Page 89 of Overcast

How did he freaking know?

I didn’t notice the vibe of the room change the moment he walked in, causing my body to stiffen.

“I brought you some soup, I need you to try and eat today.”

I could shoot fire at him with the way my body still burns inside. The next best thing would be to knock the soup over onto him.

It wouldn't be as painful but would still do the trick.

His weight hits the floor around my bed—determined, massive, deadly.

And when he begins to round my personal, yet temporary area, I mutter against my bicep, "Go away."

“With you? Why, sweetheart, you should’ve asked sooner.” He stops in front of me, blocking my view of the outside just to replace it with his gray t-shirt and dark jeans. “I definitely would’ve said yes.”

I don't look up. In fact, I have a perfect view of his crotch and thighs that would stomp me into dust.

Surprised he never tried that.

Slowly he lowers himself on his haunches, giving me a new view to study.

He hasn't shaved, his dark hair lining his perfect jawline and upper lip. His black baseball cap is covering his matching hair, but his hazel eyes look lighter today. Maybe it's the lighting of the room, but they look softer and...worried about me.

“How did you sleep?”

“I had to keep shooing things away from my head,” I deadpan.

His lips hoist a tad. “So, like shit.”

No response is needed because he's smart enough to fill in the blanks.

That and my mouth is starting to dry at his intense stare. It's different from the one I've become accustomed to. His brows are relaxed, he's not throwing daggers at me with his eyes, and his nose isn't twisted in pure repulsion.

I'm not a fan.

If it wasn't for his unpredictable nature, maybe I'd get to linger on how handsome and breath-taking he is in a way that I could appreciate.

Except I just can't cast away that he’s to blame for me being further involved in this Sherlock Holmes mystery of who tried to kill his sister. That he's scarred me mentally from ever seeing the world as anything but beautiful and full of possibilities.

I'm too equipped with knowing this darker side, saw enough already, and I'm afraid it'll always hover over me like a black cloud.

“Can you eat a little bit?”

I weakly jerk my head to the bedside table. “You can leave it there.”

He does, then disappears back the way he came. My body sags the moment the space he was just standing in opens, displaying that my little bird friend is now gone. Not only was it my source of entertainment, but I enjoyed watching it come back and construct his little abode.

Another blanket is suddenly laid on top of the one I already have, and I roll my eyes.

This does nothing.

It doesn’t make me veer off in the direction of forgiving him. It won’t make us become close friends over a very strange predicament.

His presence only makes me want to run faster, farther away. Make him such a distant memory that when I have kids and grandchildren, he won't even be a floating memory to pluck from my brain as a story.

“Just a few spoonfuls, so I know that you ate some,” Emric voices, showing back up in my line of vision. “And then you can finish it later.”

I flick my eyes up to his this time. “Why, because you don’t trust me.”

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