❝Goddammit! I hate you! I hate you and your dumb voice! and your stupid muscles and your awfully attractive face!❞
❝You think I'm attractive?❞
❝Fuck no!❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Dangerous, wild and rebellious.
Calm, cool and collected.
Darya just wan...
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I was mad.
I am mad.
Goddamnit.
I woke up to her scent all over my room. I am not even sure if i was hallucinating or just being delusional at this point.
This girl has weaved her way into my life, wrapped the strings of her whole being around my neck, suffocating me that all my senses directed only to her.
I'm going insane. I'm definitely crazy.
Shaking my head, I pour the cereal into the bowl of milk, trying my best to stop thinking about my sister's friend.
"Ethan hunny," my mom's voice pierce through the fog in my head. "pass me the salt please."
I pick up the little container of salt from the table, handing it to her over the counter. She collects it from me, eyeing my expression before going back to whatever she was cooking.
"What's wrong?" she asks, her back to me with a towel over her shoulder. "you look upset."
I shrug, shoving a spoonful of cereal into my mouth as I watch my Alex— my little brother—enter the kitchen.
"Good morning mum," he greets, walking to her and hugging her leg with a yawn.
"Good morning darling," she coos, crouching down to his height. "how was your night?"
He nods, wavy hair bouncing from the movement. "It was alright."
"Slept well?" she asks, pushing his hair out of his eyes as she plants firm kisses all over his face, making his giggles fill the kitchen.
"Yes mama."
My mom nods, standing to her full height before looking around the kitchen.
"Lucy's still asleep?" she quips, stirring the soup before picking up another pan beside her.
"I guess so," my dad replies from the entrance of the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with his hands shoved into his sweatpants trousers, his eyes following mom's every move. "I saw her drop off her friends before going to bed this morning."
My mom nods at the new information, sucking in her bottom lip as her brows furrows in keen concentration at what she was doing.
Placing my forearms on the counter, I bite into the cereal in my mouth, watching how my father pushed himself off the doorframe before walking lazily to my where my mom was standing, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame from behind and leaning his chin on her head.
The action gives me deja-vu. Reminding me of when I was all alone in the pottery class with Petrov, with my hands over hers, feeling her obvious shock at my touch.
I didn't need to do all that to be honest, but I just needed a chance, a chance to hold her, to feel my skin over hers, to know how she'd react to my touch. That's how down-bad I was—I am.
