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"You did pull my hair," she countered, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "But that's beside the point, isn't it, Dax?"
She inched closer, the scent of her vanilla shampoo intoxicating. "I wanted to say… I can't help but… hate you."
Her words hung in the air, unfinished and laced with a contradiction I couldn't decipher.
"Hate me?" I echoed, my voice a mere tremor.
"Well, not exactly," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Maybe I did before. But today…" she paused, her gaze searching mine, "today feels different."
The air crackled with anticipation. I held my breath, waiting for the thunder to break. I, too, had been waiting for this moment, for the day her silence would shatter, for the truth to spill forth like a dam bursting. I craved her confession, ached for it to mirror the one simmering in my own heart.
The silence stretched between us, a taut wire humming with anticipation. "Go on," I rasped, my voice husky with an eagerness I couldn't tame. Her words, whatever they were, held a promise, a glimpse of a door finally creaking open.
She took a deep breath, her gaze flitting away like a startled bird. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken burdens, she turned her back, the movement oddly vulnerable. My heart clenched. Even defeated, she was a captivating mess, her fingers nervously scratching at the crown of her hair. I found myself enjoying her struggle, a secret thrill in watching her grapple for the right words to unlock this door.
"Hate?" I echoed her earlier statement, the word hanging heavy in the air.
A spark of defiance flickered in her eyes before she mumbled, "Not now. Maybe before."
"Does my face... torment you, Skye?" I pressed, my voice husky, intrigued by the contradiction playing out before me.
"Nope," she blurted, the defiant spark flaring again.
I leaned closer, the space between us shrinking into a charged void. "Does it make you nervous, then? Seeing me?"
A hesitant nod, her eyes finally locking onto mine. No flinching, no escape. The enigma I'd spent years chasing stood raw and vulnerable, her feelings a storm on the horizon. And I, the storm chaser, had no intention of letting her weather it alone.
My gaze traced the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, and my chest ached with a yearning I hadn't felt since… never. Tresa faded into a distant echo, replaced by the searing intensity of her presence. "Do you like the way I torment you, Skye?" I asked, my voice a low rumble, a test.
Her eyes, locked with mine, held a flicker of something I couldn't decipher, a mix of defiance and something deeper, something that sent a jolt through me. But my bruised face, hidden from the prying eyes of her, was a reminder of the stakes.
The world narrowed to her eyes, pools of molten gold reflecting the chaos warring within me. "Yes," she breathed, her gaze unwavering, a dare woven into the single word.
My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs. "Yes?" I echoed, the need for confirmation a raw hunger in my throat. "You… like it?"
"Sometimes," she conceded, a hint of rebellion dancing in her voice. It was a concession, but it was hers, and the sting of uncertainty only fueled my desire.
"Hmm." I savored the ambiguity, the uncertainty a delicious tension between us. "And the hating part?" I found myself asking, the question a shard of glass in the silence.
She didn't flinch, didn't break eye contact. The silence stretched, a chasm waiting to be filled. "I don't know," she whispered, the words laced with vulnerability.
"But you said it before…" I pressed, a desperate need for clarity twisting my insides.
"I did," she admitted, her voice barely a tremor. "But now…" Her voice trailed off, a question hanging in the air.
"Now?" I echoed, my voice rough with anticipation. "Now what, Skye?"
"Now…" she inhaled, her eyes searching mine. "Now, I don't know."
The tension coiled tighter, a storm brewing in the space between us. "Just say it," I pleaded, my voice husky with need. "Tell me."
"Honestly, Dax?" she breathed, her voice a soft flame against the tinder of my desire. "I don't know."
I wanted to grab her, shake her, anything to crack the shell of her uncertainty. But instead, I found myself leaning closer, the intoxicating scent of her defiance a heady perfume. "I know you do," I whispered, my voice a thread of steel.
"Dax!" she exclaimed, her voice a startled bird against the hushed air. "You spoke of change," she said, her tone softening. "I'm willing to give you that second chance… to redeem yourself."
The world tilted on its axis. A second chance? From the girl who loathed me.
