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6
Vincent
It was pure luck that I caught the college boy heading up Faith’s driveway. I had been sitting at my living room window, admiring the snowfall, nursing my first cup of coffee of the day. Getting ready to head out for my next assignment. Then I saw him.
He couldn’t have looked more like a John Hughes movie character if he tried. Slicked-back hair, expensive jeans, school-colors letterman jacket, for Christ’s sake. When I saw Faith step onto the porch, I left the window and made a beeline to the front door, opening it just enough to listen in on their conversation.
I simply wanted to listen, not intervene, but the moment I heard Faith say she was scared, I saw red. I wasn’t human in that moment, merely a tower of rage and jealousy. My mind turns to its animal instincts as the blood courses white-hot in my veins. I push the front door open and slam it behind me without a thought, almost grunting as I sprint from my door to hers.
I cut across my front lawn, hopping over the low fence that separates our driveways. The boy—that asshole—is yelling at her. Yelling that he deserves her. That she owes him. That my obsession, my woman, my Faith owes him something just because he whacked off thinking about her in high school.
“…you can’t swing me one favor?” he yells, and I take the last few strides to get behind him. The guy’s around my height and looming over Faith in her doorway. I don’t know who the fuck he thinks he is crowding her and raising his voice, but he’s about to be in a world of hurt.
“I’ll do you a favor, buddy.” The words come out in a hoarse growl, scratching my throat. He jumps at the sound of my voice, and I waste no time in winding up my left fist.
There’s a satisfying thwack as skin meets skin.
The moment moves in slow motion—fist meets face, his face registers shock, surprise, then pain. He reels backward, clutching his nose. I draw my arm back to my side and see my lovely Faith, mouth open in a tight O. Her hair is in braided pigtails, and her face is fresh and dewy. But even the sight of my love could not pull me out of this fitful rage I’m in.
“The hell, bro?” the college boy says, kneeling half-over on the porch.
I’m breathing hard and can feel my chest rising up and down.
“I’m not your bro,” I snarl as I take a step closer. The boy tries to step back but stumbles on his feet. I grab the collar of his jacket and pull him toward me. He loses his balance stepping off of the small porch and stumbles even closer to me. With the fabric of his cliche jacket wrapped around my hand, I bring my face level to his.
“Hey, c’mon, this is just a misunderstanding,” he pleads, his face burning red. He’s scared shitless. I can smell it on him. This isn’t my first time shaking somebody down.
“I don’t think so. She told you to back off. You didn’t listen. What is it that I’m misunderstanding?” I keep my tone even, but the rage bubbles beneath.
The boy gulps, realizing what deep shit he’s in. This guy better be glad we’re out in the open because if we were alone, he’d already be dead.
“You’re going to leave,” I say in a low voice, hoping Faith will not hear, “and you are not going to come back. If you do, I’ll deal with you, and not so gently next time. She wants you to leave her alone. Are you going to listen? Or do I need to teach you another lesson?”
“I’ll go. I’ll go.” His voice is laced with panic, almost like he knows what I am thinking. Because in my mind, I’m already killing him. I’m going to make him suffer for touching her.
His eyes are wide, and he tries to raise his hands to surrender. Our faces are close enough that I can feel his breath, but I stare into his eyes, unblinking, for a long moment before letting go of his collar and turning away. The boy stumbles again, trying to regain his balance.
Once he’s back on his feet, I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down. Faith is still standing silently on the porch, one hand clapped over her mouth in shock. The boy adjusts his jacket, trying to save face in front of his high school crush.
It’s funny, in a way. He thinks he’s so smooth and grown-up, but I turned him back into a sniveling schoolboy in seconds. I resist the urge to puff out my chest as I turn to watch him walk down the snowy driveway.
It’s not until he is back behind the wheel of his car that I realize how cold the skin feels on my arms. My blood has begun to cool, and I no longer wear a warm coat of rage.
I turn back to Faith. Her hand is no longer clapped over her mouth, but she looks at me with a mystified expression. I can read her eyes like a book: she’s scared, thankful, nervous, and happy all at the same time.
God, she has no idea how to mask her feelings. It makes my heart ache, the way every emotion plays clearly across her face. I watch worry overtake all the other feelings. Oh, no. She doesn’t see me as a protector; she sees me as a beast. I have to show her that there’s nothing to be scared of when it comes to us.
“Um… thank you,” she whispers. I notice she’s in slippers and pajama pants and want nothing more than to take her inside, warm her up by the fire, electrify every inch of her skin…
“Don’t mention it,” I say in a blasé tone, trying not to betray how wild I still feel on the inside. “You deserve to be treated with respect.”
Faith smiles shyly at that, looking down at her feet. My brain is screaming at me to go to her, to take her in my arms, pinch her dimpled chin between a thumb and forefinger and turn her up to face me. Look deeply into her eyes and reassure her everything will be okay, to kiss away her fears, but no. That would be too much. I jumped into her lawn to protect her from a sociopathic teenager, not to take her as my own.
“Let me see your cell phone.” I step closer, extending my hand out to her. I don’t give her the room to say no. She meets my eyes again and pulls the phone from her coat pocket, unlocking it quickly before handing it to me. There isn’t fear in her eyes anymore, which makes me feel a little better.
I quickly tap over to her contacts, enter my name, and type in my number. I tap the little green ‘save’ button and hand it back to her. She’s still breathing with shuttered breaths, trying to process what’s going on. But I also notice a deep pink flush creeping up her neck and know that she is open to my advances.
“You call me if you need anything, Faith. And I do mean anything,” I say, staring into her eyes deeply for a moment.
