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“Adam!” a voice calls from a few feet away.
I turn to see an old man in a bright red shirt with yellow flowers. He smiles at me, walking up.
“Thought that was probably you. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boy. She’s all right.” He claps me on the shoulder, his face still grinning like it’s a holiday.
“Where is she?”
I stand up straighter, trying to remind myself this guy helped lock up a dangerous man, but his nonchalant attitude is grating on my ability to maintain polite behavior.
He starts walking, waving me after him. “She’s really okay. Had to call the ambulance because she passed out and knocked her head against the counter. They have her under observation. She was a little dehydrated.”
The elevator takes an eternity but eventually opens up.
“She sure is a brave little thing though. Held a gun straight at my head before I told her who I was.” He smirks at me as my stomach drops.
Why did she have a gun?
“Don’t worry; that part won’t make it into the report.” He winks at me as we finally reach the fifth floor.
“I’m heading to the station to start on this paperwork, but she’ll need to make a statement before you two head back to Texas. Can you bring her in tomorrow?” He’s leading me down the hallway, finally reaching her room.
I nod, my hand already pressing on the door handle. I force myself to let go, stretching it instead toward him. He grips it, both squeezing hard like real men do.
“Thank you, Detective.” I’m suddenly choked up, thinking about what could’ve happened if Harley had a gun when he arrived.
He nods, winks again, and turns on his heel, heading back toward the elevator.
I click open the handle, stepping into the dark room.
Her raven hair is fanned out on the white pillow, a needle stabbing into a butterfly wing on her arm. Her eyes are closed.
Seeing her alive after so much worry and fear brings on a sudden, intense wave of relief. I’m weak with emotion as I stumble toward her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her hand.
“Thank you, Jesus. Thank you,” I whisper, cradling her delicate fingers.
I don’t want to wake her, so I resist pulling her entire body into the crushing hug that I desperately need. I lift the chair from the corner and place it as close to her bed as possible, sitting down next to her.
This is the first time I’ve gotten to look at her and truly study her. I’ve always been drawn to her, ever since the first moment she crossed my path on campus. I resisted looking at her, like I have a lot of beautiful women. I was taught to never view females as objects for my own gratification. My parents aren’t perfect, but the value of women was something instilled in me as a young boy. It’s something every parent should teach their sons.
Harley was no exception, but at the same time, not looking at her was nearly impossible. Once I started to really know her, I was gone. She was so…sad. She feigned indifference, but somehow, I could sense her lack of joy for life. I kept finding myself wanting to catch her smiles and hold them in my fingers, so I could look at them whenever I wanted. She was always radiant, but when she smiled, she was the essence of light, blinding. Even from a distance, her smile could make my heart leap.
Now, her face is relaxed, full peach lips slightly parted as she breathes. Her dark lashes lie on her cheeks, pale and beautiful. Her neck is inviting, and I know if I leaned in to whisper in her ear, I would smell sweet apple pie.
When I saw her at the beach party, I nearly had to physically run from her. I was at war within myself, questioning my own motive to get to know her. In my mind, the only feasible reason a girl could be so beautiful was for destruction. Young men weren’t meant to drink from a honeysuckle, lest they get stung.
Yet she was my siren, beckoning me closer each time we were in the same vicinity. I’d never wavered from the teachings from my youth, but even now, as I still believe most of it, I know there were great faults within the instruction.
Her body is not a stumbling block. Her body is a temple, and I want to worship it every day for the rest of my existence. That fact alone riddles my mind with guilt, but then I remember that’s not all I want.
Her laugh is my favorite sound.
Her scent is a blessing that overwhelms me.
Her thoughts, I crave to know.
When she left me today…I nearly broke in half. My heart was shattered, and I’m still wavering on the uncertainty of why she did it. I swore that if she told me to my face that she no longer wanted me…I could walk away. But I had to see her safe. I know he hurt her, but she was so young. Even when she told me the sickening story of her tragic childhood, she seemed confused. Like she didn’t want to paint Seven or Victoria as the demons they clearly were.
I’m in love with her, and I told her in a stupid letter. This morning in class seems like an eternity ago.
