Page 7 of The Heavier The Chains…
Before me stood a guy who was well over six-foot, and what a six-foot package it was. He had thick, dark brown hair that looked like the most expensive comb in the world wouldn’t be able to tame it. He had a set of matching brown brows that sat over the most startling blue eyes I have ever seen. They were so bright they looked like they glowed. His nose was straight in the middle of two prominent cheekbones, and his jaw was chiseled to manly perfection. His lips looked soft and dangerous. I couldn’t make much of his body underneath his clothing, but if the impact of which I bumped into him was any indication, the boy was solid muscle. The butterfly bandage over his left eye and the bluish-purplish hue of bruising around that same eye did nothing to distract from how good-looking this boy was. It actually stood out because it made him look sexier than he already was.
But what I couldn’t help but really take notice of?
It wasn’t the boy I ran into and who deserved an apology. It was how my palms started sweating, and my lungs struggled to function. I stood staring up at the beautiful boy, and I felt powerless at how hyperaware I felt just standing so close to him. It was how his penetrating blue gaze held me transfixed where I stood. I felt…hypnotized.
Absorbed.
Cameron hadn’t even made me feel this…breathless the entire two years we were dating. Even when I had given him my virginity, I hadn’t felt this kind of…pull; yearning. We’d only been having sex for the last six months of our relationship, but even believing I was in love with him, he had never pulled this feeling of anxiousness from me. There had been butterflies, but not the punch of shock like now. And I felt even less when he broke up with me because I couldn’t get past Kaden’s death fast enough for him.
Several agonizing seconds later, my motor functions resumed working. “I...I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “I sh…should have been paying attention to where I was going.” Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t the words that came out of his mouth.
“You fucking should be,” he barked.
∞∞∞
Talon~
I was heading to second period when I had been blindsided by a force that fit perfectly wrapped up in my body, protecting it from the outside world.
I watched as she dropped on her haunches to gather her pens and situate her backpack, and normally, I would have knelt down next to her and helped her pick up her stuff because my mother did raise me right contrary to popular belief, but I didn’t.
I didn’t because Icouldn’t.
The second this girl ran into me, a buzz sizzled in my veins and I had been shocked at the sensation. I hadn’t knelt down to help because I was trying to understand what the feeling was that was rushing throughout my body. And when she looked up at me, apologizing, I’d lost all ability to function normally. I watched transfixed as the girl stood up on wobbly legs and stared at me.
She looked like motherfucking Snow White.
This girl only stood as tall as my chest, not even reaching my shoulders, but her petite body was rocking some serious curves if that fucking white button-up wasn’t an illusion.
Why do girls do that? Why do they wear men’s shirts or their boyfriend’s jerseys? Have they really no clue what that shit does to us? Or, at least, to me? A girl in my shirt, jersey, or jacket is like a brand, and while I’ve never done it, I’m all about branding the girl who belongs to me.
But her impressive rack wasn’t the only thing I noticed on her. Nope. I noticed how black her hair was, knotted up on the top of her head. I noticed perfectly plucked black brows arched over a pair of amber-colored eyes I’ve never seen before in my life. I noticed her straight dainty nose, her rosy apple cheeks, her full, plumped lips, and how her skin was alabaster perfection. She wore just a hint of makeup and I knew her face looked pretty much exactly how it did now when she woke up in the morning. No surprises once the makeup came off.
And, like I said, she was a petite little thing, and that fucking shirt she was wearing tapered off to emphasize her waistline, while she had the first four top buttons unbuttoned. You could see the hint of her cleavage and I wanted to grab the lapels and rip that fucker wide open. The rest of her was dressed in a pair of black jeans and black boots that only went up to her ankle.
She was easily the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
I’m not talking sexy, hot, cool, bangin’, pretty, or any of those other adjectives that we used to describe a girl who has snagged our attention.
I’m talking this girl wasbeautiful.
She was all those other descriptions rolled into one. She stopped you with her beauty, but she fucking paralyzed you with those goddamn eyes of hers.
And what’s worse?
Not only was I noticing how stunning she was, and the physical reaction I was having to her, I was noticing the physical reactionshewas having towardsme. Those fucking unbelievable eyes of hers were rounded. Her chest was heaving. Her voice a stuttering mess. And her face a pretty hue of blush.
It wasn’t just me.
It wasn’t just me and that wasn’t good. I couldn’t afford any distractions at this point in my life. My sole focus was Edie. The foundation of my life’s plan revolved around my mother and sister. I didn’t need a girl…creating emotions in me.
I didn’t need a girl I couldn’t walk away from.
So, I did the only thing I could when she apologized. I let her know it wasn’t welcomed-shewasn’t welcomed. It hadn’t helped that her clothes, posture, and perfect fucking existence reeked of money. She looked like she had no idea that food stamps even existed, and that helped fuel my decision.
“You fucking should be,” I barked in her face. She jerked back, and my initial reaction was to pull her to me and apologize, but when that fucking sunk it, I realized just how problematic this girl could be to my psyche.
“It…it was an accident,” she muttered, looking confused by my hostility.
