Perfectly Imperfect Lives

Breaking the Ice

Sage's POV

She has a faraway look in her eyes as I come down the stairs. Bits of fear are tinted in them, like something is frightening her. I cannot help but wonder why. Such a pretty girl as herself should have no explanation for wearing the despicable emotion. As I come closer, the fear in her bright green eyes begins to grow, stretching her irises into saucers.

The lost expression on her face slowly fades, gradually returning to reality. When I reach the bottom of the staircase, she still seems distant, but closer in a way. I can see that she is trying her best to remain calm even though the intent is slightly fazed by her frazzled nerves. The girl, barely a teenager, begins to shake, and I have the vaguest of ideas why.

            I have not made any moves to harm her, or influenced her to be cautious. I have just arrived, have not even had the chance to exchange a greeting with her. And she is panic-stricken already?

My feet hit the basement floor with a light thud as I come off the last step, and again I examine the girl. As I was told, the child is named Rosalie. Tearing my eyes away from her face, I notice her golden locks. Her long, blonde hair stops right below her chest, falling gracefully in gently tousled ringlets. The creases in each wave make them appear to be flowing with a rough current. Under speculation, a strand that is out of place is a rare discovery for me, and as I admire its splendor, I am fascinated by how close to flawless it comes. Despite the minor frizz, her hair somehow manages to be absolutely beautiful.

            She notices my eyes on her and drops hers to the ground, ashamed. Her eyebrows knit together in what I am assuming is out of pain, and she coils back, managing to avoid any contact. Her body tenses up in a way that radiates an aura of defense. All in all, her actions send a direct warning: keep your distance. 

The reaction intrigues me. I cannot see why she has a reason for being so guarded, and it leaves me in awe. All I did was try and give her a once-over! It is human nature! I clench my hand in a fist, wanting to lose my temper and go off on her, but instead of relishing on her every move and letting it all go to my head, I focus on her outer appearance.

With a sigh, I quickly memorize the rest of her features, reminding myself of why I am here. I do not intend on forgetting a single thing.

Her dark eyelashes fall elegantly onto her blushing, rosy pink cheeks while the flushed tone brings color to her pale complexion. Each detail seems to be working together, coinciding as a group to perfect her facial traits. Along with the light shade of pink, a few freckles taint her porcelain skin, but only make her appear cuter. Everything works to her benefit, and her adorable essence entices me to come closer. In a trance, I respond to the temptation.

            "I won't hurt you, I promise," I assure her, taking a few vigilant steps towards her. I warily make only tiny, careful steps to avoid scaring her. Anything not carefully thought out, anything impulsive, would be a liability, a possible mistrust on her part.

            She nervously nods, not believing the statement one bit. I can already tell, just by the simple action, that she is not at all the gullible type. It is going to take her a while to allow me to attain her trust. I can see the uneasiness in her fretful eyes, like loneliness in the eyes of a puppy trapped behind a closed cage. She is  locked in, unwilling to attempt escape.

            Feeling sympathetic, I decide to make another move. Again I creep closer, until I am directly in front of Rosalie. She slowly stands and self-consciously bows her head, automatically expecting me to be like all of the other guys. She expects me to aggressively remove her skimpy clothes like some kind of savage animal and then feigning absolutely no guilt, take advantage of her. But that is not what I have come here for. It is far from it, actually.