Wynter's Tale

Chapter 2

Perched on a bar stool, my legs swinging back and forth, I let my eyes wander through the throngs of the students smashing and grinding their bodies against each other. The music is too loud, almost deafening.

Being a university freshman at a fourth year student's party was no fun, but the freshies that dragged me out all the way to this hell hole, said it would be. They just forgot to mention that I'll be dumped like a sack of potatoes the first thing we stepped foot here.

My gaze landed on a guy sat on one of the sofas, his hands holding a glass of champagne. He chugged the whole thing down, emptying it, but he didn't set it aside. Instead his eyes kept on staring at the empty piece of glass, and my eyes kept on staring at him. As if sensing it, he suddenly looked up and right at me, making me lose all composure.

I, hastily, turned around in my chair, feeling a hot blush travel all the way from my back to my cheeks. Getting caught while staring at someone, my God, this was hands down the most embarrassment I have ever felt in this lifetime.

Using my hair as a shield, I turned my head to peek at him one more time, but he was gone. He was not there, and that left me disappointed. I wanted to see him one more time. Stifling a sigh, I straightened back again and almost died from a coronary when I saw him leaning on the bar right next to me.

He is standing right next to me. He is here. Right. Next. To. Me. My hands started shaking, so I shoved them under my legs. My eyes wanted to wander over to him again, but I gave it my all to maintain a straight poker face. I probably looked like a constipated tomato.

"Here take this, you look like you need one" said the huskiest voice I have ever heard, and there appeared a hand holding a glass of wine in front of me. I followed the path from the outstretched arm all the way to the face, and looked at the guy, really looked at him. This guy had an admirable face, but he was in no sense of the words, the hottest guy on this planet earth. By some standards he may even be labelled as fat. He was not overweight, but he clearly did not carry any six packs to flaunt around.

His eyes, however, were a completely different story. One of the few things that had the ability to unnerve me. And unnerve they did, for I snatched the glass from him and gulped a mouthful down. Not my best ladylike moments.

Wanting to explain myself, apologize for my rude staring, I opened my mouth. All that sputtered out was "I... uh... I... um... I am". I was hell bent on breaking the record of most embarrassing moments in one day.

The guy just looked at me once, and then turned around, walking away. Being at a safe distance from him brought some of the common sense back into my head, and I shouted, "Thank you Mister..." at his back.

He paused and walked all the way back, stopping right in front of me. He was so close, his body heat warming my bare knees. My dress suddenly felt too tight, and just then he leaned in, closing the gap. My hyperventilation reached its peak, I had never had a stranger guy this close to me before, and all I could do was stare at him wide eyed.

His hand went around me, and his head moved closer to my own, so close to my lips. I never felt his arm touch me though, and his head changed direction too, his warm breath tickling my ear now. His facial hair, tickled my cheek but I sat still like a statue, unable to move a single limb.

"Wyatt Dawson", he whispered and then he moved back, his warmth leaving me. I was still sat frozen, looking at him without batting an eye, I was too shocked to do so. His hands folded a handkerchief, then tucked it in his jean pockets and without another word, he turned around and walked away again.

~

I quickly stand up, inhaling a sharp breath as I stand frozen in spot. My eyes roamed all over him, wanting to drink in every bit of information. The bottle of wine forgotten, the people in the bar forgotten, it was only him I could look at, only him I could focus on.

He had changed, changed so much since the last time I saw him.

Three years ago.

He had lost weight, his body toned to an inch. There was so much muscle, all of it adorned in an immaculate suit. He had grown into a handsome man, more confident and sure of himself.

I had this sudden urge to rub my face against his, just to feel that facial hair scratch my own skin. I wanted to run my hands through his curly locks, and feel them slip through my fingers. I wanted to bury my face in the crook of his neck. I wanted his arms to hold me. I wanted to feel his beating heart under my palm. I wanted to hug him tightly to me. I wanted to never let go.

He looked every bit of a prince charming, here for his Cinderella, here for me...

"No. No. No. Wyatt!! You can't do this to me. You can't leave. Wyatt, please!!"

I took a step back.

"Please come back. I beg you, please."

I took another step back.

"WYATT!!"

But I was not his princess, and he was not my prince. He was the ghost of the past, a chapter of yesterday, and like how I have been doing for these preceding days...

... I ran, I ran away from my past again.