people into danger like this? Someone must have known. I’m traveling in the direction of home until I become a ware of Connor keeping pace beside me.
“Stop walking,” he demands sternly, cutting his eyes toward me.
His eyes are dark, all kindness drained from their steel color. His anger only annoys me when I should be scared of him. Who does he think he is?
“No,” I growl as I continue my hike, deciding to alter my direction away from our small community.
I can’t lead these strangers straight to the prison. As much as I want to go home, I realize I can’t. My anger builds.
Connor releases an exasperated breath and without looking at me says, “Stop walking, please.”
A quiet giggle sounds from behind. Clover instantly attempts to hide the laughter but it’s too late, Connor’s ears perk at the noise and a scowl forms on his face. I have a feeling he doesn’t say the word “please” to often and I most likely may never hear it again. I stop walking and glare at him. The response is a mistake because as soon as my eyes catch his, my heart begins to beat faster. I’m not startled at the reaction but at the sentiment that flickers to life along with the pounding in my chest.
A whole new kind of anxiety fills the emptiness inside and I’m uncertain as to how to respond. A nervousness of him I’m not capable of managing seeps into my distressed reasoning. What is wrong with me? The idea of this type of sensation at all, as well as, having any feelings hours after Tom’s death, sickens me.
Connor stiffens as if he knows what I’m thinking and wants no part of my crazy. He’s just as dirty as before with a light sheen of sweat at his brow but those things only add to his attractiveness. He still wears the same clothes from last night, only now they’re drenched in areas with blood. Tom’s blood? The man from last night’s blood? Connor touches a finger to the dampness, his skin coming back with a faint redness- his eyebrows dipping in concentration. Did he not realize he was covered in drying blood?
I quickly divert my gaze wondering again what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t conjure up these thoughts. I want to embrace the emptiness of before. I want to slam shut the door to my brain, not to open again until I’m behind the safety of the prison’s walls. I’m sure he’s aware of how he makes me nervous and of how unstable I truly am.
Connor drops his supply bag and tugs the shirt off- wiping any remaining blood and sweat off his chest. His muscles flex and tighten as I blush a brilliant shade of red.
“What the hell Connor?” Clover ask baffled.
“There’s blood.” Connor replies, a confused expression appearing on his features.
Clover rolls her eyes when he makes a head gesture toward me. She yanks open his supply bag, offering him another shirt.
“I think I’m safe in saying Millie and I prefer the blood.”
My blush deepens at my humiliation when Connor notices the color of my cheeks. He flushed slightly but recovers quickly with a smug smile.
“Um. Yeah.” He mutters, filling the awkward silence.
I’m not a prude. I want to say as much but I keep my mouth closed. I’ve seen a man's bare chest before. Plenty of the guys I train with discard their shirts when Mrs. Emerson demands we jog in the hot sun. There was never an awkward time where I thought twice of their half exposed bodies. However, I can’t explain but Connor is different. Seeing the smooth lines of his shoulders and flat stomach, makes my hands tremble with the need to touch him. In that moment, I feel naive and foolish. I hate it.
Connor quickly covers his naked chest with the clothing offered by Clover. I scowl at my disappointment and relief. His messed up hair quivers in the breeze, drawing my scrutiny. The disarranged pieces only give him an appearance of youthful innocence which I thought impossible with his menacing stance from earlier. He’s even more beautiful. The anger that lies right
“Stop walking,” he demands sternly, cutting his eyes toward me.
His eyes are dark, all kindness drained from their steel color. His anger only annoys me when I should be scared of him. Who does he think he is?
“No,” I growl as I continue my hike, deciding to alter my direction away from our small community.
I can’t lead these strangers straight to the prison. As much as I want to go home, I realize I can’t. My anger builds.
Connor releases an exasperated breath and without looking at me says, “Stop walking, please.”
A quiet giggle sounds from behind. Clover instantly attempts to hide the laughter but it’s too late, Connor’s ears perk at the noise and a scowl forms on his face. I have a feeling he doesn’t say the word “please” to often and I most likely may never hear it again. I stop walking and glare at him. The response is a mistake because as soon as my eyes catch his, my heart begins to beat faster. I’m not startled at the reaction but at the sentiment that flickers to life along with the pounding in my chest.
A whole new kind of anxiety fills the emptiness inside and I’m uncertain as to how to respond. A nervousness of him I’m not capable of managing seeps into my distressed reasoning. What is wrong with me? The idea of this type of sensation at all, as well as, having any feelings hours after Tom’s death, sickens me.
Connor stiffens as if he knows what I’m thinking and wants no part of my crazy. He’s just as dirty as before with a light sheen of sweat at his brow but those things only add to his attractiveness. He still wears the same clothes from last night, only now they’re drenched in areas with blood. Tom’s blood? The man from last night’s blood? Connor touches a finger to the dampness, his skin coming back with a faint redness- his eyebrows dipping in concentration. Did he not realize he was covered in drying blood?
I quickly divert my gaze wondering again what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t conjure up these thoughts. I want to embrace the emptiness of before. I want to slam shut the door to my brain, not to open again until I’m behind the safety of the prison’s walls. I’m sure he’s aware of how he makes me nervous and of how unstable I truly am.
Connor drops his supply bag and tugs the shirt off- wiping any remaining blood and sweat off his chest. His muscles flex and tighten as I blush a brilliant shade of red.
“What the hell Connor?” Clover ask baffled.
“There’s blood.” Connor replies, a confused expression appearing on his features.
Clover rolls her eyes when he makes a head gesture toward me. She yanks open his supply bag, offering him another shirt.
“I think I’m safe in saying Millie and I prefer the blood.”
My blush deepens at my humiliation when Connor notices the color of my cheeks. He flushed slightly but recovers quickly with a smug smile.
“Um. Yeah.” He mutters, filling the awkward silence.
I’m not a prude. I want to say as much but I keep my mouth closed. I’ve seen a man's bare chest before. Plenty of the guys I train with discard their shirts when Mrs. Emerson demands we jog in the hot sun. There was never an awkward time where I thought twice of their half exposed bodies. However, I can’t explain but Connor is different. Seeing the smooth lines of his shoulders and flat stomach, makes my hands tremble with the need to touch him. In that moment, I feel naive and foolish. I hate it.
Connor quickly covers his naked chest with the clothing offered by Clover. I scowl at my disappointment and relief. His messed up hair quivers in the breeze, drawing my scrutiny. The disarranged pieces only give him an appearance of youthful innocence which I thought impossible with his menacing stance from earlier. He’s even more beautiful. The anger that lies right
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