Psychotic Love

T H R E E

Chapter Three

Lord Huron - The Night We Met (Cover By Jay Alan)

Sitting in the black vehicle almost felt like a lifetime.

I didn't try to run when he said my first name. It was no use. I was already at the conclusion that he held a weapon somewhere on him, or if not upon him. Potentially under the seat. A weapon could be hiding anywhere and I wasn't going to take that chance.

sitting in the vehicle had it's advantages and disadvantages.

The greatest drawback out of the considerable number of millions that were showing up in my head was that I was being reclaimed to the manor and I would most likely be going to be tortured to death from the British and Australian men that I beat earlier.I was for sure that they wanted revenge on me and I couldn't really blame them.

I was officially going to die in that place.

So with that thought of dying sometime soon. I praised my advantages.

There were actually two advantages. Advantage one was knowing that I wasn't going to die from hyperthermia. The heat inside the vehicle warmed my skin. Drying my clothes and hair.
I was still shivering slightly, but not as much as before- I didn't look like a fish out of the water and I was happy for that

also, advantage two was extremely unusual for me. I knew I shouldn't have, but something in me was pushing me to do so.

I was observing the unique man across of me.

He sat in the leather seat in a stiffen stance, not looking comfortable at all. I would have mistaken him as a mannequin at first glance, but with his thumbs moving rapidly on the keyboard of his phone it gave me second thoughts.

He hasn't stared at me once since I got comfortable in the vehicle, and that gave me more of a will to stare at his unique appearance and appreciate the art I was staring at. He wore black dress-up pants, black dress-up shirt with white suspenders over it. His clothing of choice felt complete, and my clothing was nowhere close to it.

his eyes were electrifying, his style was impressive, but the art on his skin was beautifully rare.

I could only spot the art on his hands, but I knew it expanded far up his arms and possibly on other parts of the skin from the unfinished piece. On his right hand, was a compass rose. North was pointing towards me, while the south was pointing towards himself.

the compass rose would have been boring and plain, yet it had it's additional excellence to it. Along the lines that prompt which bearing, it had veins of little blooms- Little daises wrapping its self along the line and letters.

what's more, on his left hand was an impeccable pragmatist eyeball in high detail. It was so artistic and unique. What was the importance of the two tattoos? Or then again, did they even needed to mean anything? Was it only art to this unique man.

For show or For thought?

My eyes left his hands and rose up until the point when they associated with his bright grey orbs.

"That's beautiful art on your hands" I spoke first. I was going to get murdered by the end of the night, so there was no longer the point to shush and stay silent "What is the meaning?" I asked him.