CHAPTER 5
894 Words
I half-walked, half-ran out of Thomas's house, my face burning so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust. What the hell was wrong with me? The second I met his eyes, it was like he had me under some kind of spell. I had barely remembered how to breathe. And before I even knew it, I was already home.
Ding—
"Did you get home yet?"
It was Thomas.
"Yeah," I replied shortly, not knowing what else to say. And for some goddamn reason, my heart was still racing. What the hell? It was just a handhold. Just a touch. Get a grip, Vivian.
I stepped into my house, my face still burning, my chest still tight, and my heart showing absolutely no signs of calming down.
That night, I barely slept. Tossed and turned until nearly 4 a.m., and by the time I had to get up for school, I knew I looked like a f*****g zombie. But you know what? Screw it. I wasn't getting up. School could wait. Life could wait. I was too damn tired.
My dad, James, got home early in the morning from work. The second he saw me still in bed, he asked what was up. I mumbled something about being sick, dizzy, running a fever—blah, blah, blah. The best thing about my dad? He never pushed.
Ding—
I ignored the message and buried my face back into my pillow.
Ding— Ding— Ding—
Bzzzt—
My phone vibrated violently against my nightstand. Who the f**k was so persistent this early? Annoyed as hell, I cracked my eyes open and glanced at the screen.
Thomas.
Of course.
I declined the call and put my phone on silent. Knowing him, he wouldn't let up.
I drifted back into a half-conscious state until—
Something brushed against my face.
My body jolted awake, a shudder running down my spine. The hell was that? A spider?
No. Worse.
"Thomas?!"
He was sitting on my goddamn bed.
"What the f**k are you doing here?" I hissed, keeping my voice low, terrified that my dad might hear from the next room.
He blinked at me, completely unfazed. "Climbed in through the window."
Of course, he did. Not the first time, either. There was a massive oak tree right next to my bedroom, the perfect f*****g ladder for a nosy bastard like him. I really needed to start locking my damn windows.
"I didn't ask how you got in. I asked why."
He shrugged. "You weren't answering my texts. Or my calls. Thought you might be dead."
I groaned, rubbing my temples. "I'm not dead, just exhausted."
That was the half-truth. No way in hell was I going to admit that I was up all night because I couldn't stop thinking about the way his hand felt on mine.
Before I could process what was happening, Thomas leaned in—too close, way too f*****g close—and pressed his forehead against mine. Our noses brushed, our lips just a breath apart.
I practically jumped.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
"Relax. Just checking if you have a fever," he said nonchalantly, like this wasn't the most intimate f*****g thing ever.
"I don't! I'm perfectly fine!" I snapped, pushing him away. He just smirked, obviously enjoying the way I was squirming.
"Now that you've checked, you can leave," I huffed. "If my dad finds you here, you'll be dead."
"Nope."
"Nope?!" I threw my hands up. "Thomas, get out."
He ignored me. "About yesterday... are you mad at me?"
My breath hitched. My brain short-circuited. I wasn't mad, I was just embarrassed as f**k. I wanted to scream that at him.
"I'm not mad," I muttered instead.
"Then..." His voice dipped lower. "How did it make you feel? When I held your hand?"
Oh, f**k you.
I swallowed hard. My tongue felt thick in my mouth. "I... I don't know."
"You don't know?" He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"I mean... I didn't hate it," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
Something flickered in his gaze. His hand reached for mine, fingertips tracing lightly over my skin, his touch slow, deliberate.
His fingers laced through mine. His thumb ghosted over the back of my hand in soft, lazy strokes.
"Look at me," he murmured.
I hesitated, but when I finally lifted my eyes to his, I was trapped. His green eyes held me there, pinned me in place like a moth caught in amber. I couldn't look away.
"See?" He smirked. "Not so hard."
My heart was f*****g dying. I was sweating, overheating. I yanked my hand away.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My stomach dropped.
Oh. s**t.
I turned to Thomas, my eyes wide, silently screaming Get the f**k out now!
He, the absolute bastard, just laughed.
"Vivian? Did you take your medicine?"
My dad.
Shit, s**t, s**t.
"Uh—yeah! I did!" I called back, voice high-pitched and unnatural.
"Get some rest, okay?"
"Will do!"
I whipped my head back around—and Thomas was gone.
I scrambled to the window just in time to see him land gracefully on the ground, grinning up at me like the little s**t he was.
And before disappearing into the shadows, he shot me one last look—sweet, teasing, completely infuriating.
I was so locking my window tonight.
- Writer
