#Chapter70
As the dawn of another day drew to an end, a pitiful steam of bludgeoned pink and cat vomit orange closing over the heavens, coaxing in a web of unyielding darkness, Ronan watched with disengagement. Hell, everything about him felt disengaged. He was a passenger in his own body, feeling, but not feeling. Not really.
It was funny, wasn't it? How much life could exist between the cracks? How much joy could exist between a smile and the silence that came and stole it away?
He was him, but not really. He was him, but changed. And wasn't that something to be mourned?
Closing his eyes, head pressing against the frosty glass, his hand tightened around his mobile. He was out of time.
He'd cut himself off from the world for too long, and although he'd made the effort of replying to a few texts, he hadn't managed all of them. Not to the people he didn't speak to often enough, and not the person who he just couldn't bear to speak to: Adam.
