𝐂𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

Chapter 1

...1/5/18...

CIANNA

SPLAT.

I looked down at the bloody sidewalk. I looked up and saw the driver frantically get out of the car. But it was too late. People's eyes were all over the accident. My breath became fast and heavy. A dead body, I told myself, an actual dead body. I stumbled into the shop near me, trying to get as far away from the body as I could. Other people were pushing out of the shop, trying to help even if it was hopeless. I slowly walked to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face looked different, but I didn't know why. My clothes were covered with blood and some guts. I felt my wet shirt press against my stomach. I shuddered and grabbed a paper towel. I was fighting back sobs as I quickly tried to scrub myself clean. Then, I heard the bathroom door swing open. I looked towards the new person. He was a tall, tan man with pitch-black hair. And a nice ass... He turned his gaze to me. I quickly looked back to the sinks. I couldn't bear looking at his surprisingly beautiful face. I thought the man would just go into a stall and do his business, but I suddenly felt a cold, large hand on my shoulder. I looked back at the man. He was looming over my 5'5 body. He must have been 6'4.

"Why are you bloody?" He asked with a stern and dominating voice that had a slight Mexican accent which almost made me blush. I gulped. I began to shake even more.

"Umm.." I paused. "I had a... bad nosebleed," I choked out. I don't know why I lied. I think I was just intimidated by him. He carried such a powerful aura. Along with rippling muscles, it seemed. He could have thrown me across the room with little to no effort. But... I wouldn't mind... I shouldn't say that, though.

"Nose bleeds don't do that." He corrected, turning away from me and turning on a sink. He took off the glove he was wearing and started to wash his hands. I sighed and threw my paper towel away. The bloodstains were nowhere near gone, but it was good enough for me.

"Here," he took off his skin-tight white shirt and handed it to me. "Wear this," my face flushed. I shook my head and tried to snap myself out of it. Luckily, he had an undershirt, but now I can see his muscles, only one shirt away from his bare chest. My mind began to race, what if he had tattoos or scars? What if when he took it off it showed more muscle? What if- I stopped. You know not to trust pretty boys. I told myself.

The last pretty boy I knew was Ajax Lawson. Nice on the eyes, but hard on the heart. We were high school sweethearts and everyone thought we'd get married. They were fools.

I was the fool.

He was 20, he was held back. I was 16. I thought it was so cool to date him. The stupid boy who was skinny, and pale. He looked like a sick Victorian boy. He had a nice smile though. It warmed my heart. When he smiled at me across the room in our AP History class, I wanted to run to him and kiss him. Kiss him on those rough lips that told me he loved me. That told me he'd always be there for me.

I knew it was a lie though.

Girls told me he was a heartbreaker. A big fat liar and cheater. I didn't care. He wouldn't do that to me, I was different. When I saw it, I forgot it. When he told me, I didn't care. Because I loved him and I loved it. Loved it.

I remember the first time we had sex. It was my first time. His 5th—or was it the 10th? But it was amazing. I remember how slow he went, how gentle he was in and out and in and out. It was intoxicating. I remember when he pulled out and he came all over my thighs. I remember the smile he had. The best smile I've seen.