𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐬

CHAPTER EIGHT - THE LITTLE THINGS

Andreus

"This is where you live?"

I faced Minerva, doing my best not to soak up the disgusted tenor of her tone. When I got a look of her expression, though, I realized it wasn't disgust. It was something different. Wide eyes, flared nostrils, parted lips and the blanch of her features was enough to give me an insight on her thoughts. They were nowhere near happy.  

"Malibu," she gritted her teeth. "Tell me this isn't where you live."

I took in her stiff posture, tilting my head to the side. Long braid fallen over a stiff shoulder, large sweater reaching the halves of her thighs, tight yoga pants giving enough sight of those legs-for-days to make any man drool. I took in the little specks of sand still staining her clothes and the rip of the material covering her knee, giving sight to blood. As I took my time to stare at her, I had to wonder if she was worried for my safety... or just questioning my life choices. Probably both.

I pulled open the door, waving my hand for her to head inside first. "Welcome to my humble abode, M'lady!"

I didn't think it could be possible to see her face turn a lighter shade. Not until I spoke. Then, her horror took a swan dive. "You didn't pull out any keys," she rasped.

I raised a shoulder, "I don't lock it. Why would I carry keys?"

The mere prospect was ridiculous. I had keys to drive it, not to lock it up. Sure, there was the possibility of a theft, but if it happened, there was that. I could get a new van. It wasn't the end of the world. The only things I'd miss would be all the memories I made inside. Those would be hard to make again. Or get back. I had hundreds of pictures with all the people I'd created a bond with. I'd miss those photos, the little things that gave life to my van. As well as what gave life to my board. Yet, I'd live well without them. They were only objects... if I lost them, it wasn't like I had a choice on the matter. I'd move on, get new stuff.

When I glanced back at my unexpected guest, I caught her weaving on her feet. "Do you at least lock it when you're inside...?"

I had half a mind not to voice the answer. The greenness of her face told me this was more serious to her than I could imagine. Instead, I raised my shoulder again, hoping it was enough of an answer. Her hand gripped the end of her braid, fingers rubbing the thick rope. Her eyes glazed over as she eyed the inside of the van, a shiver wrecking her body.

"It's not a big deal, Minny," I murmured, intending to make the situation lighter.

"Don't... fucking call me 'Minny', you idiot," she gritted. Seeming to pull herself together, she walked past me, climbing the steps in a rush. "Where is that fucking kit?"

"Are you always this cranky in the morning?" I had to watch her shoulders bunch up more, to anticipate the fallout of my stupid mouth. Except... it didn't come. Nothing snarky in return, no insults, nothing.

"Tell me where the thing is," she insisted, her voice quieter.

My heart tugged, a wrong sensation taking root in my chest. I opened my mouth to take the insinuation back, but whatever thought I had building up died on the tip of my tongue when I saw her inspecting my place. She had the awareness of a warrior prepared for battle, checking every nook as though she worried something would jump out. I was as impressed by her vigilance, as I was intrigued. I knew my place to be safe, despite refusing to use a locking system. What I didn't know was why she felt the need to make sure the place was secure.

"This way." I cleared my throat, trying to avoid touching her as I moved. It was harder than I thought, seeing the whole place was so cramped. It was for the first time ever, that I wished I had more space. I'd always settled with, even enjoyed, the lack of air. It made me want to go out, fill my time with anything other than staying in bed. In this case, in the nearness of the woman I wanted to touch with my whole being, the woman who wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole... I couldn't stand the damn constricted space. I couldn't stand being so close to something I couldn't have.