From The Dining Table [H.S]

Who Are You?

Dan's posture stiffens - his grip on my wrist now cutting off my blood circulation. My pulse throbs against my raw skin as it tries to find the smallest gap to squeeze through. My hand is numb at this point - all colour has drained from it as it hangs in Dan's hold.

I stare at the man, who's long, muscular arm is darted out in front of me - his hand firmly locked on Dan's shoulder. Tears continue to stream down my face, hugging my chin as they wrap around it and invade my neck. My mouth sits slightly open, my lungs trying to capture as much air as they can. My frizzy curls knock against each other in correlation to the wind, causing hairs to glue to my damp skin.

Nobody moves for at least 10 seconds. Dan stays with his back to the man, his breathing heavy and rough. The man stands next to me, his dominating figure towering over me. I just stare at him, in disbelief that he's actually helping me. I didn't realise he was still in the bar! I thought he left ages ago after I fell over. Has he been watching me this whole time?

His jaw is locked tight; revealing a jawline so chiselled I could cut myself on it. The wind blew his hair off his face, giving me full view of his exposed neck. Prominent veins and muscles bulged out of his skin, leading up through his jaw and connecting to his mouth. His teeth were gritting against each other, and a small glance down revealed why. The mans hand was locked so tight in a fist, his nails were cutting his skin. I could see the colour retreating from around his fingers, as large imprints of the tips of his nails dug into his palm.

"Get your hand off me." Dan demands slowly, in a low, deep voice.

The man doesn't flinch.

"I would let go of her if I were you." He repeats, this time his tone was flat, monotone. Though his fist was clenched, he seemed much calmer than Dan... in control of his anger.

Dan raises his free hand, and heavily places it on top of the man's. He begins to squeeze, applying uncomfortable pressure into the mans fingers. However, the man doesn't flinch. He looks unfazed. Dan rips the strangers hand off his shoulder, and turns slowly to face him. My wrist trembles as Dan repositions it in his grip. I watch him twist and burn my skin under his palm as my hand continues to loose colour.

"I wouldn't try me if I were you, big guy." Dan says, laughing slightly as he speaks, mirroring his tone from last time. The man doesn't seem rattled one bit. He leans down to match Dan's humiliating height of 5'10".

"Let. Go. Of. Her." The man grits through his teeth - his voice was rugged and rough. He swings his hand up and takes a strong hold of Dan's collar, pulling him closer to his face. Dan flinches at the movement, obviously thinking he was going to get punched. Seeming amused by this, the man laughs as the corner of his lip quirks into a grin.

"Let go of her, or I'll make you let go of her." The man whispers hoarsely, his husky voice swimming through my ears. All I can do is look at him. His face. His neck. His hands. Him. I know I shouldn't be thinking this, especially because I'm with Dan, but... there's something so attractive about a man with control over himself.

Dan immediately drops my wrist, and flings his hands up either side of his head, to show he's no longer holding me. The look on Dan's face is scared. Almost petrified. Dan's never been challenged before. People back home know  him as 'Dan the Destroyer' because he's supposedly broken someone's jaw with his punch. Not sure how much I believe it, but I certainly don't want to find out.

The man glances over to me, who has collapsed down on the sand, watching my hand return to it's normal colour. I gently touched the tender areas of my wrist which were already starting to bruise. Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes as the all-too-familiar feeling of breathlessness shot into my stomach again. I didn't let any tears escape; I didn't want to cry anymore. I just wanted to sit. Silently. I wanted to be alone. I wanted time to stop, so I could process this evenings events.