I know I should turn my phone on in case Rowen calls, but I can't. I just can't. The one time I looked at it last night, I had eight-seven missed phone calls, a hundred and four text messages and I don't even know how many voice messages. After the eighth or ninth text saying something derogatory about my breasts, Rowen took the phone away and wouldn't give it back.
The only reason he left it with me this morning is in case of an emergency while he's at practice.
An emergency. That's a laugh. What kind of an emergency could happen when I've been curled up in this bed all day? I only got up once to use the restroom and I felt too vulnerable without the comfort of the covers on me, so I came right back to bed.