The Bad Boy of Mine

Chapter 15 ll "Big guys have feelings too."

Zoey's POV

As if unfolding the piece of paper in my hands will unleash some sort of evil witchcraft that might attack me, I undo the sheet slowly, with very much skepticism and premonition.

"Zoey! Is your wrist still hurting?"

Before I could get a good glimpse of the contents on the paper, Chris interrupted.

I spun around. His eyes are staring back at me deadly, seemingly with care, but I consciously acknowledge that there is a hint of warning and caution behind the concern. The words that came out of his mouth just a few seconds ago definitely do not cohere with his stare. My heart lurches. The stare is pinning me immobilized. How he has the ability to make someone feel this way just with his stare, I don't know.

I gulp. "I... I... Yes... it's still hurting."

He stalks towards me, my grip on the paper tightens, crumpling it further. He picks up my wrist.

"I think it's a superficial burn, we'll leave it exposed and let it heal itself."

Silently, he intertwine our fingers, and leads me to the coffee table. I push the piece of paper into my pocket.

We sit, crossed leg, across each other. Chris didn't mutter a word. He looks up.

"Zoey."

"Yes?"

"Can you hand over the piece of paper?" A frown appears on my face. I can see and feel his burning gaze on me.

"What paper?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Why?"

"Zoey." The warning in his tone increases.

"Why?"

"Zoey, don't." His face hardens. It doesn't look good on him. I can feel my veins pulsating.

"Why?"

"Zoey," he looks like he's trying hard to contain an outburst, his whole body posture stiffening, "remember yesterday when I asked about you crying?"

This time, it's my body that stiffens. Shit. What is he trying to prove?

I gulp and remain silent.

"I take your silence as consent," he breathes, "now, when you said you weren't comfortable with sharing, did I try to force an answer out of you?"

Force!

I didn't try to force an answer out of him.

But I remain taciturn.

He does have a point. He was being understanding yesterday, I shouldn't be pressing on this matter. It's just a paper.

Chris clasps both of his hands onto mine, and I gasps from the sudden contact.

"Zoey, it's something I don't want to tell you. You don't have to know and you wouldn't want to know."

My bottom lip sticks out spontaneously. But I want to know!

I try to give him the crestfallen, pitiable face, maybe he'll tell me something?

"Don't use that face on me. It won't work," His look changes, from one that's voided of any positive emotions, to one that contains amusement and humour.

A scowl climbs onto my face. I'm just trying to know what's making him so secretive.

"Will you give me the paper?"