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But he came instead.
And when Willow asked him, all surprised and concerned, what he was doing there and if everything was okay, he said, in a low voice which I only heard because I was unabashedly trying to, “No.”
Willow put her hands on his chest. “What’s wrong?”
I swear I blushed at the way he stared down at her as he growled, “You weren’t where you were supposed to be.”
“What?”
“With me.”
At this, Willow blushed as well, and my cheeks were burning so I looked away.
Mr. Edwards, or rather Graham, wasn’t far behind either. Only thirty minutes later, he was there at our door, picking Violet up. He didn’t even give her a chance to ask if anything was okay, he simply growled, “We’re leaving.”
That was enough to make Violet all shy and red.
And I’m not going to lie, I was jealous. Of both Willow and Violet.
Of how loved they are, how adored and admired, how supported, and accepted for who they are.
I got this ache in my chest, in my belly, as I thought about their lives.
As I thought about him.
Looking at me like Dr. Blackwood looks at Willow and Graham looks at Violet.
So yeah, I’m here.
But I’m late.
And he’d said that he wouldn’t wait more than five minutes.
But he is.
Waiting for me, I mean.
I didn’t do it on purpose. I was just so nervous, and I kept changing my mind along with my clothes every five minutes, so that I completely lost track of time. But I’m here now and I can see him, sitting in the back, his green eyes on the door.
And hence, on me.
They flare slightly — very slightly — when he catches sight of me. His jaw, which I think was tight while he was waiting for me, flexes and goes loose as I start to walk toward him. And the moment I do, he straightens up in his seat and I swallow.
At the fact that his eyes have moved away from mine and are now, at this very second, taking the rest of me in.
My body. My clothes.
My very unusual clothes.
I’m wearing a dress, dark green in color — darker than his eyes — sleeveless and tighter than what I would’ve liked; it hugs my body perfectly, dipping and flowing over my meager curves.
I don’t think I’ve ever worn a dress like this; I’m not usually a dress person. A pair of jeans, a t-shirt or a hoodie are more my style. And so, this is the first time he’s seeing me in one.
And he’s doing it, he’s staring at me, all slowly and deliberately.
He’s doing it in a way that no one has ever done before.
I’ve never been looked at like this before.
Somehow, I manage to reach him without stumbling or falling on my face even though my legs are trembling something fierce. And maybe that, the fact that he’s still taking me in, and his heated stare is tripping up my heartbeats, is why I blurt out, “This isn’t my dress.”
At my voice and sudden declaration, Atlas looks up, his eyes appearing so green and alive. “This is not your dress.”
I’m not sure why I said that. I feel so foolish now. But something needed to be said and that was the first thing that came into my head and I’m sticking with it. “No. It’s my friend’s.” But out of all the dresses my friend, Renn, showed me, I picked this one because it was the closest to the shade of your eyes. “I don’t…” I fist the smooth soft fabric of my dress, or rather Renn’s dress. “Wear clothes like this.”
His eyes bore into mine. “I know.”
“I think dresses are stupid,” I declare, much like I declared my earlier statement.
“Yeah? How so?”
“They’re uncomfortable. And tight and…” I reply, totally clueless as to what I’m even saying or what my end goal is.
He stays silent for a beat or two, and a blush fans across my cheeks. Which he of course notices as he says, “And what?”
“They tend to put you on display,” I reply.
His eyes grow even more intense than before, if possible. “They do.” I go to answer him but he lowers his gaze then. He takes me in exactly like before, all slowly, staring at each and every part of me in this deep green dress before coming up to my face and saying, “But I can’t say that I hate looking.”
“That’s —”
“So why are you wearing it?” he asks over me.
“What?”
“The dress.” Then, “If it puts you on display.”
For you.
The blush on my face intensifies as soon as I think that.
It’s true though.
Renn insisted that she get me ready for dinner, and when she started looking through my closet to pick an outfit for me, I told her that her selection of clothes is better than mine. Which she loved to hear, and then she proceeded to show me all the stuff that she had.
