Cherry || b.barnes

25 || Frustrated

Sadly, my plan of avoiding Barnes now as long as possible wasn't exactly long. Back at the hotel, it took about five minutes until I heard a door on the floor shut close with force, and ten minutes later in which I got off my make-up and changed clothes, a harsh knock on the door disturbed the quietness surrounding me, followed by the rough-voiced and definitely angry sound of Barnes's voice, telling me I better be up on the roof in the next twenty minutes or he'll leave me in Poland for good.

If it wasn't his voice earlier that made me duck my head and wimp out, it definitely was his stoic appearance as we entered the small plane awaiting us, almost like he was going to a party of someone he doesn't like and definitely just wanted to be gone, but was forced to go there anyways out of social manners or whatever. And if it wasn't that, it definitely was the silent staring of his with which he seemed, and still seems, to punish me.

I feel his glare for about half an hour resting upon now, and it makes me uneasy. He is seated ahead of me in the quinjet, and usually, I would be merely able to see his side-profile. But that was if he wasn't so obviously scolding me for what I did and had forced him to do, and if I was looking at him. 

Because I couldn't. What had happened in the castle was a momentary loss of character, a giving in. I was overwhelmed by the family down there, couldn't really cope with their gratitude because I can't cope with people seeing what I'm doing. With people seeing me. My whole life, I trained to be a shadow, a deadly, crimson-red shadow serving one purpose and one purpose only. Watching the sparks in their eyes as they discovered me was so twisted, was so wrong that I needed to remind myself I don't deserve such awe. 
And that was the main reason I shot the woman as soon as I got my eyes on her.
At least, it was the more acceptable of two reasons. I definitely will not concentrate on the second of pure panic that rocked through my body, let my thoughts go wild and spasm me physically for a second, let my heart skip several beats as I saw the world rotating slower around us. I definitely will not concentrate on that fright, that terror taking over and erasing all possibilities for reasonable thinking with just one wipe as I saw the locked but surely working grenade in one of her hands, and James on the other side of the room.

It makes me nervous. This kind of seeing me is not the one I experienced of the wealthy family, and that has already been hard enough to bear. I shift in my seat often, apparently finding no comfortable position and just declaring the seat as utterly displeasing. Hands more than once stroking through the ponytail whose end hangs losely off my left shoulder, I hoped and hoped he would get enough at some point. But he obviously had the patience of a snail.

Eventually, though, I had enough of Barnes's silent retribution, and forced myself to look over at him. Instantly, my eyes found the storm-grey of his, the roar behind them vivid. I barely had time to check on his clothing once more, the usual leather jacket, a black tee, black jeans and these damn dark satin gloves. I mean, I understand why he wears them, but then again, I think it completely unnecessary.

Because he is beautiful just the way he is, and he doesn't understand it.

For merely a brief second I saw his hands rubbing along his thighs as he realized my wandering gaze, before I was consumed in arctic grey. Gulping as I try to gain control over the hitched breath, I pull up my legs and wrap my arm around them, almost like I feared what comes could tear me apart physically. With the former fight, with me holding a gun beneath his chin, with which I shot a maybe but barely innocent woman, this can have no good outcome.

Despite the fact that I probably give a weak appearance, my voice is as strong as I would come from a freshly won battle. Maybe a little hoarse, but that's all. I think I should be more proud of that than I am. »If you want me to apologize, you can wait as long as it takes to find out who the real Mona Lisa has been.«