Dreams of 18(25)

Is it because he can’t stand to touch me? Is that why he won’t put his hand anywhere on my body, not even to manhandle me?

Maybe I make his skin crawl the same way the world does mine when it stares at me.

I look up at his profile. It’s stony and cold and frankly, super terrifying.

“Mr. Edwards –”

He cuts off whatever I was going to say by delivering his harshest jerk yet. His fist tightens, making my t-shirt stretch and distort against my body, making me think that he’s going to tear off the fabric.

“Mr. Edwards, you’re hurting me.”

He comes to a stop then, at my blurted-out warning.

Spinning around once more and facing me, he pushes me back, his knuckles digging into my flesh. My spine hits something – something metallic – and I gasp at how cold it is against my heated body.

He studies my face, my frown, my parted and panting lips with a menacing look. “Trust me, I haven’t even begun hurting you.”

His growled-out words sink into my skin, sink into the exact spot he’s clutching me at, the exact spot where his knuckles are almost gouging a hole on my arm.

This is it, then.

I wanted this, didn’t I? I came here to face his anger and here it is.

Be careful what you wish for.

Be careful because you just might get it. You might just get burned by the dark, dark eyes of a beast.

“Mr. Edwards –”

I try again, and again he cuts me off. “Get in.”

“What?”

“Get in the truck.”

I look back and realize that the something metallic that I’d hit a few seconds ago was his truck. We’re back to where we started – at the bar where I found him.

Where I watched him kiss another woman.

“You want me to get in your truck?” I ask inanely.

No answer. But he does clench his teeth and I notice that when he does it, the bones of his face look even more chiseled and blade-like.

Like if I accidentally touched his face, I might cut myself.

“But I’ve never been in your truck before. I thought it wasn’t allowed.”

Yikes.

Could I sound any younger than I did just now?

Allowed?

He leans toward me, looking me in the eyes, like he really wants me to concentrate on his next statement. “Get in or I’ll put you in. And you’re not going to like the way I do it.”

“P-put me in?”

He straightens up, and letting go of the sleeve of my shirt, he grabs me by the waist.

In a flash, I’m in the air. My feet leave the ground and my eyes go wide but I don’t even get the chance to gasp before I’m being dumped on the seat of his truck.

I have no idea how he did that so fast. How he got the door of his truck open while still holding me and how he deposited me inside like I’m a bag of feathers, all in the space of three seconds.

All I know is that I caught a grimace on his face when he put his hands on me to do the deed.

Man, he really hates me, doesn’t he?

The sight of that grimace is so jarring, so saddening – even though I should’ve expected it – that I don’t even let out a tiny ow when my butt hits the leather and my glasses and cap fall away from me. I still manage to hold onto my hobo though.

Mr. Edwards is about to shut the door when I put my hand on his chest and stop him.

I think along with stopping him, I stopped time, as well.

Or at least, it feels like it.

It feels like I stopped time, froze it and froze the world around us, by putting my small hand on his massive chest.

His grip on the door goes really tight. So tight that I can see the tendons in his wrist stand taut. As taut as his pecs.

Which I’m touching right this second.

“Get your hand off me,” he orders.

Immediately, I do.

I glance at his razor-sharp features. “My glasses. I-I need them.”

“What?”

“My sunglasses. They fell. On the ground.”

He gives me a deadpan look like he didn’t hear me.

But then, a muscle jumps on his cheek and I think that maybe he’ll run over my sunglasses with his truck just to spite me.

In my head, I’m already thinking about getting a new pair, probably a few more as a backup, when he bends down and grabs them. He returns them to me with a jerky motion of his hand and I accept them quickly, before he changes his mind and throws them away.

Clutching them to my chest, I say, “Thanks.”

Again, he goes to snap the door shut but I stop him.

“My cap. It fell too.” His chest rises and falls on a long breath and I can’t help but add, “B-but it’s okay. I didn’t love it that much. We can just –”

He steps back and slams the door in my face, in the middle of my sentence. I flinch and my eyes fall shut as the strands blow over my cheeks.

I’m going to buy a new cap tomorrow. I’ll order it online like I’ve been doing since I got out of Heartstone and it’ll be fine.

It’s okay. Everything’s okay.

I’ll buy several new caps and sunglasses, in fact. I’m actually surprised at myself that I haven’t yet since my entire life depends on them now.

Lesson learned.

A few seconds later, he opens the door to the driver’s side and slides in. He has my cap in his hands that he throws over at me and I catch it, letting go of my glasses.