#yahvn

You could always justify the rapid beating of your heart to fear. The hairs, standing atop the back of your neck as his breath tickled your spine to a feeling akin to disgust. 

You breath had caught in your throat, and you could feel your legs turning to jelly. It felt...suffocating. Like he was taking up all of your breathing space, his body pressed up against yours. You didn't need to turn to feel his eyes burning holes into your soul.

"Look at me..." Of course, he had to plead it with his sweet sickly smooth voice. Level and soothing, it broke through the mess of your brain.

You couldn't conjure up half the adrenaline you wanted to bolt. Half the fear you deserved to cry for help. Of course, you could only listen to his voice. His stupid, sweet voice. You turned to look back into his fierce gaze with the guilty look of a child who got caught eating from the cookie jar.

You knew, somewhere within you, that if you tried to lie straight into his eyes you'd loose. There was no hiding it, as much as the shame blurred your eyes and plummeted your stomach. You could see that he was waiting for a better response. “You weren’t meant to hear that,” clearly wasn’t cutting it for him.

You let out a frustrated sigh. Hopefully, this time, he didn't have any spare knifes on his person. Your nerves were already shot, waiting for his next move.

For a while there was nothing. Nothing but silence, one that you could slice through with a sword. His eyes seemed to be searching yours, dissecting your emotions. If you ever wanted to hide from Adam, catching his gaze like this seemed like a stupid move to make. You leaned your body into the door.

Then, ever so slightly, his arms settled. It gave you just enough space to look in your peripherals. You let out a breath of air you didn’t realize you were holding. He took a step back. He was still close enough that he could trap you again if you decided to make a bolt for it. But you could breathe, finally. You allowed yourself to turn to face him slowly, taking in the rest of the room.

His arms hung limp at his sides. Still searching your eyes. As if he was trying to pry the response from you. You let out some deep breaths. Glanced over to the kitchen counter, where the knife stand stood. Untouched, you realized, head bobbing as you counted the knifes off in your head. Your back stiffened as you glanced back to him, seeing his expression narrow into a frown. Well, he can have at least a little of your vitriol. He deserves that much.

“Huh...” You let out, finishing your tally and catching his eyes with your own, your expression souring. Glaring him down, you let the snark get the best of you before your confidence was shot.

“No knives out of place,” you hummed absently, your eyes fixated on his response. His expression was almost unreadable. But you swore you could see a glint of raw, unadulterated pain within them. He stood, largely unaffected, yet you could see his figure had slouched. As if he was trying to be less intimidating then he was to you mere seconds ago, when he had you up against the wall.

All but allowing you to build yourself from your fearful state to bite back. 

He could've slammed you into the door again-or swore and cried and clung to you with every ounce of pain and guilt that swam in the depths of those eyes, but he didn't. Instead, he wore on a blank stare. He had even lowered his arms and slouched his shoulders. Was he changing tactics?

His actions reminded you of the actions of someone trying to coax a feisty stray cat away from a cold, abandoned street. Coaxed right into their savior's arms. His arms, you realized. 

It made you furious, that he would think of you as something to be tamed, when he was the one who brought it on himself.

It also made some pathetically hurt and lonely part of you cry to be held in his arms. Cry, at the very idea that he cared for your safety in a way you had been aching for for so, so long. That he would care in the first place. God, you really ought to look into therapy.

You took another deep breathe in. Steeled your body. Raised your shoulders back. Your arm instinctively went to turn the doorknob behind you, but you stopped yourself when his gaze teetered to your eyes, freezing you in place again. He’d caught you bating your breath before you even realized you were doing it.

You two stared at one another until you squirmed under his gaze, and let out a sigh of defeat.

"I hate it," You confessed, glancing down from his discerning eyes. You needed a second to breathe.

To collect your thoughts. You could feel your body vibrating with anxious uncomfortable energy. In between the shock, fear, and....that confession of yours...you hadn’t even fully processed the weight of your own feelings, damnit! 

Yet you knew he wouldn’t let you leave after what you’d said. Not without closure. He required honesty, and he wouldn't be happy with anything less. You gulped in some more air, trying to desperately compartment your thoughts.

