Last Sacrifice | #Wattys2018

Chapter Twelve

'What are these?'

Her fingers started dancing across each crumpled page in her hand. It was almost as if her mind was consumed with other thoughts. The way she could smell his fragrance in his small room, a musky manly scent.

'Thoughts,' She was unsure where his voice was coming from, she was turned facing the window and she could sense him from somewhere behind her.

'Feelings,' She could feel him move closer towards her from where he was standing with the soft creaking of the floorboards.

The lighting in the room was dim, with only the fire lamp casting shadows and the smallest of crackling you could hear as you walked into the room.

'Memories.' The space between them was closing in and her fragrance seemed to entrance him as he got closer.

Rayhan couldn't believe she was standing in his room just then. What had even possessed her to actually help his father? People had walked passed him all the time, not caring whether he was retching out his lungs or not. She stunned him.

She was right here.

And he couldn't exactly do anything about that. It wasn't as if he brought her here, she came all by herself, so he wasn't breaking any rules.

Was he now?

She tensed at the close proximity, he was only a few inches away from her and if she moved back, she would definitely collide into his chest. Something about the way the atmosphere was and him, that made her heart beat erratically in her chest. Her palms were beginning to sweat, and she questioned her motives. This wasn't good.

There was a mixture of emotions running through her and she couldn't place her finger on it. Why had he caused her to feel a certain way whenever he had appeared out of the blue and captured her heart within his low laughs and deep voice?

They could both feel something just then, it wasn't about a piece of paper or the way no form of sound was coming from his fathers room. It was just them. Him and her. Standing with the fire lamp crackling the way it did and, the darkness that had surrounded them both.

She could feel heat radiating off his chest and she started to inhale the scent evading her nostrils. His scent.

'You write?' Her voice was barely audible and if he wasn't standing as close as he was, he would've missed it.

'I write, yes.' He couldn't care less about writing right now. All he could think about was the way that silky black material fell from her shoulder and she did nothing to place it back...

'Rayhan,' Her soft voice echoed through his room and the way her tongue had slipped his name gave him a tingle that coursed through his spine.

'It's getting late. I have to go.' Those words seemed to jolt him from this drunken state he was getting consumed by.

'You have to go now?' He didn't want her to leave. He wanted her to stay right there. But inside, he knew it was terribly wrong for him to make her stay.

'Yes.'

He backed away from her and she could finally breathe. Although, something about the way everything felt just then made her miss that feeling. That close feeling.

She turned around, her gaze on the dark brown rusty floorboards beneath her. She didn't look up, knowing that if she met his gaze she would be sucked into those soft, beautiful eyes.

'He needs love. You need to show him love. Talk to him, even if you think he isn't listening. Rayhan, look after him for me please.' Those soft footsteps against the creaking of the floorboards was the only sound he could hear as his gaze fixated upon her downcast eyes.

She cared about his father so much, but why?

He didn't say anything, neither did she wait for a reply. She left without another word and her black silhouette faded within the misty haze, as if she was a dream.

He tried to come to his senses but something deeper seemed to control him. He was rooted to the spot where only a few seconds ago she was standing, so close to him. He could neither run outside and stop her from walking away, neither could he even thank her with his muted voice.

He sighed and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, a habit he would do whenever he was nervous. He noticed as he stood leaning across the wall, the stone that lay on his dresser was holding nothing in place.

All those pages he had written were gone.

The ends of his mouth curved into a deep smile once he realised something.

Sneaky little Bambi...

***

The stone hearted man, hands firmly tied behind his back, remained by the expansive window of his bedroom since 7PM.

A figure emerged from the road and he grew furious with each step she had taken to get by the entrance. She had no respect for herself coming home ten minutes past seven, and she had no respect for her father either who stood awaiting her arrival.

Suspicions seemed to arise in his mind and he bawled his hands into fists, his knuckles turning a pale white. Her uneven footsteps up the ceramic steps, irritated him with each step she took.

He turned to switch the lights of his bedroom off, but it was unlikely he would sleep with the constant doubts invading his mind.

He knew exactly where she had just been.

He would do everything to stop her.

And most importantly, him.