𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐇 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 [slow updates]

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CINDY

My worst fear in the whole, whole world has got to be heights. But on my twenty-first birthday, my friends took me bungee jumping.

The reasoning behind it was:

"Cindy! You never do anything out of your comfort zone!" Said Hope.

And at the time, my most common complaint was that everyday was the very same.

"Hey," Ben nudged me and I frowned at him, completely in denial. "If you want something in your life to change, change it yourself. Do something out of your comfort zone, entirely bizarre and out of character. Cindy: Remastered!"

To this day, I haven't forgiven them. My fear wasn't cured and I hate them for almost killing me that very hot day in July four years ago.

This reminds me of that—the whole "Cindy: Remastered" thing. Hiding out behind a wall is the most un-Cindy thing I've done since... ever. I'm with a guy too! I'm one-thousand percent positive that the only part of this whole thing that is even slightly in character for me is the fact that the wall we're hidden behind is located inside of a library.

He's trying to relax his breathing and I'm trying to relax my limbs. I don't know how much of a success he's having with his task, but mine isn't—

"Levin!" Someone yells and I open my mouth to ask the man if that's his name, but he clamps his hand over my mouth, shushing me.

His eyes are wide as he shakes his head at me. The guy is acting like I just insulted him! I cross my arms under my breasts and his gaze drops to them for a split second.

My jaw falls. The nerve.

I bite back every curse word in my vocabulary and decide that maybe waiting this out will calm my temper. The same temper that hasn't ever been a problem until about five minutes ago when I met this jerk off.

We wait another five minutes and those people are still, like, chanting his name. They're calling out questions, covering most of the vulgar ones with "innocent" words.

I've never understood why or how people could invade others' personal space and lives for a good picture of a celebrity or someone even a little "worthwhile" doing something completely pedestrian.

It's so dehumanizing. Like, these people—the famous ones—are only meant for the outside world's entertainment. And the moment they decide to put up the super tinted kind of plexiglass around themselves and the things they hold most exclusive, everyone decides that after whatever contract they signed, they no longer have the right to wish for that privacy and security.

...Wait, wait, wait.

How has it registered in my mind that the people outside are reporters and paparazzi, but not that this guy pressed up against my side could very possibly be a, like, famous murderer?

I lean in super-duper close to his ear because 1) it's a known fact that I have zero patience. 2) I also suck at keeping my mouth shut.

"Are you a killer or a famous actor? What the heck is happening?"

When I pull back from his ear, he has this look in his eyes. No way is this guy surprised that I don't know who he is. Jesus. He must be big.

NOT LIKE THAT. LIKE AS IN—GODDAMMIT.

The corners of his lips twitch in a small smile but he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He opens his mouth, his sour mood suddenly gone. Unfortunately, I never get to hear what he has to say because a click, flash, and scream later, Levin has my bag thrown over his shoulder and his finger tangled with mine.