✧It all started with a slap✧
𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒊 𝑺𝒆𝒉𝒈𝒂𝒍
She is beautiful, smart, and an introvert who has no problem putting others in their proper places. She is selfless and compassionate and prioritises others before herself.
She is trying to...
"I told you I did not want that man near you," I said as I took a step in front of her.
"And I told you, he is just a friend, and there is nothing to worry about," she said, crossing her arms and quirking her brows.
"There is everything to be concerned about in the way he looks at you," she scoffed.
Nice.
"He doesn't look at me in any way!" She spoke slowly as if she were speaking to a child.
I turned my back to her and rubbed my face. I desperately wanted to pull my hair out in frustration.
I turn around to face her. "Have you ever paid attention to the way he looks at you?" I restrained myself from raising my voice.
"I am telling you there is nothing you should be worrying about." She raised her voice and pressed her finger against my chest.
Perfect.
"Okay. Tell me what is wrong. Talk to me." She said softly, calming down and patiently waiting for me to tell her.
I exhaled an exasperated breath and I mumbled. "He...he loves you."
"No, he does not." She shook her head, denying it.
"Yes, he does. It is written all over his damn face, it is in the way he looks at you, so lovingly." I took a step closer and cupped her face in my hands. "And- and it pains me to know he wants you. When I want to be the only one who desires you."
I lower my head to her eye level and bring my face closer to hers. "Darling, it is too much for me to see him watching you with eyes full of adoration. He looks for chances to touch you, to be close to you." I took her hand in mine and placed it on my chest, just above my heart.
"It hurts here."
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I could feel his heart pounding and warmth seeping through the thin fabric that separated me from his skin. My own heart is racing, and my mind is foggy.
My stomach fluttered at that moment when he said he desired me.
He wants me.
But the darkness that has been clouding my mind suppresses everything I'm feeling. The only thing that remains is the memory of the last time I allowed a man into my life.
It was highly destructive.
Still, there was a sense of urgency in my chest to reassure him, to tell him not to worry, and to take away the distraught expression on his face.
"I never thought of him as anything more than a friend," I say slowly and gently, caressing his chest, in the hope that he will relax a little.
He is so worked up about it that his heart is racing and he is breathing heavily. His fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.
