Blinded by Perfection

30- A Potential Suspect

Chapter 30 | A Potential Suspect

In school we are reading Fahrenheit 451 and I'm dragging through it, ugh. What's you favorite book? :D Anyways, enough about me and happy reading!

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The pungent, sterile smell emitted by the cream tiled room practically burns my nostrils. On top of that already unpleasant fact, the blinding white walls seem to overwhelm my eyesight.

This is the reason why I absolutely hate the doctors office. The lingering beeps of machines don't help the matter, they just remind me how much I despise the place. To add to that, the doctor takes hours to get to and fro a room, so I know the three of us are going to be sitting here for a while.

I currently remain in a rock hard, extremely uncomfortable chair Axel had generously offered me when we arrived. Okay, that sounds sarcastic. He meant well and it isn't his fault the chair absolutely sucks, but it isn't the most luxurious.

I shift my body around constantly in displeasure, but I don't dare complain. It's the only chair in the room ―besides the patients chair itself― and I'm not going to whine as long as I have somewhere to sort of rest and think about the series of events that have occurred in less than 24 hours. Plus, I'm too lazy to stand.

My chair is angled towards Noah, whom occupies the patients chair. His freshly guarded light grey eyes never leave his black converse, that is, until now.

Up until this point he had seemed done with the attacks, but my hopes are crushed when his eyes screw shut. His once limp hands suddenly grip the edges of the maroon pigmented chair at the same time his jaw clenches tightly.

"Another headache?" I ask sympathetically, my face contorted in a grim frown.

Ever since he had gotten hit, there have been spells where short yet stinging bursts wrack his head in the form of a painful headache. I'm suspecting he got hit hard enough to get a concussion, but I'm no doctor, so I really shouldn't be diagnosing him.

"No," he manages to utter, symmetrical features aligning back into a blank expression.

Despite his attempt at his normal cool facade, I see right past it. His pain takes a greater toll on him than he originally lets on, and it's quite worrisome. It's hard to know how he really is though when he never lets me in.

The only telltale sign of his internal hurting is his continuous firm grip on the leather edges of the chair. His hands transfer into a ghastly white from his efforts of holding it. I wouldn't be surprised if he somehow put holes into the leather.

If he notices, I'm one hundred percent sure he would force himself to let go and act like he doesn't give a you know what, but he seems unaware of his subconscious hold. I don't mention it and neither does Axel, both of us allowing him to cope in his own way undisturbed.

Once he finally slackens, I'm aware the fit is over. "You could teach a mule a thing or two," I say, referring to his reluctance to let down his tough deportment for just a little bit. I've seen glimpses of the other, less wary and restrained boy underneath those self-constructed walls, but in all honesty I haven't seen enough of him.

"Don't even go there," he snorts in disbelief, newly clear expression looking at me as in 'really?'.

In response, I fidget with my long brunette locks to avoid the sudden eye contact. "Okay, I might've been a little too sure of myself today," I admit, chewing on my lower lip in apprehension.

"That's the understatement of the day," Axel chimes in, a false joking cheerfulness enriched in his tone.

Noah ignores him, keeping his strong opinionated gaze on me. Even though I can't see it, I feel it. It's the type of look that gives you the good type goosebumps, the thrilling ones. "I hoped you would've stayed where you were. You never should've followed me," he says, urgent tone forcing my eyes to glide up to his.