What the fuck happened to me?
Everything from the night before is a blur, and no memories spring to life, but I still remember the rage that ran through my veins in a craving for revenge, a desire to hurt someone. I’m unsure if I hurt someone or not, but if I did, I am sure the bastard deserved it.
Several minutes pass where I try to clear my thoughts and regain a reasonably clear field of vision. After what feels like an eternity, everything stops being a blur, and the chair is no longer one with the table as it was before. I sigh with relief as I see that the door no longer resembles a wall in a room with no exit.
I am no longer trapped.
As I stand up, I feel the tightness in my neck from yesterday’s events and my muscles spasm as memories come flooding back. That bastard of a guard sedated me with something. I cannot remember why I’m here, and no one has told me anything yet. If the court had found me and taken me here, they would have me restrained on the bed the entire time or worse, have me in a straitjacket.
A wave of nausea washes over me, and my body shakes with revulsion.
They did not find you, Naya.
When the soles of my bare feet touch the icy floor, I feel like I’m standing in a frigid gust of wind. Peering into the space in the wall, I sit on the edge of the bed and try to organize my chaotic thoughts. Now that I can finally see again, the sunlight streaming in from outside is so bright it almost seems to be warming the room with its golden glow.
If I strain my ears, I can just make out the cheerful tones of the patients outside, their laughter ringing down the corridor, and I admire how they can smile in a place like this. For some people, the stars align in their favor, while life is more of a struggle for others. I belong to those who struggle.
My attention is quickly drawn to the door, surprised by the sudden knock reverberating against the wooden surface, and I can’t help but feel a wave of confusion washing over me as I try to figure out who it could be. Every employee in the building wears an ID badge that gives them access everywhere, so the fact that someone still knocks with a loud thud unnerves me. Having been vigilant about opening or not, I cautiously open the door, letting a sliver of bright light from the corridor in.
I peer my head outside, with the rest of my body still inside the room, making a fool out of myself. In the middle of the corridor stands a man in his twenties, his presence dominating the area around me. I can still detect the faint aroma of his cologne in the atmosphere, and with his much taller frame, he stands above me, his body looming over me. His figure, tall and sculpted, seems to belong on a runway, yet here he is, trapped in this place. His shirt stretches taut against his bulging muscles as if it’s a size too small, allowing me to appreciate his well-built frame fully.
I see how his arms are crossed, several tattoos on full display along one of his arms, and I can’t help but stare at the wonder of them. I admire the intricate designs that run up and down his arm. Each tattoo is a capture of beauty in its own right, and yet they fit together in a coherent pattern.
It’s a beautifully made chaos, and the lines of the chaotic design are so precise that I can barely resist the urge to trace them with my finger, wanting to feel the ink beneath my touch.
He is definitely not a guard.
My eyes roam his body, and when they reach his face, I’m astounded by the sharpness of his cheekbones, as if a master artist formed them, and his chiseled jaw that looks as if it could withstand any force. Precisely like the day before, it is his eyes that have the most impact on me.
His gaze is unwavering, and his eyes shine like lodestars, entrancing all who encounter him. There is an air of mirth about them, and they gleam like two eternity-blue jewels enwrought in white snow as if they are shining twinkling lights. They say eyes are the windows to your soul, and the creature in front of me let me feel the magnitude of his sadness through one piercing gaze before a barrier of iron separates me from these emotions.
Those deep sapphire blue eyes are unmistakable. They belong to the same guy I saw in the cafeteria the day before, one of those guys who refused to even give his name.
The one who tapped into my soul, stirring something awake.
The tension between us is so intense that it’s almost tangible, with the air becoming charged with electricity. The sound of a soft thud in the doorway distracts me as I’m on the verge of closing it, leaving my daydream of him behind.
“If you don’t remove your foot right now, I swear to the gods I will do it for you with the door. And it won’t be pleasant.”
There it is, the triumphant smirk on his lips, that look of pure, malevolent delight. A smirk that wears the same humor as the day before when he scoffed at me. He pushes the door open with his foot, the sound of creaking wood echoing through the room. He stands like an immortal, his arm propped against the door frame while his silent gaze pierces me. His wicked grin causes my stomach to flutter, and it seems he is aware because it grows even wider. If he finds this funny, he is a fucking delusional psychopath, even more so than I am.
He pushes the door open fully, not removing his foot, and I hear the scraping of wood against the floor as I stumble backward, nearly tripping over the chair standing by the desk. Yesterday, I failed to recognize how much taller he is than me, to the extent that I have to tilt my head back to make eye contact.
“What do you want?” I spit out with more venom than intended, feeling myself becoming possessed of something I have not felt in months.Need.
“I came here with medication. I heard what they did to you. Hurts like shit.”
He holds up a bottle of painkillers, and the sight of his veins so prominent in his hand waters my mouth. Men with veiny hands?Fuck me on the spot.
To rid myself of inappropriate thoughts, I close my eyes and shake my head from side to side.
“I don’t need them.”
A lie. I would kill for those pills right now. My head is exploding now more than ever, and the guy is certainly not helping with it. I feel my neck muscles tighten with strain.
A riot of red hair hangs from his face, framing his sapphire blue eyes, and I suddenly feel the urge to run my hand through his ruffled hair.
“I think you do,” he offers me a smile, his white teeth almost shining in the lamplight, but I just glare at him.
