Terror.
Not heart thumping, nerve wracking. Pure terror; mind numbing terror. I freeze on the spot and don’t move an inch as Matthew gets up from the couch and rolls his sleeves up his arm. His suit jacket is thrown on the armrest and all of his other belongings on the table. He rakes his fingers through his hair, making it a tired mess.
His eyes continue to throw daggers at me as he takes slow steps ahead. Both of my hands clutch the back of my dress, my fear heightening. I lower my eyes to his chest and don’t dare to take a look at his face.
Stopping just a few steps in front of me, he pockets both of his hands. “It’s 8:10.”
I unclench my hands and bring them in front of me to sign. “I was out taking ice cream.”
I have to tell him the truth. Well, the half truth. I can’t risk gettin
