ᴍᴀɴɪᴀ | ᴍɪɢᴜᴇʟ ᴏ'ʜᴀʀᴀ x ʜᴀᴄᴋᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

YOU'RE A GODDAMN PSYCHOPATH!

A/N: I did it...I AM NOT DEAD! :D

Have you ever pondered the common thread that runs through doubt and fear? They share a peculiar knack for pushing us to our limits, forcing us to run faster and farther than we ever imagined possible.

Imagine a scenario that defies your past experiences – you sprint a hundred yards with the agility of an Olympian, all while recalling the days when high school gym class was your personal nightmare. Your gym teacher might have once doled out failing grades for your performance, but today, you leave behind your three-minute sprints in seconds. The exhilaration and disbelief mingle in your chest, mingling with a newfound sense of pride.

In moments of uncertainty, whether it's a jarring, deafening noise or a subtle, gnawing unease, our instincts compel us to flee. It's a primal response, etched into our very beings. We might dash like a startled rabbit evading a predator, heart pounding in our ears, or tread cautiously, as if every step could awaken a lurking threat. It's the fight-or-flight instinct, an ancient dance of survival.

When your very existence teeters on the precipice, your mind sharpens, and you become a guardian of self-preservation. You stand firm in the face of the unknown, fueled by adrenaline that electrifies your every nerve.

Yet, here's the conundrum: I'm embroiled in a battle against self-preservation itself, a battle that gnaws at my soul. The mere sight of the man I reluctantly dub my "boyfriend" sends shivers down my spine. You know that feeling, when your stomach churns, and every smile you force feels like hoisting a weight you weren't prepared for.

His fingers meticulously iron out every wrinkle in his impeccable blue suit, and he fusses over his blond locks, tracing the soft curls at their tips. No matter how hard I try to maintain composure, my facial expressions betray me whenever Eugene glimpses me in the mirror. It's like a perpetual performance, where you're one step away from forgetting your lines, and every feigned emotion chips away at your authenticity.

Since the moment I entered the car, Eugene has been relentless, demanding my swift return home as the party's commencement looms a mere four hours away. His tone lacks warmth, especially after MJ voiced her concerns about my recent anxiety attack in the dressing room of the boutique. His entire demeanor radiates rigidity, and there's a darkness lurking in his eyes that fills me with dread. You've been there, right? When someone's anger hangs in the air like an impending storm, and you're desperately trying to keep the peace.

My instincts clamor for me to run, to escape, to find safety. But for now, I must maintain the pretense, biding my time until the opportune moment to make my exit. I find myself tucked away in the far corner of my dorm room, a vigilant observer of every detail, feeling as though I'm living on borrowed time, with each tick of the clock intensifying the tension.

From the rise and fall of his chest beneath the snug white shirt to the subtle parting of his lips as he moistens them, I can't evade the sensation of hurtling straight into the danger zone, far beyond the point of return. And all the while, I'm resolved to capture his attention, whatever the cost. It's the delicate art of trying to please someone, even when it goes against your very nature because you're ensnared in a web of fear and uncertainty.

"So, why haven't we graced your own party with our presence yet?" I manage to ask, studying Flash as he meticulously checks himself in the bathroom mirror. It's the moment when you attempt to engage in conversation, to divert your thoughts from the impending tempest.

"Because, babe," he replies, giving himself one final approving nod in the mirror, "every host must look the part to be the life of the party." You grasp for humor, for a glimmer of normalcy in a storm of unease.

I mustered a chuckle at his confident response. "Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance," I say, gesturing towards his stylish outfit. It's the laughter that escapes you, even when the world around you is crumbling.