Power of Persuasion

Prologue

Prologue

So, I've figured out I have an obsession with hands. If someone asks you "Whats the first thing you notice in someone?" The average person would probably say smile, or eyes. Well, I'm sure as hell not average. The first thing I look at is hands. Maybe it's because I don't have the best teeth; and my eyes are an uninteresting greenish color. But, my hands? They can tell stories.

This boy, his hands are the most magnificent I've seen. The veins protrude, and his fingers are long and skinny, just like he is. His hand is so big that if we ever held hands, his hands would devour mine. He has callouses and he bites his fingernails too much. His hands make up for the brunette hair that hangs on his forehead, and his crooked smile, and his dark brown eyes that stood out againt his milky, pale skin.

Walking by, you could guess he was nothing special. But, I can't help seeing something in him that I can hardly explain. I've never felt this way towards anyone. He's such an asshole and I love it.

His voice sounds like he's been smoking cigarettes for a few years. His voice was low, but not too deep. Just low enough to talk you to sleep. His voice is a lullaby itself. I could listen to him talk for hours, and I'd never get tired of that voice.

His laugh was too loud, and he was kind of cocky with no reason to be. He's insecure, and he covers it up with "confidence" that makes him come off conceited. He loved The Foo Fighters more than Nirvana, and Dave Grohl more than Kurt Cobain. He always walked around looking pissed off, like he's going to punch the next person that speaks a word to him square in the nose.

I like him a lot more than I've liked anyone in a long time and it's kind of scaring the shit out of me.

I mean, all of this poured out of me because I looked at his hands.