"I hate that I love you,” you muttered. He stood, unmoving. Waiting for you to finish. You breathed sharply from your nose, frowning at his expression. What more did he want from you tonight?  

“God, I hate it! I hate that I don’t hate you, that I’m not fearing you as much as I should, I hate it all so much I-" you stopped your eruption, and took another gasp of air to quell your rising emotions. 

Your hands were shaking again. You legs felt like jelly. Your head pounded from running too fast for you to keep up. He looked concerned, and leaned in ever so closely. Reaching his hand out to you. He rested his hand, right by your own hand that was still clutching onto the door knob.

You wanted to slap his hand away for even thinking to be this close to you now. You wanted to hug him, because you wanted nothing more but him close to you right now. Then maybe stab him again, just for making your feel so pathetically in love with every little stupid thing he does. For giving you the space you so desperately begged for, even as he pressed you for more of an explanation. He wasn’t even interrupting you once. 

"I should hate you for what you did. I want to, I want to hate you with every fiber of my being. But I-" you stopped. You looked back to the kitchen, contemplating your chances of slipping away for the third time that night. 

You wouldn’t dare say it again. As if the more you spoke it out loud, the further it would cement the fact into reality. The thought had the pent up water works overflowing from the cracks of your defenses.

 You let out a frustrated groan, wiping the tears from your eyes.

"Maybe, if you haven’t inserted yourself into my life, I could hate you properly,” You muttered the bitter statement mainly to yourself, sniffling involuntarily.

How did his face remained unhurt and hurt, all at the same time? He didn’t even blink. You don’t think. His face was as unreadable as a white canvas, but swimming deep within his eyes you could see the pent up emotions of pain, guilt, regret...all of it. It looked unbearable. 

In a way, it made you feel miserable.

The silence that followed seemed to swallow the room whole, and all you could do was watch him through your blurred, teary gaze.

“I’m not going to let you go now,” God, why did he have to talk. Why did he have a say? 

Why would he dare to make this so much harder for you?

“Please,” You managed to sob out. He flinched at your plea. You felt as if your heart, throbbing through your chest, was pumping the pain out from your eyes. It was too much to hold in. As if you were bleeding from both sides. In your hatred for Adam, and in your love for him. 

All of your pent up frustration and pain gushed through the floodgates, untamed, raw and unfiltered; and it was shooting him point blank from your position just a mere step away from him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I-I just can’t, I won’t, I...I couldn’t leave you if I tried,” He sounds so genuine. You have no choice but to believe him. He wouldn’t lie to you anyways, you noted bitterly.

And all over again, you just despise it. You hate that he never lied to you, not once. You could only muster a sob in response, letting your tears escape from their ducts and flood down your face. 

The room was so silent, you could hear the fat droplets stain the ground in between you and him.

“I love you, so so much.” He confessed.

No, no, no! You didn’t want to hear it. That he loves you too. That deep down, your hearts ached the same. 

“And I want to hear those words from you, over and over again. Just, not like that. Not like this,” You opened your mouth to retaliate, but he held your gaze in his and you shut your mouth, letting him continue. 

“I’ll wait. However long it takes to hear you say those words without an ounce of fear,” He seemed so somber, yet so determined you would see it through. 

You couldn’t hear it anymore. If you did, you'd cave into your desires for sure. You’re hands turned the doorknob. He took a step forward, just as a resounding click ruptured through the room.

He was so close, you could feel his breath mix into yours. Too close. You could see everything plain as day on his face. The frustrated tears that had bubbled to the surface as he’d spoke, full of emotions left unsaid. The emotions you'd seen ripple through his eyes not even a moment ago. 

You could feel the tremble in his grip as he reached to touch your arm with the tips of his fingers, so light and fragile. As if you’d crumble before his eyes. The hurt in his eyes, laid plain and bare for you to see. Because he knows it's because of him, that this is as difficult as it is for you right now. 

You were left with that same suffocating feeling, as if you had to act and do something, anything. Only you couldn't bring your head to sit still enough to formulate a response.

What will you do?

Lean into him