Don't Play With Death (on indefinite hiatus)

Chapter 28

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Chapter 28

 It seems like all these two boys ever do is to mess up with my thoughts and feelings. Basically, Chason just declared that he’s in love with me. While crying over his dead ex, he’s telling me that he’s falling for me.

 Dear God, how do you respond to something like that?

 So I don’t. Instead, I gently wiggle my hand out of his grip, leaving him sitting in the snow. I continue walking until he’s out of sight, but not too far away, in case something happens and he needs me or vice versa. Then I collapse on the ground.

 I don’t need this. Why would he tell me something like that? What good did he think that it would do? If anything, he has only made things more complicated, much harder than they need to be.

 “God, I hate this so much,” I groan, talking to no one but myself. Without thinking much about it, I lie down on my back, a cold feeling quickly spreading from head to toe. The temperature has decreased, and I start shaking. My coverall seems thinner than it did a couple of days ago.

 I know that lying in this particular position is risky, not to mention downright stupid. If anyone catches a glimpse of me, they can attack before I have time to blink.

 Which is, of course, exactly what happens right afterwards. I’m suddenly aware of someone standing right behind my head, their boots nearly touching my face. A sharp, golden arrow is pointing at my forehead. My first impulse is to scream for Chason, but I don’t even have the energy to do that. So I simply look up, my eyes meeting a pair of pitch-black eyes. “Serenae,” I sigh, half-relieved, half-pissed off.

 She snorts, lowering her arm. “Scared you, did I?” she smirks. No, it’s not even a real smirk. The corners of her lips are just turning upwards, but her eyes stay as dark and emotionless as ever.

 “I just needed some time alone,” I explain, even though she didn’t really ask.

 “Do I care?” she says, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. Where’s Chason?”

 I shrug, which makes her raise her eyebrows. “What, trouble in paradise, chestnut?”

 My cheeks flush a brilliant red. How does she know about that? “He told you about that?” I stutter, unable to hide the blush spreading across my cheeks.

 “No, he just muttered some nonsense about chestnuts in his sleep, and I figured…he meant you.”

 “Why?” I ask curiously.

 “Because all he ever talks about is you,” she says matter-of-factly.

 I blush again, biting my lips so hard that I can taste blood. “Just don’t call me that,” I tell her quickly.

 “Why not?”

 “I just don’t like it.”

 “You don’t seem to mind when Chason calls you chestnut,” she points out.

 I hesitate, not sure what to answer. That’s true; I don’t really have anything against the stupid nickname Chason gave me, but that’s also part of the reason; Chason gave it to me. He’s the one calling me chestnut, no one else does. And that’s why I find it quite cute, and…special. It doesn’t sound right when it comes from another person. But I don’t feel like telling that to Serenae. “Because I just don’t like it,” I say.