Page 62 of Eternal
Mission day.
I picked her up not far from her apartment, she didn’t trust me enough to give me the exact address, not that I needed it anyway. I’d spent so many nights watching her place from a distance that I could draw every crack in the pavement outside her door from memory.
Is stalking even legal at this point?
Stalking’s not legal at all, then again, neither is the job I’m doing for the people who punish others for breaking the law, so, I guess that makes it fair game.
She was waiting when I arrived, leaning against a streetlamp like she had all the time in the world.
We didn’t, not even close, but she was calm. It should’ve irritated me, should’ve made me want to knock her down a peg and remind her what kind of world we were in. That she can’talways be relaxed for anything. Maybe I’m taking this whole thing too seriously, so, instead I watched her.
Fucking beautiful.
Her hair was wild, loose curls catching the faint glow of the streetlights. It looked soft, too soft for someone like me to touch without ruining it. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under my fingers.
What the hell was this?
It’s only fucking hair.Focus.
But it wasn’t just hair, it was hers, and somehow, that made it different, like it was something worth taking my time analyzing.
I tore my gaze away, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Don’t lose yourself. Not over this. Not over her.
She walked toward the car, her big sports bag slung over her shoulder, she didn’t rush, and from the look I got from her, it looks like I even disturbed her peace.
“Hey,” she said, her voice low, as she slid into the seat.
“Hey,” I managed to reply, my throat dry.
The bag landed heavily at her feet as she buckled herself in, leaning back with a soft exhale, the scent of her filled the car immediately, sweet, light… like strawberries.
I swallowed hard and kept my eyes on the road as I pulled away. She was close, closer than she’d ever been, and I hated how much I noticed it.
She didn’t talk, she stared out the window, her fingers resting lightly on the edge of her bag, I caught myself glancing at her from the corner of my eye, I shouldn’t have.
Her hair shifted with every bump in the road, and all I could think about was how it would feel to run my fingers through it. Did it smell like strawberries? Or was it her skin smelling that soft and sweet?
I gritted my teeth, trying to shove the thought aside.
But she made it impossible.
What the hell was so attractive about a scar? A long, jagged thing cutting across her jaw and neck like a violent secret she wasn’t hiding, or the ones on her hands, delicate hands that shouldn’t look so damn lethal.
Scars aren’t beautiful, not on me, not on anyone.
They’re failures carved into flesh, mistakes, vulnerabilities, moments when the world proved it could break you.
But on her? They were beautiful.
I don’t fucking know why, and that pissed me off.
The silence between us wasn’t awkward, it was heavy…I wanted her to talk.
“Long drive,” she murmured finally, her voice breaking through my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
