Blinded by Perfection

29- Guess Who's Back? Back Again . . .

Chapter 29 | Guess Who's Back? Back Again . . .

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"What's―" I start, but my question is chopped off halfway through by an agitated Noah.

"He went to hide behind the trees, but he's not leaving," he tells Axel and Sam. "I knew there was something off about him. Suspicious creep."

I nervously swallow my suspicions. Maybe they're talking about a stray dog. Maybe this has nothing to do with what I think it does.

Tapping my foot impatiently, I wait for the silence to hang over us again. This time when I try and ask a question, I'm not interrupted. "Can someone please tell me what's going on?"

"Someone was watching us through the windows," Noah informs, finally taking his magestical grey colored eyes away from the window and aiming them directly towards me.

Immediately after his words goosebumps form ridges on my arms, causing the hairs to stand up in attention. The shadow I saw in the window before wasn't a figment of my imagination or a repercussion of my fear of the dark. I wasn't making things up.

It was an actual person.

"Who is it?" I ask, attempting to keep the shaky falsetto of fear and understanding from etching itself into my voice. My voice betrays me, per usual. A waver in my tone slips through, and almost immediately Noah raises a concerned brow.

"Not sure. I didn't get to see much of him before he took off," he says slowly, but otherwise let's me off the hook for the time being.

He turns his gaze back outside the window and leans forward on the palm of his hands, hunching forward and squinting his eyes in an attempt to see more clearly in the dark night. Axel and Sam do the same, scrunching their faces besides Noahs to see through the small space.

"Why are you guys just sitting there? We should call the police. Or hide," I reason.

"Hiding is like being sitting ducks," Sam professes. His breathing on the glass creates a blurry fog on the window, but he just wipes it away with his sleeve.

"Then let's call the police. Sitting here staring at a window is doing nothing."

"We are doing something. Establishing a gameplan," Noah argues, back still turned to me.

"Yeah, because that's getting you places," I mutter. "Nevermind, I'll call them."

I walk over to the bed and grab it, but before I have the chance to do anything else, Noah's by my side in point five seconds. He swiftly cups his hands over mine, preventing me from dialing. The movement makes me go still.

I can't stop oogling at our touching hands. His are pleasantly warm, but there's something else about them that draw my attention. They send sparks up my arm, a feeling I've never received, unil now.

"Don't," he pleads, voice low enough so I can only hear it.

Resting my gaze away from our hands and onto his face, I lower my voice to match his. "What do you mean don't? One of us might get hurt. We don't know if this person is dangerous. We don't even know if he's armed."

"He's not armed, if he was he wouldn't have ran for it. I don't think he even expected a confrontation."

He then leans in a little closer so his voice is directed closer to my ear. "I can handle this anyways. I told you, I've gotten into multiple fights during the last few years. I know what I'm doing," he says convincingly, voice low so the others, particularly Taylor and Carolynn who are on the bed six feet away, can't eavesdrop.