Page 26 of Stained Protector

I like him… that I can admit with butterflies in my stomach. I don’t know if I like him enough to answer his sudden confession after my sister set her eyes on him. He never brought her up again, and she didn’t either during our phone calls. It’s odd.

This is another part I like about him. He’s polite and keeps women at arm’s length, never allowing a chance for misunderstandings to fester. Not a lot of people can do it these days, and boundaries are becoming a fad trend. It comes and goes with a time crunch.

That constraint had my thoughts by the reins. I knew something had to be done about the tension, the unanswered questions of our relationship, and the next steps for my future.

The attacker was caught, and Detective Davis gave me confirmation and gruff pity, but he added an unexpected query about my family.

There wasn’t a proper answer because I never told them. He asked how Levi was doing, which was confusing when I remembered the detective had Levi’s number. The question itself was common, but the tone was cryptic and almost mocking.

It didn’t occur to me until I was watching a mystery thriller, tucked tightly between fluffy pillows and thick comforters, that animosity was the driving force in the question. It mirrored the scene where the antagonist was worried about the protagonist.

They have a past that I’m not inclined to dig into. Davis gives my nerves a run for the hills. He makes me uncomfortable, like a creature wearing human skin and mimicking his victim’s behavior.

A series of incessant gestures of light fingers and wispy heartbeats trickle into my consciousness.

Levi’s hand splays on the back of my head, allowing my forehead to press above his heart as the petting sways my hair. I mewl quietly from the familiar touch, one that holds me tight when I’m in danger.

A wretched bubble of mixed agony twists in my stomach, and the smell of him doesn’t associate with comfort anymore. There’s paint, caffeine, glue, blood, and something wretched in his clothes.

It’s gone within a second.

And as quickly as the confusion comes, bravery builds in its wake. We have to talk, and both of us should be on the same page no matter how scared I am.

“I like you,” he says, a bullet right through the elephant. “It’s not going to change.”

My instinct is to dispute it with real instances, but my sister is a horrible example. Years later, he might feel things that he’s feeling now with another woman, and I’d rather not experience the heartbreak.

This isn't like my fifth-grade crush, who made me question the quality of city water because he had ten split ends on one strand of hair.

Levi is someone I’d avoid just from his physical appearance. He can fluctuate between approachable and distant, but it’s an appealing challenge. Women would flocked to him if his friendliness was more obvious.

He’s intelligent, handsome, and a perfect gentleman. I don’t know what he sees in me: no job, no home, and no one to turn to.

“This is a first for me,” he mutters, his lips moving on my hair as he wraps his burly arms around me. “I can’t convince you otherwise if you believe so, but don’t doubt my feelings. Nobody knows them better than me.”

And it’s moments like this that awaken the taste of doubt. Potent signs, hunger and predatory, idle in his eyes like Gemini holding hands in the starry sky. It’s eerier than a siren’s harmonious vocals.

He smiles in a way that has me believing he can read my thoughts. If so, then he’d know the biggest obstacle is me.

Accepting him and his devouring feelings means there won’t be an escape. His arms will snake around my waist after I run three steps, and he’ll chase me with bustling affection and drag me into the abyss.

It wouldn’t be my fault, but he can make it mine.

“I’m not good with words.” He hauls me between his bent legs, my face nuzzling hotly against the rippling chest muscles as he squeezes the nape of my neck.

I freeze in his arms, cold sweat covering my hairline as my heartbeats docilely match his.

“There are many things I want to tell you, but I can’t find the proper words. I’m afraid I’ll say them wrong, and you’ll…”

I’m not a cruel, heartless beast; there’s a twinge in my bones, a burden that extends to my fingers as they pull at his shirt. He’s a rigid mountain, but he leans in from my weak tug and nuzzles into my hair.

“Think about it, pretty,” he says, “I can wait a bit more.”

That’s not fair to him because I’m unsure of anything myself.

Shakily inhaling a deep breath, I nudge his chest. He yields to the push, the tight shirt expanding against the defined lines across his entire body as he sighs. My fingers miss the grooves on his abs, and I silently curse at the lost chance to touch them.

Words circle on my tongue, yet their hooks are stuck in cotton and rifts of dryness. I scrape my tongue on the rows of teeth, the pain making my mouth and eyes water.

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