"But when I do just that, when I gaze into those light blue eyes, I almost stagger back from the sea of emotion in them. Pain, grief, love, desire, and fear. They're all displayed in his irises, presented on a silver platter, offering his soul to my very being."
My grandma once said that life is what you make of it.
I'm a firm believer in that sentiment, but I can't for the life of me figure out what to make of this situation.
Because the tension in my car is so thick that I'm having trouble breathing, oxygen seemingly being a stranger to the atmosphere surrounding us.
Lincoln hasn't said a word since I agreed to talk to him, he only traces patterns on his jeans as I drive back to the apartment, noticing how he watches the roads pass until we finally reach the garage. The soothing hum of the engine comes to a stop when I park the car in my spot, silence instantly crashing down on us.
We sit like this for a moment, sharing an excruciatingly long and sparkling gaze, his eyes burning a hole into my very being with how much fire they hold. I practically jump when he suddenly brushes his fingers over my own, the contact sending shivers down my spine. My fingers wrap around the door handle before I quickly get out of the car. And I don't hesitate for a second when he gets out as well, my thumb rapidly tapping the lock button on my car key, before I quickly make a jump for the stairwell.
Honestly, I don't even know why I'm feeling so hot, so fired up and alive. I just do, and so I quickly fiddle with the lock on my door before I finally push it open, the scent of my home somewhat calming my being as I take a deep breath.
The door falls shut, and as I turn around to lock it as well I almost smash into Lincoln, who again stares at me with that raging tornado in his eyes. He watches how I lean over to secure the deadlock on my door, trying to ignore the raging heart in my chest as I stand up straight, gathering all the confidence I can for the talk we're about to have.
I can see it in his eyes, see the obvious struggle with himself, though I don't know its source.
"So..." I decide to break the silence, knowing that I can't take much more of it.
But Lincoln just looks at me, his usually so light blue eyes seeming so dangerously dark today that my thundering heartbeat only intensifies, the tension between us reaching an all-time high with every second that passes.
"So..." he finally continues, his body subconsciously leaning into mine, and I can't help but take a step backward, my heels bumping into the wall right behind me.
"Dr. James and I talked about you today..." Lincoln finally admits.
He takes another step towards me, his hands now resting on my hips as he studies me intently. "Yes, we did."
"Okay... And what did you come up with?" I can't help but hold on to him as well, my hands fisting his shirt as I look up at him.
A shaky breath escapes his throat, one of his hands reaching for my face where he gently strokes my cheek with his thumb, the pure emotion in his eyes heightening my senses on a celestial level.
"Dr. James said..." he whispers as his knuckles skim over my cheek, "He said I should keep my distance from you."
I don't even register the sharp breath I inhale at his words, the truth in them being so painfully obvious that I physically feel the agony running through my veins. "He did?"
YOU ARE READING
What happens when a man who should be at the top of the world suddenly decides to take his life? Lincoln, a pediatric surgeon who has been confronted with more than one disaster in the past weeks, is convinced his life is not worth living anymor...