The Protector

Chapter 10

. Rosalynn .

March 26th 3:01pM . . .

            My breathing was hoarse as I sprinted to the back of the building. I was so nervous; who was “A.F.”?

            I got closer to the back doors, and I slowed my steps. Dread filled my mind: I didn’t want to encounter this person. What if he or she tried to do something terrible? Like make me kiss them? Or worse? I shuddered at the thought.

            But no, Alexa told me not to worry, so I tried to assure myself. “A.F.” is probably just some big prank. I could handle that. Couldn’t I?

            Glancing at my watch, my breathe caught, for it was already 3:04. I made myself walk faster, in spite of how despaired I was. My fingers ran themselves along the brick wall, trying to distract me. Then I heard agitated footsteps, “A.F.’s” footsteps. My throat tightened.

            Breathing deeply, I turned the corner. Before I could look though, I shut my eyes. Coward, I chastised. Mumbling insults at myself, I opened my eyes.

            I gasped and let out a little shriek. Immediately, I started to retreat, but he’d already met my eyes. As he pierced me with those green, green eyes, I felt a chill run through me. Trembling, I wheeled around and ran, but before long, he appeared in front of me.

            I jumped out of my skin and shook uncontrollably.

            “How do you know me?” he asked harshly.

            “’A.F.’ . . .” was all I could say in my terrified awe.

            “Yeah.AlexanderForest. Now answer the dang question,” he growled with impatience. I winced.

            “My name isRosa—”

            “I know your name!” He screeched, throwing his pale, muscular arms up. “Now answer me. Or else.”

            My voice jammed in my throat at the threat.

            “I don’t know you,” I whispered.

            Angrily, he waved my sketchpad in my face. “Explain this then!”

            A long, pregnant silence followed. Alexander gave me a stern glare, but he knew I needed to breathe. Helplessly, I let my eyes wander. They traced his straight nose, his precious, almond–shaped emerald eyes, his luscious lips, his square, regal jaw, his low, upset brows, his long, dark hair. My eyes traveled to his developed arm muscles and his shirt. It clutched his abs. Beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful, was perfect, was godly.

            Suddenly, he hissed, “Explain! We don’t have eternity!”

            “I . . . I . . .” Tears sprang to my eyes. I bit my lip and turned away.

            Even without looking at him, I knew he was shocked at the terror and fear I felt towards him.

             “ . . . Please, just tell me . . . I want to know,” he said mutedly in an agonized tone.

            Alexander stepped towards me, until his faced me again.

            “Please.” It was an order not a plea.

            “I . . . Okay, don’t think of me as crazy, even though I might be . . . but . . . ever since I turned thirteen . . .  I started to . . . No, I can’t tell you,” I murmured, staring at my shoes.

            “Tell me,” he demanded.

            “I . . . dreamt of you.”

            He gasped quietly. “Since?”

            “I turned thirteen. I told you.”

            “Me? Or just a rough . . . image that looked like me?”

            It was a stupid question. All of the drawings of him were perfectly detailed. “You.”

            I was still looking at the ground, so I could see his fists curl and uncurl. It nauseated me, but at least it kept me from gazing into his eyes.

            “Why? How?”

            I huffed. “I don’t know! How am I of all people supposed to know why I’m randomly dreaming of someone I don’t know? I didn’t even know you existed until now!”

            The tears burned my eyelids, but I kept myself from bawling.

            “You . . . you didn’t?”

            “No!”

            “Why did you draw me then? Did you seek professional help?” he pestered.

            I blushed deeply. I didn’t want to admit that I wanted to keep his glorious face recorded. That I adored his face every time I pictured. That I worshipped his features. That didn’t want them removed or erased.

            “Well?”

            I lied. “I drew you . . . because I wanted to submit drawings into an art exhibit—I didn’t really think you were a breathing human!”

            “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

            I rolled my eyes, despite my horrified feelings. “It’s embarrassing! Duh!”

            I fidgeted, and he could tell. “Lies. Are you part of the DTSA?”

            My brows furrowed with confusion. “The what?”