She lives in a world where punches and pain come as easily as the simple task of teeth brushing. She's learnt to live with her life, he's learnt to thrive in his world. He lives in a world where punches and pain are wanted, needed perhaps. It's only...
Alessandra's eyes travelled underneath the impossible darkness of her eyelids. She felt like she was moving, the soft but jerky movement, it was relaxing. She opened her eyes to see that she was in a car.
She felt her eyes heavy.
"Alessandra." The voice was familiar. "Tell me your address." Aiden.
"No." She said, her words was slurred. "Don't take me home." She said again. She heard him sigh.
Her head hurt, a lot. The thought of pain sent her into a dark state, she was out.
+++++
When she awoke she felt the warmth of the morning light. Her body ached, her head throbbing.
She didn't look any better either. Her arms were casted in blue, green, purple, and yellow, she looked down to see she was wearing a sweat shirt, that even when she was laying down reached her mid-thigh. She was immediately alarmed as soon as she remembered the events of the previous night.
She shot up, slightly gasping. Aiden entered the room. The room was simple, one bed with crisp white sheets, warm light colors, lace curtains, elegant furniture, carpet floors.
"You're up." He said flatly.
Alessandra felt herself flush, she didn't know what to say, and he was shirtless. She just nodded and felt her eyes wander his body.
He had muscles on his stomach. Actually, he had muscles laid all over him in a fine layer under his bronze skin. His arms were muscled but lean. He looked tall, not 6'3 tall, and not bulky either. But simply...Perfect. She watched as he moved to sit beside her on the bed. Each one of his muscles moving with grace, almost to own their own graceful beat. She saw the indentions on his hips, dip into a V leading down. She glared at the veins in his arms, the way they rolled over the muscles, another thing that separated him from his pure muscle. She saw a tattoo, roman numerals right underneath his collar bone beautiful among the hardness of his muscle. MMXV, 2015.
She saw the pale of his hands as he sat down. He was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen, and will ever see.
"How are you feeling?" He asked. Alessandra realized she was supposed to say something.
"My head hurts." She said, in a low voice.
He chuckled. "No kidding."
Alessandra was bewildered. "What do you mean?"
"Your head was smashed against a mirror." He said, any trace that he had chuckled was now gone, faded into raw fury.
"Oh." Was all she said. She looked down at her fingers, that fiddled on her blanket. "Where am I?" She had the courage to ask.
