It wasn't supposed to be like this. With my back pinned against the wall and my hands above my head, tears spilling from my eyes as he took me over the edge once again.
" You're a mystery, Sarah." I sob out, my breasts bouncing from each of his thr...
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Humans are naturally scared of the dark.
It's something the brain notices right away when it's in the dark. When you're surrounded by darkness, all of your senses shut down, triggering a fear response in your brain.
Your eyes are no longer helpful as all they see is the never ending black pitch. Your body does the most to protect you but even then, the brain already knows it has failed since the monsters can come from all directions. In this situation, the only sense your body can use that is useful are your ears.
Your ears are most sensitive in these situations and they listen closely from all directions, they are so focussed that even if you dropped a needle, the noise would catch the ear.
And just like that, your whole body defends itself from where the noise comes from.
The brain and body both work together to keep their soul safe, they do their absolute best. But sometimes, the darkness wins over the soul.
Many people say they are scared of the dark, but it's only the ones who have lived through the dark reality that realise people aren't scared of the dark itself; they are scared of the shadows that lurk in the dark instead.
I'm not scared of this man. Despite the fact that I've gotten kidnapped and ended up in a situation I didn't think about, I'm not scared in the least bit.
I'm stronger than that.
When Black gets closer to the light, I can see his face. His clean olive-toned complexion is enticing, and his grey eyes seem to draw attention to his face. His beard has not grown out; rather, it has been neatly trimmed to perfection with a slight stubble.
My gaze shifts away from his face and onto his body. He's dressed in a black t-shirt, and the way his well-built figure clings to the material of his shirt is mesmerising.
His shoulders are broad and sculpted, with large muscles, and his biceps are large and strong.
Faint marks of when I had scratched my nails down his biceps are visible and it only makes me grin.
The sleeves of his T-shirt looks like it's going to rip open by how tightly they are clinging onto his muscles. And running down his biceps are the inking of tattoos.
Stories imprinted all over his body.
A part of me wants to lift his sleeves up and inspect his tattoos, to see what he chose to get. I've always wanted one, but never did.
His tattoos run from his biceps all the way down to the half of his forearms. His arm's aren't completely filled with the ink at every centimetre, but there is enough for me to find it attractive.
I didn't get to observe it too much the other night, but now I can take my time and do so.
And it's not the right time to admit, but he's one hell of a man. It looks like a god sculpted him with so much time and precision, giving him all the beauty in the world to blind others.
