Falling For Her Nightmare

Chapter 21: Choices

Angel's POV

I felt like someone was watching me eerily, causing all the hair on my body stood up in fear. I snapped my eyes open and bolted sat upright. My eyes involuntary scans the room, and it is quiet. The rain has stopped, too.

The dim room was illuminated with a soft glow coming from the night lamp. I realized I wasn't in my room. I'm in Isaias' hotel room.

Everything flashed back to me what happened before I got here.

Disorientedly, my head snapped next to me, it was empty. "Isaias!" I called out as I scrambled out of the bed. I ignored the slight dizziness that hit me when my feet touched the floor and shuffled out of the room, to look for him.

I was welcomed with the dark living room, only the light from the outside peaking through the ceiling-to-floor glass window provided me, and I quietly walk closer to the couch, where I saw a figure.

I ignored the TV that was still on, the volume is very low, barely a whisper.

I took in his position, his back leaning against the backrest of the couch, legs stretched out, while his one arm resting over his forehead, and I couldn't tell if he's sleeping or not. "Isaias!" I called out softly.

"Go back to sleep, Angel," he answered shortly without moving an inch, and I stood there, watching him for a second thinking if I should sit beside him or do as I was told. I decided the latter.

I narrowed our gap, sat on the spot on his left side. When he felt me, he languidly pulled his arm down, then rested it on his belly, as he lazily shifted his head to me, staring at me groggily. He looks troubled, and my heart suddenly clenched for him.

What troubled him? He looks so burn out, and I've never seen him like this before.

"I can't go back to sleep, I felt like someone was staring at me," I mumbled softly, and just like that, he bolted up to his feet briskly.

"Stay there!" he demanded, his eyes snapped to the direction where I came from, then strode off briskly.

I sighed as I waited for him.

I heard nothing from where he disappeared. After a while, he came back. He turned the lights on, and it flooded the room. He was standing a good meter away from me.

I took in his presence. He was just wearing a gray linen shirt that loosely clung to his chest, and gray loose pants, hanging loosely on his hips, bare feet, and yet he looks sinfully handsome.

Can he be more sexy?

I stared at his face, gone the tired face I was looking at, a second ago. He looks the same cold, stoic Isaias that everyone knows.

He narrowed our distance, holding a gun, — pointing downward — he stared at me impassively.

"There's nothing suspicious in the room, Angel. I think you are dreaming," he said coldly, and then run his fingers —with his free hand — through his hair, looking distraught, as he looks away.

"Are you okay?" I frowned.

He stared back at me impassively. I don't know how did he do it, but he can mask his true emotions that quick.

"I'm fine, Piccola. Go back to bed, please. It's still two in the morning," he admonished firmly, and I nodded, a little hurt for treating me like I kid. Rising from the couch with a heavy heart, I avoided his eyes, I don't want him to see the hurt in my eyes.

I want him to sleep with me, but it seems he'd rather sleep on the couch. My eyes shifted to the TV as I passed by the coffee table. "Are you still gonna watch?" I asked without looking at him, my eyes still on the screen.