FEEL

41. Zverism

Zverism ~ the wish that people could suspend their civility and indulge the physical side of each other first.

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

My eyes go wide upon realizing that he had heard me. I screw my mouth shut ruefully when I catch the puzzled expression on his features. My lips part to speak, to compensate for the ridiculous words, but slam shut once again when I realize that nothing can fix this mistake. They part to try again, then close when nothing good enough crosses my mind.

Cameron speaks first. “Where is this coming from?” he asks.

I reply hastily, “You don't have to answer.”

“I'm not,” he states clearly. “I'm just curious why you asked.”

My lips press together and my eyes divert from his, finding the pot plant in the corner of the balcony and suddenly wondering if it is real or not. It looks so good that it might be fake, but the leaves look so realistic-

My thoughts lose their sense of direction when something warm and smooth takes hold of my jaw. It brushes along it, trailing itself towards my chin and then tilting my head up until I have no choice but to attach my eyes to his again. He beholds me with mild reservation and much tension, holding my eyes in his by somehow magnetizing his.

“Answer me,” he insists.

My head shakes in his hold. “I don't want to.” Because then I would have to tell him what Breanna had said. I would have to let him know that I tell her everything about him, about what happens between us. He can't know that.

Cameron steps closer, leaning down. My heartbeat stumbles in its tracks when his warm breath caresses my lips. My eyes close at their own behest and I wait patiently for the swig of his lips on mine. He keeps me there for a while. Doesn't do or say anything. The silence ensues for so long that my patience wears thin, or rather my intuition tells me that there will be no kiss. My eyes flutter open.

He's watching me. Watching in the same manner that I presume a mouse might eye out its bait, knowing the risk of getting trapped but wondering if it might be worth the reward.

My lips part to say something, anything, but his eyes drop there the moment that they do and I find myself choking at my own words. He's never looked at me like that before. Not with all such intensity, such desperation and moreover, not for that long. Usually, the cast of darkness would shadow his gaze for a fleeting moment, then disappear so quickly that I think I might have imagined it. Now, it took over his gaze, clenched his jaw, screwed his eyebrows in a kind of torment that one wouldn't even wish upon their greatest enemy.

When he speaks, it's a gruff sound, filled with something beastly confined within him. “Do you remember what you said to me the first time we spoke?”

I scurry my thoughts to recall what he might be implying. Then, with inquiry, I reply, “That I don't want friends?”

“That you can read my eyes.”

When he says that, it's like the truth relays in his glance. A truth that I probably shouldn't know this certainly. A truth that chills my bones, but excites my senses. I gulp, “Mhm.”

He pulls away an inch and releases me completely. Then, braces both his hands on the rail behind me, trapping my body within his. “Do it again right now,” he commands.