that belief is truly wrong. You do understand that I’ve survived eighteen years without your assistance . R ight?”
“I do,” he agreed readily , and to my relief it seemed that he finally understood my point. Then he went a step further, eradicating any good will. “I just don’t know how.”
I clenched my jaw in response , and seeing this, he bowed his head to chuckle.
I knew I had three options. I could release the torrent of words and curses that were racing through my mind and make it unmistakably clear that I did not need a sav ior . I could silently suppress the emotions brewing in side me, pick up my backpack, and head home, although this wasn’t really an option for me, or I could change the subject to avoid further aggravating myself. I chose the final alternative .
“ So are you going to tell me your name?” I shrugged, trying to break his stare . I began to realize that , whenever he was near , I was so conscious of him I forgot to breathe ; as a result, I took a deep breath for good measure.
A wide smirk contorted his face; that , I was learning , must be his trademark expression . “I was wondering when you were going to ask. I’m Eran.”
“Maggie,” I said. It could have been the fact that he simply stared back, showing no sign that he was storing my name in the back of his mind, but I got the distinct , albeit irrational , feeling that he somehow already knew my name .
My instinct was to extend my hand in greeting, even though I knew this was not typical behavior for someone my age . Nevertheless , living on the road you grow up quickly.
He seemed to have the same inhibition because he didn’t immediately take my hand . Instead, he stared at it as if he was torn between being cordial and being rude .
Clearly f eeling his discomfort, I began to withdraw the invitation and pulled my hand back. Upon r ealizing what I was doing, he had second thoughts and quickly reached to grasp it.
As his hand came around mine, the rush of his words registered with me. “I run hot.”
His long fingers encircled my own a s his palm - twice the size of mine - pressed down, engulfing my hand.
He wasn’t kidding about the heat.
From the second we made contact, I felt as if my skin was shri nk ing , its moisture evaporating , and a thin layer peeling back …shrivel ing like a grape that wither s in the scorching afternoon sun.
The heat from his skin created an invisible fireball , burning into my flesh . I felt like I reacted instantaneously , but it was still too long. I wrenched my hand free even as he pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have allowed that.”
I didn’t bother to respond. My attention was on my hand and the fact that even as the piercing pain subsided I noted that no damage had been. If it weren’t for the throbbing, I wouldn’t even have known we had touched.
“Are you hurt?” Eran asked with sincere interest.
“No,” I shook my head, more in astonishment than to enforce my answer. “No, there…there are no marks.”
Eran was leaning in for con firmation , so I showed him. “See? Nothing.”
Only after I had turned my hand over – twice – did he believe me. He straightened up, clearly remorseful, though I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know I would hold him for as long as I did. It must have been a deep, unavoidable desire causing me to seize the opportunity and hold on despite the pain.
Eran tucked his thumbs back in his pockets , as if it would prevent them from doing any further harm .
Deciding the best course of action to help him overcome his evident guilt was to change the subject, I did just that – trying not to wring the pain from my hand as I spoke.
“ So , Eran , how is it that I’ve crossed paths with you more often than anyone else in this city? Are you stalking me?” I said this in jest , and thankfully my tone conveyed it , despite the persistent ache in my hand.
“You’re sure
“I do,” he agreed readily , and to my relief it seemed that he finally understood my point. Then he went a step further, eradicating any good will. “I just don’t know how.”
I clenched my jaw in response , and seeing this, he bowed his head to chuckle.
I knew I had three options. I could release the torrent of words and curses that were racing through my mind and make it unmistakably clear that I did not need a sav ior . I could silently suppress the emotions brewing in side me, pick up my backpack, and head home, although this wasn’t really an option for me, or I could change the subject to avoid further aggravating myself. I chose the final alternative .
“ So are you going to tell me your name?” I shrugged, trying to break his stare . I began to realize that , whenever he was near , I was so conscious of him I forgot to breathe ; as a result, I took a deep breath for good measure.
A wide smirk contorted his face; that , I was learning , must be his trademark expression . “I was wondering when you were going to ask. I’m Eran.”
“Maggie,” I said. It could have been the fact that he simply stared back, showing no sign that he was storing my name in the back of his mind, but I got the distinct , albeit irrational , feeling that he somehow already knew my name .
My instinct was to extend my hand in greeting, even though I knew this was not typical behavior for someone my age . Nevertheless , living on the road you grow up quickly.
He seemed to have the same inhibition because he didn’t immediately take my hand . Instead, he stared at it as if he was torn between being cordial and being rude .
Clearly f eeling his discomfort, I began to withdraw the invitation and pulled my hand back. Upon r ealizing what I was doing, he had second thoughts and quickly reached to grasp it.
As his hand came around mine, the rush of his words registered with me. “I run hot.”
His long fingers encircled my own a s his palm - twice the size of mine - pressed down, engulfing my hand.
He wasn’t kidding about the heat.
From the second we made contact, I felt as if my skin was shri nk ing , its moisture evaporating , and a thin layer peeling back …shrivel ing like a grape that wither s in the scorching afternoon sun.
The heat from his skin created an invisible fireball , burning into my flesh . I felt like I reacted instantaneously , but it was still too long. I wrenched my hand free even as he pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have allowed that.”
I didn’t bother to respond. My attention was on my hand and the fact that even as the piercing pain subsided I noted that no damage had been. If it weren’t for the throbbing, I wouldn’t even have known we had touched.
“Are you hurt?” Eran asked with sincere interest.
“No,” I shook my head, more in astonishment than to enforce my answer. “No, there…there are no marks.”
Eran was leaning in for con firmation , so I showed him. “See? Nothing.”
Only after I had turned my hand over – twice – did he believe me. He straightened up, clearly remorseful, though I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know I would hold him for as long as I did. It must have been a deep, unavoidable desire causing me to seize the opportunity and hold on despite the pain.
Eran tucked his thumbs back in his pockets , as if it would prevent them from doing any further harm .
Deciding the best course of action to help him overcome his evident guilt was to change the subject, I did just that – trying not to wring the pain from my hand as I spoke.
“ So , Eran , how is it that I’ve crossed paths with you more often than anyone else in this city? Are you stalking me?” I said this in jest , and thankfully my tone conveyed it , despite the persistent ache in my hand.
“You’re sure
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