Say You Hate Me

I used to imagine death. I'd picture my funeral and what flowers would be dumped by my grave and think about how my father would react. I'd invent different ways that I dropped dead; perhaps I fell thirty floors or maybe I just didn't notice an incoming truck. I thought about death so often that it felt like an old friend.

I wasn't afraid to die. In fact, I thought death was a peaceful thing.

For some reason, I associated it with the ocean. For living, I envisioned blue stretched out for miles and the crystal waves frothing as they crashed against the rocks. Death meant that the waves eventually slowed to a stop and the water became still. Almost tranquil.

Mabel was like a storm I couldn't outrun. She said things that dug under my skin and remained there, festering. She hurt me in ways that were more depressing than just plunging a dagger through my bleeding heart. Eventually death became a soft whisper, inviting me into the calm. It's not that I wanted to be dead. I just preferred the idea of it, over this endless heavy weight that I was suffocating beneath.

Bang.

My body staggered back in shock. The bullet skimmed the side of my head, whizzing past me in slow motion.  Horror contorted my face.

I hadn't thought about death for a few years until now.

"Shit!" A harsh screech erupts from my throat.

Grayson is trembling. I can notice his panic through the thick glass windows, his defined silhouette blurred yet still easily recognisable.

He practically shoves the door open before his eyes scan the poolside until they land on me. His gaze was like a cool sip of water after burning. So intense yet so emotive that it drew my rapidly pulsing heartbeat to a halt.

He's beside me in a matter of seconds, his large hands encircling my waist and our bodies tangled together.

Grayson's hands held me tighter, his warmth radiated off his body. The corners of my lips quirked upwards as I smelt his minty cologne scent.

"What? Did you miss me that much?" I attempt to disguise the quiver in my voice with a light, teasing tone but it fails miserably. Grayson notices instantly as his eyes drop to mine.

For once, his hazel orbs weren't harsh or piercing into my soul - they were gentle and scared. It reminded me of honey - so sweet and soft - I couldn't bring myself to look away.

"You're alive," his voice came out breathier than he intended. He pressed a featherlight kiss to my temple, relief washing over his expression.

He looked petrified. His face was pale and his beautiful features were clenched.

"What happened?" He murmurs, his voice muffled against my hair.

"There was a gunshot! It missed me by a few fucking centimetres!" I exclaimed, a flush climbing my cheeks.

"Shit," he muttered.

I couldn't decipher his expression. I could tell he was battling around 50 different thoughts. I could also tell that he was angry at himself.

I wanted to wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and tell him that it wasn't his fault. That nothing was his fault.

But instead of clutching him so close to me and whispering sweet nothings into his ear, I'm pushed away from him. I cock an eyebrow as he stands a few centimetres away from me.

Why was he suddenly being an ass?

"I have to go," he murmured. His words more directed to the earthy soil beneath us than to my face.