Ian and Amy - Meant To Be

Chapter 4

Her angry words were muffled against him. She tried to resist for a second, pushing against his chest. But he didn't let her push him away, just pulled her closer and kissed her harder.

It worked. She melted against him, her hands wrapping around his neck, curling in his hair. Her lips were soft. He tasted cherries.

Now that he was fully into the kiss, he couldn't think, couldn't stop. Everything seemed to slow down around him, the music and the ballroom falling away, the people becoming indistinct blurs, until the only thing that was real was her and her warm hands and her soft cherry lips. 

This was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He'd never meant any of the kisses he'd had before now. He'd always thought of them as a tactical tool, a last-resort technique to bend females to his will. He'd never known how a kiss could make you nervous and giddy and awkward and perfected all at the same time. He wanted more, more, more. There would never be enough of it.

But he managed to pull himself away, knowing she would not be feeling the same way as him, knowing she probably felt disrespected, disgusted at his sudden invasion of her space. The moment ended.

He searched her eyes. They were wide open with bewilderment. No longer full of anxiety or anger.

"Ian," she whispered. "What was that for?"

He took a deep breath to steady himself. That had been a bit more intense than he'd expected. "To calm you down. Sorry. I didn't think you would stop if I didn't do something drastic."

"Oh." She blinked, seeming to realize what she'd been saying before he had made her so uncomfortable that she'd snapped out of it. Her expression hardened, the impenetrable mask slipping back on. "I shouldn't have said any of that to you. I'm sorry." She turned away.

He grabbed her arm. "Amy, wait. I need to tell you —"

She tried to shake him off. "I don't need your pity, Ian, let go —"

He spun her around to face him and took hold of her shoulders. "No. You will listen to me, Amy Cahill, because you've got it all wrong."

Her eyes blazed dangerously under his gaze, threatening to destroy him if he didn't let her go right now, but he didn't care. She had to know.

"You said you were wondering what other people think of you. Well, I'll tell you what they see. They see a teenage girl who's strong enough to withstand anything the world throws at her. They see this girl who never gives up, who fights back to her last breath. They feel a little jealous of her, because they know she has something they'll never have. They're a little in awe of her too, because there seems like there's nothing she can't do even at her young age. And when she stands in front of them and speaks, when they see a commanding general who inspires loyalty, that's when they feel scared, because she's got them inspired despite of themselves and they know that they're no match for this fearsome ruler.

"That's who you are. They could never even dream of replacing you with anyone else, because there's no one like you. They don't see any vulnerability, or any chinks in the armor. They can't find any. No one can find any. To them, to anyone who sees you, you're the invincible, undefeatable force that shines so brilliantly you make everything else dimmer in comparison. You're a supernova, Amy Cahill. Don't ever think otherwise."

It felt good, telling her these thoughts, his thoughts. He'd always wanted to tell her what he thought of her, wanted to tell her how amazing she was just for the heck of it.

But now that he'd finished, he felt a little self-conscious. Amy was staring at him, speechless. Blood rushed up into his face. He let go of her shoulders and averted his eyes. "Well, that's what they see," he muttered. He wished she would leave now, so he could be alone with his thoughts, which, for some absurd reason, were in complete turmoil.

She wasn't stalking away, though. Nor was she shaking her head at the stupidity of his outburst. She just stood there, staring at him.

Maybe she was mad at him for grabbing her and blabbering away like a demented puppet. He felt himself flush as he realized how ridiculous he must have seemed to her. He wanted to go over to the wall and continually bash his head on it until he died.