Page 13 of Love You From Afar

Tossing the napkin in the trash bin, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear while glancing at myself in the mirror. Because I was in such a rush to leave this morning, I only had enough time to put on a light coat of mascara and blush.

My long, chestnut hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders. My friends used to say that they were envious of my hair because of its natural, beach wave texture, a look that people buy crimpers and curling irons to achieve. When I was in middle school, board-straight hair was the popular style. I remember spending hours in the bathroom with my flat iron, trying to get each strand perfectly straight before school. I used to hate my wavy locks when I was younger, but I’ve grown to love them with age.

Grabbing my purse from the hook on the wall, I push open the bathroom door and make my way toward the parking lot. Once I’m outside of the gas station, I notice a guy sitting on the curb, his head turned directly towards me in an intense stare. He’s wearing a thick winter coat paired with a gray beanie. He looks like a normal guy, but I can’t ignore the way my stomach twists at the sight of him raking his murky green eyes down my body. My mother always taught me and my sister to trust our intuition and right now, it’s screaming red flags.

Keeping my head down and eyes glued to the pavement, I attempt to hurriedly walk past him. Before I have a chance to look up, he’s on his feet, standing directly in front of me. I halt my steps, shuffling back to place a few feet of distance between us.

“Well, aren't you the prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen,” he says with a crooked grin, a deep, southern twang coating his voice. His teeth are bright yellow with pitch-black plaque lining his gums. A chilling sensation fills my bones.

My eyes immediately dart over his shoulder where I see Everett filling up the truck at a gas pump. Everett has his gaze fixed in the opposite direction as he stares at the road, completely oblivious to what’s happening behind him.

I return my nervous gaze to the creepy man, my fists balling at my sides. I can feel little crescent moons forming on my skin from the way my nails are digging into my palms.

“Please, get out of my way,” I say in a sharp tone, trying my best to appear unfazed by him.

“Such a natural beauty…” He adds, completely ignoring my request. He eerily tilts his head to the side as his crusty hand reaches for me.

My heart pounds against my chest as the back of his hand nears my hair. His dirty fingernails are coated with layers of dirt and grime, my nostrils flaring as he inches closer.

“Donottouch me,” I warn through gritted teeth. I take another step back, and he takes another step forward. He’s not planning on giving up any time soon. It’s even more alarming that he’s doing this out in the open, where anyone can see him.

“Someone needs to learn how to take a compliment.” He drawls, stepping towards me with a twisted smirk marring his face.

“Get thehellaway from me.” My chest is heaving up and down with panicked breaths. My voice comes out shaky and weak, rather than threatening.

“Or what?” He retorts, narrowing his eyes while running his tongue over his yellow teeth. He’s staring at me like a starving animal would gape at its prey.

“Or I’ll beat your fucking ass.” A deep voice booms from behind my aggressor. His eyes widen as he abruptly spins around to face a fuming Everett. He clenches his jaw, his pupils fully blown.

Everett is at least three inches taller, his lethal expression laser-focused on the creepy man. Quicker than lightning, Everett fists the collar of his jacket, forcefully backing him up against the brick wall of the gas station. A whimper leaves the man’s chest as Everett shoves him against the bricks with little to no effort.

“Woah, man. I was just trying to give her a compliment.” The man says, holding both hands up in the air like he’s being arrested.

“It looks like you were trying to give her a lot more than a fucking compliment,” Everett spits before turning his untamed gaze back to me. His eyes quickly sweep down my body, looking for any signs of harm.

“Skylar, did he touch you?” Everett asks over his shoulder with a death grip on the man’s collar. He clenches his jaw as he waits for my response. He’s breathing so hard that I can see each exhale like a cloud of smoke in the frigid air.

Unable to find my voice, I slowly shake my head to silently tell him no.

“I need to hear you say it. Did he touch you, Skylar?” He repeats in a razor-sharp tone.

“No,” I exhale. “He tried, but he didn’t touch me,” I confirm, my eyes darting back and forth between Everett and my aggressor.

“I swear to God I didn't touch her,” the man chimes in, his tone laced with panic.

“You’re lucky you didn't because you would be losing a fucking hand if you did,” Everett grits out as he steps closer, almost nose-to-nose with the guy.

“Everett, calm down,” I breathe out. “Let’s just go,” I say calmly, trying to de-escalate the situation. I just want to get the hell out of here.

“Yeah, chill out bro. I didn’t know she was your girl.” The guy looks like he could burst out in tears any second now. His macho-man charade has quickly been replaced by his true identity: a pathetic, disgusting, coward of a man.

“First off, I’m not yourbro. Secondly, when someone asks you to leave them alone, you back the fuck off. And third, sheismine. And I protect what’s mine,” Everett hisses through gritted teeth, fisting his fingers tighter in the man’s jacket. I can tell that he’s using all of his self-control to not kick this guy’s ass right now.

She is mine.

My pulse thrums at the way Everett just called me his. I know he only said it as an intimation factor, but I can’t deny the way it makes me feel. I can’t deny the way my blood heats at the sight of Everett protecting me like I’m the center of his universe. Maybe it’s masochistic to feel turned on by Everett’s savage reaction, but the feral look in his eyes has a familiar fire simmering low in my stomach.

“She’s all yours, man. Just let me go.” The man’s frightened eyes find mine, begging and pleading. “Please, ask him to let me go.” Isn't it ironic thathe’sthe one begging for mercy now?

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