and all of us, we’re meant for the fire, but we keep rising up and walking the wires
He is impossible, infuriating, incredibly annoying.
He is a child.
He is insufferable.
These adjectives chase themselves around in her head as she scowls at him, her pretty face pulled into the frown, the annoyance reaching her icy eyes. As she flips through his thoughts, entirely too pleased with himself, she feels a headache beginning to form in her temples. She never should have come back. She should have been grateful for the space and the loneliness that really just meant she was alone.
Alone and without the headache of his laughing eyes.
She hates that his touch causes her to recoil, control slipping from her grasp as she dances away from him, her neck still warm from where his breath had rolled over it but moments before. “You are disgusting,” she exhales, her voice tight with her irritation and underlined with suppressed thoughts.
“And I will have you know that I don’t care for a second about your pleasure.”
Her voice drips with disdain, but her stomach twists as she purposefully avoids the handsome angles of his face, the familiar, laughing curves of his mouth. She should have known that he would have grown up to be as annoyingly good looking as he has. That he would grow up to be charming and stubbornly happy.
Not for the first time, she finds that she is grateful she is the mind reader and he is not.
“Do you have to think such perverted thoughts so loudly?” she whines. Of course, his thoughts are not nearly as perverted as she makes them out to be, but they were at the very least a welcome distraction from the girlish butterflies that flutter in her throat, tying her nerves entirely too tight. She wants to laugh again with him, so instead she scowls, hardening her expression and pulling her nose into the air.
lynx