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milayah.
I was upset. No, fuming, as I stepped into the penthouse gym, my mind racing with frustration. However, the big, dark room filled with gym equipment slightly soothed my anger.
Before I was abducted by that psycho, I had used to go to the gym 4 times a week, but now I guess not.
Determined to burn off of some steam, I jump onto the treadmill and crank up the speed. My thoughts loud in a room where the only noise was the the steady rhythm of my trainers pounding the belt echoing in the silent room.
They swirled, a chaotic mix of anger and frustration. How could he give me away to someone like him? Someone so cold and distant, whose feelings were wrapped up in business meetings and social appearances?
Just as I was bout to lose myself in the stride of my run, the door behind me opens. I didn't need to turn to know who it was. I could feel his imposing presence and looming shadow in the room. Azrael steps on the treadmill next to me, his movements slow and practiced.
He doesn't say a word, just started jogging, his eyes focused straight ahead. For a moment, I considered ignoring him, keeping the silence that had defined our relationship so far, but the tension was too thick to bear, almost too thick to breathe in.
Just as I was about to speak, he breaks the silence. "Well get married in a month," he states, his voice void of any emotion.
Is he bipolar?
I turn my head to look at him but he doesn't return my gaze. He keeps his eyes forward, as If he couldn't be bothered to acknowledge me. "You can pick out everything else, I don't care."
I felt a fresh wave of anger wash over me. "Whatever," I mutter and with a huff, I step off of the treadmill and move over to the weights section. I grab the barbell and position myself for squats, trying to channel my inner frustration into the workout.
As I squatted, I felt his eyes on me, a steady, almost unnerving gaze. After a few reps, he spoke up. "You're doing it wrong," he says, stepping closer.
I glance over at him, frustration bubbling over. "What?"
"Let me help." Before I could protest, Azrael's hands were on my waist, correcting my posture. His touch was firm, but surprisingly gentle. My breatch hitched. His rough, calloused fingers moved down my spindle and applied pressure at various points, shifting my posture.
I feel a sudden flutter in my stomach, an unexpected rush of something between nerves and anticipation coursing through me, but I try to brush it off, focusing on my form.
"Keep your back straight," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear, "And don't let your knees go past your toes."
I nod, adjusting my stance under his guidance. Our proximity was unsettling, and for the first time, I felt a strange nervousness around him. His hands linger for a moment, before he steps back, leaving me to continue on my own.
I complete my set, hyper aware of his presence behind me. When I finally turned around, he was already walking away. "I have to get ready," he said, glancing at his watch, "We can discuss the wedding later."
And with that, he was gone, leaving me standing there, dumbfounded. I take a deep breath, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling inside me. There was something about Azrael that I had never seen before, a hint of something under his cold exterior.
As I make my way out of the gym, his touch lingers in my thoughts, a confusing mix of anger and intrigue, no matter how hard I try to shake them off my mind. I hated the situation we were in.
I walk towards the kitchen, and begin making a sandwich, my hands moving on their own. Yet still, I couldn't shake the memory of his touch. It lingered, a reminder of the brief connection we'd shared.
I took out the bread, my mind replaying the way his hands felt on my waist, and as I layer the sandwich, my thoughts drifting back to the wedding. Who plans a wedding in a month?
As I took a bite out of my sandwich, the taste barely registering, I thought about how complex our situation was.
The kitchen was quiet, and as I look towards the huge penthouse windows, the city outside was bustling with life. I stood by the counter, lost in thought.
Eventually, Azrael emerges from the bedroom, dressed in black dress pants and a white button up with the top three buttons undone, his untamed curls falling in their own way and his grey eyes piercing into my soul.
"I won't be back until late." His voice sounds accross the room.
Trying not to give him any attention, I shrug and turn towards my sandwich, watching him in the corner of my eye as a smirk climbs its way onto his features.
Without another word, he steps out of the penthouse, leaving me with a million thoughts rushing in my head.
