unknown:
prologue.
His golden-amber eyes darkened to coal black, a sign of anger.
His hands were clenched enough for his fingers to leave bruises
in the palms of his hands. I was afraid “I—I think I
should go.” My fingertips brushed against the doorknob for
only a millisecond, and in that small amount of time, I had hope
that he’d let me leave. I never showed weakness physically,
but at this point, my mind was screaming frantically for help.
“Wait,” his tone was comparable to a beggar’s
now, as if my presence would really help him. How could I have
such an affect if he hated me so much? He did despise me,
didn’t he? His irises returned to their welcoming color as
he reached for my arm. “Don’t leave.”
What have I gotten myself into?
miss_unique · 1 decade ago
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This is so good already!! Followed ;)