#Chapter46
As Ronan nestled into the unmade tangles of Raven's bed, burrowing his way beneath the covers and relishing the deep, manly scent that clung to the sheets, he pulled one of the black satin pillows over his head, blotting out the remnants of daylight.
A violent whirlwind had kick-started, uprooting thoughts and memories, rampaging through the halls of his mind with all but no consideration to the delicate, brittle state it was already in. He'd tried humming the noise away, trying to drown out the implosion of his own making. Tried to stop breathing and hoped the dizziness would distract him. When neither worked, he settled for crying silent tears, his misery rolling from the wells of his eyes and planting their secrets into the silky material beneath him.
It was destructively therapeutic, and the burn to his throat, the hot pokers that jabbed at his eyes with every fresh round of droplets that fell, he relished in them.
