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Chapter 3
HIM
Jesus Christ!
She finally looks into my eyes and I am completely unprepared for what I see in hers. Now, in the flickering light of the fireplace, I see so much more than I saw in the darkness of the woods.
Too much, too fucking much!
I see pain, desperation, dread, and a fear that crawls so deep beneath my skin that a million blades can’t cut it free. But deep below the surface, beyond the recent events that shaped her current state, I see her beauty, her strength, her raw sexuality, but most of all, I know that I see demons that mirror mine.
I would have fallen on my fucking knees if I wasn't already here.
I want to ask her a million goddamn questions.
I want to demand she tells me what happened to her.
I want to shake her until her feelings of dread dissipate.
I want to grab her hair, pull her fucking head back and sink into her fucking mouth.
Above all, I feel a need to gather her into my arms and hold her until the shaking stops so she can breathe again.
And that need right there is all kinds of fucked up. An unfamiliar kind of fucked up.
I rip myself from her intrusive gaze, get up and settle back on the sofa. Yet, what I really want to do is leave. I want to go outside and run. Run the fuck away from here, from her, from this day. Because I know, deep in my bones, I know that this is the first day of the rest of my goddamn life.
But I don’t run.
I can’t.
She’s not going to drive me out of my own home, out of the life I built for myself. No goddamn way. She will not change anything. I will fight my way out of this.
She will not change me.
“Sleep,” I tell her. My voice rougher than it needs to be, but I can’t help it. I’m mad, mad at her for no other reason but that beautifully broken look in her eyes.
Her image will forever be imprinted in my mind. Her beautiful, big almond shaped eyes, slightly curved upwards in the outer corners, giving her this hauntingly exotic look. They are a bright green, so light they almost look hollow. The deep brown of her long, wild hair and thick eyebrows emphasizes the contrasting color of her eyes. With her small, slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, square jaw, and defined lips, she has this old-world look about her, reminding me of women from the black and white movies that I used to watch as a kid.
I’ve never been dramatic, I’ve never been starry eyed, but she makes me feel like my world has begun crashing down. It’s an unsettling feeling, and I’m not sure how to deal with it. I know it’s not her fault, it’s mine. If only I wouldn’t have had the fucking desire to be a hero.
Was that my desire though? Was it a hero that I wanted to be, or a hunter? After looking into her eyes, I’m not sure anymore.
I suddenly feel like I'm the one being hunted.
HER
The look in his eyes shifts and suddenly I feel like I have done something wrong. Yet, I am not sure how I reached this conclusion. It's a feeling, because his eyes don't actually look different at all. They feel devoid of emotion, yet filled with too many. They look empty, yet haunted. They make me feel scolded and soothed all at the same time.
And as if that was not confusing enough, he all but ran away from me, when in fact, I should have been the one doing the running. What is he afraid of?
No. It’s not fear. A man like him has never felt real fear.
Real fear is not spawned by the anticipation of pain. Real fear is the anticipation of death. The long, harrowing moments before you realize there is no escape and you accept your fate, welcoming the peace that death brings.
This man right hereisfear.
His deep, dark blue eyes make me think of the unknown dangers lurking in the depths of the ocean.
