond we shared and the strength she had always instilled in me. I needed that strength now more than ever, especially as I navigated the complexities of my current situation. With renewed determination, I tucked the photo under my arm and steeled myself for whatever lay ahead. A loud gasp escaped Oliver and he stood next to me, quiet, contrite. He was calm now, much calmer than he was a few minutes ago. But the damage was already done. I carefully pulled the picture out of the frame, ignoring the blood dripping from the inside of my palm, and set it carefully on the pier table, sighing in satisfaction as the picture wasn’t damaged.
I looked up at Oliver, noticing the teary eyes that mirrored my own, and instinctively rubbed my eyes, trying to wipe away the fatigue and confusion. In the back of my mind, I felt the beginnings of a headache creeping in, like a storm gathering on the horizon. It was as if the weight of our situation was pressing down on me, amplifying every emotion and thought, making it harder to think clearly.
I could see the worry etched on Oliver’s face, his vulnerability laid bare, and it tugged at my heart. We were both caught in this whirlwind, struggling to make sense of the chaos around us. I took a deep breath, attempting to steady myself and push through the growing ache. We needed to talk, to understand what was happening between us, even if it meant facing the painful truths that lay ahead. “I’m sorry…” he said, pain reflected in his blue orbs. “I’m sorry.”
“Oliver…”
He moved closer to me, and I took a step back. “Please…let me clean the wound.”
“No. Stay away from me.”
“Please, you have to forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”
I shook my head disapprovingly and groaned. “I don’t know what the problem is, Oliver, and I wish more than anything that you would tell me.”
“Gabriel…”
“I had brought us here because I thought we needed some time away from the chaos that was happening in my pack. Some time for us to bond again. This place holds a special memory for me, and I just thought…” I paused, angry at the way my voice broke. I cleared my throat and continued. “I’m sorry you don’t like it here. I’ll pack our things, and we will leave immediately.”
“Gabriel, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry…”
Without waiting for him to respond and ignoring his pleas, I turned and headed for the bedroom, ignoring the pain in my heart as I tended to the injury in my palm. I took a deep calming breath as I wrapped a bandage around my palm, and looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Tired brown eyes looked back at me, with bags underneath. Sunken eyes and a tired face.
I immediately got to packing, not wanting to be in the house any longer than necessary. The one place that had been a sanctuary, a place of love and hope and peace and happiness…and suddenly, I couldn’t wait to leave. I ignored Oliver, staying out of his way as he collected himself and his things. The ride home was quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts, thinking about what had just happened…and how it would affect our relationship moving forward.