Blinded by Perfection

45- Anything For You

Chapter 45 | Anything For You

This book is ending soon, but I don't know exactly when. Sad, I know, but the good thing is that I already have a bunch of ideas of stuff to happen in the sequel!

Yes, there's going to be one!

Whoop whoop, I'm so excited! Anyways enough ramble from me and enjoy your reading.

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Trey remains still an instant afterwards before collapsing to the ground like an unsupported rag doll. My blue eyes never leave his burly form, even as he remains on the wood floor, now completely still. Millions of thoughts begin to race through my head.

Is he dead? Did I . . . Did I just kill someone? Oh my goodness, what if I actually did!? That'd make me a murderer, wouldn't it? Now I'm just as bad as Trey. I'm a. . . a criminal, and the next time everyone sees me will be behind bars. If Trey is truly dead, I'm truly a criminal. It doesn't matter if it was self-defense or not. Nothing erases the fact I killed someone!

The pan I had used as my weapon suddenly feels like dead weight in my hands as I go into shock, and unable to continue carrying it's burden my fingers slowly relinquish their grip on the handle. The hard metal hits my big toe before rolling away which my body physically registers, but my brain is too wrapped around the vision in front of me to care.

Suddenly, there isn't enough oxygen in the air anymore to keep me satisfied. No matter how deep I breathe or how much my lungs intake, I still feel deprived of a supply. I start to hyperventilate, my breathing quickening into short and harsh gasps, which feel so shallow and restricted to the point I feel as if I'm suffocating because my brain is in overdrive.

On top of that, I haven't realized my frame is shaking until someone is suddenly in front of me, putting their hands on my arms like a land-locked anchor. I don't acknowledge the person however, and instead I keep my eyes glued to the motionless body on the floor. Or corpse. I'm still not sure and I'm half convinced I don't want to be.

"Look at me," I hear someone masculine say to me, but the voice range is very faint. It's also like they speak from underwater; the words are almost indecipherable due to their distortion. In turn I ignore it almost as if the words weren't said.

"Kirsten," the voice insitantly repeats. This time I want to acknowledge it, but it doesn't feel like I have any control over my body. No matter how hard I try to tear my wide eyed gaze away from the body in front of me, my body won't comply. It's frozen in place, just like my slack jaw. It has just kinda shut down, so I'm as rigid as the unmoving man in front of me, whom is beginning to acquire a large bump on the left side of his head.

The back of bruised fingers reach up to my cheek, gently applying pressure so I position my head to direct my line of sight straight at the person. Even then my eyes refuse to meet his, not budging from Trey.

"Look at me," persists the brute voice.
He then lifts my chin up with the tips of his fingers. The comforting feeling of his touch greatly calms me down, but I still don't abide to his wants. When that doesn't work, he changes tactics and shifts to the right so his bulky physique blocks where I was previously looking. I'm given no other choice but to stare at his crisp light grey eyes, and his pupils dialate as we latch onto each other's gaze.

"You're okay, shh," he gently shushes. The rich sound of his familiar rumbling and calming tone does magic, because somehow he tranquilizes me into a somewhat normal state. He must sense I'm not fully phlegmatic though, because after he looks at me with introspection his hands snake around my waist and pull me close to him in a comforting hug.