If Only

Chapter Two: The Encounter

"I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. It was a habit I had developed over the years - apologizing to inanimate objects that I had failed to take care of.

But my moment of introspection was abruptly shattered when a putrid odor hit my nostrils. I gagged, trying to suppress the cough that threatened to escape my lips. The smell grew stronger with each passing moment, overpowering the scent of the trees and the wind.

"What the hell is that?" I muttered, my eyes narrowing in disgust. And then, I heard it - a hissing noise that sounded like someone was spraying something. The sound was coming from beyond the concrete walls that marked the boundaries of the property.

Without thinking, I made my way towards the gate that led to the outside world. As I approached it, a feeling of unease settled in the pit of my stomach. I knew I shouldn't be doing this, but my curiosity always got the better of me.

As I peered through the small opening in the gate, my heart sank. There was a guy - a tall guy - standing on the other side. He was spray painting the walls with reckless abandon, his movements fluid and confident. I watched in horror as he defaced the pristine white surface with colorful patterns and designs. And then, I saw it - a duffel bag filled with spray paint cans lying beside him.

I couldn't let him get away with this. Not when it was my family's property that he was destroying. So, without a second thought, I strode up to him, my head held high in defiance.

"Excuse me?" I called out, my voice echoing across the yard. The guy stopped in his tracks, his head snapping in my direction. For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. But I refused to back down. I had caught him red-handed, and he was going to pay for what he had done.

I stood there, straightening my shoulders as if trying to hold in the fear that was creeping up my spine. He was trouble, that much was clear. His face was etched with lines of mischief and defiance, and yet there was something familiar about him, something that made me want to trust him, despite every instinct telling me to run.

"Am I interrupting you?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly as I raised an eyebrow in what I hoped was a convincing show of bravado.

His eyebrows drew together, and he locked eyes with me, staring me down as if daring me to challenge him. I took a moment to study him, to take in the details of his face, to try and make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling within me. His eyes were a pale shade of blue, almost green in the harsh sunlight that beat down on us. His beard was a rough, unkempt thing, a testament to his devil-may-care attitude. And his hair, oh his hair. It was a mess of dirty blonde strands that somehow managed to look perfectly styled, a chaos of beauty that left me feeling dizzy.

But it was his nose that caught my attention, a perfect, straight bridge that seemed almost too good to

be true. It was the kind of nose that belonged on a model, on someone who had never faced hardship or struggle in their life. And yet, here he was, standing in front of me with the air of someone who had seen it all.

As he spoke, his voice was cool and collected, too calm for someone who had just been caught vandalizing private property. It was like he didn't care, like nothing could touch him. And that only made me more furious.

"Not really, not anymore. Anything I could do for you?" he deadpanned, his tone mocking.

I felt a surge of anger rise up in me, a righteous fury that made me want to lash out. How could he be so blasé about this? Didn't he understand the severity of what he had done? Didn't he care about the consequences?