Etched

Chapter 2

Sometimes you feel so rueful that you wish with all your heart to undo the things you've done. To take back your actions, to have a better sight of yourself losing control then moulding it in accordance to the circumstances, recoiling it from doing the unnecessary.

This is what we usually do, giving up to our temptations, desperately wanting to have an outlet for all the pent up emotions. Not recognizing the harm they might bring. The damage they are capable of doing. And even after we spill it out to our heart's content, hoping for satisfaction, for fulfillment, we still stay restless. Edgy. Reprimanding our doings, preferring the once ignored silence and steer.

But it's always too late to back out, too late to measure the pros and cons once the unguarded arrow leaves the bow. Striking it along with inviting the opponent for an attack, giving the green inkling of war. Of words or of action, sometimes just emotions.

It seemed like time froze with me, icing everything around. A wave of panic revolved around me, filling me with dread. My recent memory bringing back the pictures of his tough looks and dominating attitude from earlier today and how they promise dread to the one at the receiving end. I'm no idiot, everyone can tell that this man is not someone you can have a decent conversation with, unless you have a death wish. 

I sigh, irritated with myself. My brain at war with the neurons for going bonkers. It finally urges me to run away, away from the lion I had insanely tickled. My cold, shaky hands still clutching the straps of my bag tight, my knuckles white.

I stepped back to turn away but perhaps, I was late. He had already turned around, seething. His once beautiful green eyes in their darkest shade. His expressions contorted to fury, the intensity of which runs a shiver down my spine.

He strides forward while I clumsily step back, hopelessly trying to create space between us. I try to show him as little fright on my features as I can, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of his success.

His pair of rough hands cluch my forearms pushing me hard against the wall on my right, killing my efforts to escape. His fingers digging in my skin so deep, that the strength might leave bruises.

I restrain from flinching and dart a look at him with distaste. His face glowering, just inches away from mine. I try to free myself from him despite knowing that even all my strength combined wouldn't be equal to his hold and I'm sure he isn't even using half of what he possesses.

He looks down at me with narrowed eyes, seemingly frustrated at my attempts when I try to pull my arms out of his iron grip. His lips pursed. Rage showing through every feature of his. Our bodies so close to each other that his smell completely engulfs me.

His scent, so intoxicating, so aromatic that it could hypnotize a person the very instant. He smelled peculiar, confusing in a sense you'd want more of it. He smelled like dew, grass, woods and something strange with a masculine essence of musk. A balsamic warmth emanating him; something captivating.

His robustness on my arms was unwavering. He was angry, really angry, anyone could tell. His gaze unrelenting, daunting me with a story of harm. My only goal to slip away from his hold. To run away from the trouble I've invited with open arms.

"What the hell did you just do, do you have any idea who I am?" He seethed. Boy, was his voice good? He sounded hoarse yet smooth, his voice raspy yet enamoring. The scratchy rough voice could be perhaps, due to the lack of talking, I can't be sure. But it was the kind of domineering voice that lures you in.

Control woman, control!

I stood there dumbfounded gazing at his eyes until his words sank in and a tide of anger crashed against me. I tried preparing my answers for his shot questions because I'm the kind of a person who needs to prepare and replay their answers in their minds before responding and still end up coming with nothing suitable. Regretting it once the argument is over.