[18+] Nevaeh Sinclair came back home and was already tired of everything. Her mother, her mother's multiple different partners that come in and out of their home, familiar faces, all of it. While being back, Nevaeh meets Damon Angelo Coyne again. An...
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__________ Chapter 1 Nevaeh
Why is first love portrayed as a fight, something so serious? A first love is supposed to be fun and exciting. Love is a silent emotion, yet it is so vociferous, almost vexing. I flipped through the pages of my old copy of my favorite books of all time. The pages were aged with a soft tint of yellow, the cover curls slightly on the edges, the spine cracked in the right places. Despite how long I've owned, opened, and read this book, the pages still opened sweetly as spring flowers. The characters' love must have been an example of true love prevails. I whispered my favorite part to myself.
But I always knew that love was never as sensitive or pure.
As I sat near my window, a golden hue beamed into my room, catching my attention. Looking through the glass, I could see the inclining eventide, the clouds brought infinite images of beauty. It brought me back to those warm summer evenings when the sun was about to kiss the earth and I would either read or lay on my bed, waiting for dreams to dance into circadian rhythm, and I would go to all places that are perfect.
All the places that were perfect.
As I was my eyes were fixed onto the sky, my door opened. I turned my head and saw half-naked man, luckily with a towel wrapped around his waist, covering his bottom half. His body was very toned, had the right ratio of muscle and fat. If he was not who he was, I probably wouldn't be disgusted by the sight of him.
I could feel my face sting at the chagrin for him and myself. The one thing about me was that I could not camouflage my facial expressions even if that was essential to my survival. I was lost for words, as I looked at the water trying to dissolve into his skin. Words are interesting. The concept of being lost for words was something that happened often with me. It can be just from the fact that you cannot express yourself in your language or it takes many words to convey something so unadorned. All I could say was, "Get. out."
"Sorry," he said, quickly closing the door. I tried to convince myself that he must have confused my room for the bathroom next door. I could not blame him, since this was his first evening here. This man coming into my room is my mother's fault.
I placed my bookmark into the last page I was reading and slammed the book shut. Not again. I moved away from the window and went to search for my mother. Even though I was trying to be understanding, anger fueled me more than my empathy. This is the second time today that this guy barged into my room like it was some hotel. I was at my last leaf.
