Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 18 - Avery

"Hi," I reply sitting to the back of the chair with my arms folded.

He glances down and rubs the back of his neck; as he does this I can see the muscles, lying dormant under his tanned skin until now, flex. I can't help the smile creeping across my face. I hope he doesn't notice.

"Sorry," he starts, "you're probably wondering why some strange bloke has come up to you out of the blue and..." He trails off. His eyes are intensely staring at me, and he begins to lean in, getting so close that I can pick out hints of gold in the hypnotic dark shade.

"Then again," he restarts," Lots of strange men must come and talk to you," he declares, whilst rolling his eyes over me.

I mean, I'm flattered but I really do have other things to attend to right now, my leather jacket (RIP) is burning a hole in my bag and I can't risk him getting too close to see what is left of Cinderella on my top.

He seems so nervous. I throw him a bone and extend my hand. "I'm Avery." My reason sighs at me as I do this. What are you doing? You had the perfect out, you're just making this harder for yourself.

His shoulders drop and he eases slightly, leaning back in the chair he had invited himself into. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"So, was there a reason you came over here, or was it just because you were bored?" I try to sound relaxed and nonchalant but the frustration of wanting to leave seeps through into my tone. His gentle, strong features screw up slightly. I shouldn't care about his reaction; however I can't help but be intrigued.

"Oh, Avery, I really didn't mean to bother you." Whoops, he's offended.

I should just let him go, I really need to get home to sort myself out and deal with what has happened. But I find myself reaching for his arm, grabbing his hand, as he starts to make his way out of the old leather chair.

Those deep hazel eyes pierce mine as he turns to look at me. "You're not bothering me." Do you want to sound any needier? My reason is disappointed in me.

"What are you drinking? You seem like a regular here and I need a recommendation." His persona has changed somewhat, there is a newfound confidence in the way he holds himself.

"Coconut latte." I match his confidence.

He turns and heads towards Heidi, and I can't help but feel slightly disappointed that he merely wanted a drink. Suffice to say, my ego is severely wounded.

As I pick up my bag and attempt to pull myself out of the corner (the chairs are far too low in here, it does not make for an easy getaway), I hear his deep voice softly ask Heidi, "two, please." He glances over to me and I'm once again pinned down by those eyes. There's something about them. They appear to be as bright as the sun yet as dark as the moon. I just can't put my finger on what it is that I am fascinated by. And I really hate not understanding something.

"I was actually just about to head off...." I call softly to him but he disregards me and marches over with the two coffees.

"I'm going to take you out." His almost sheepish approach I witnessed only moments ago has now transformed into a commanding, self-assured character that appeals to me a little more than it should.

With a soft laugh, I ask, "Oh is that so? Do I not get a say?"

He returns the laugh but retains his assertive manner. "I'm afraid not. I'll have to take you hostage if you protest."

I'm slightly taken back. After a long day, a harmless bit of flirting is a nice way to calm myself down but extending it on to tomorrow? I'm not sure how comfortable I am with that.

A flush of repulsion spreads across his face as he takes a gulp of my favourite concoction.

"Don't you like it?" I tease with a flutter of my eyes and a glimpse of my killer smirk. I am taking pleasure in his dislike of the drink. I'm happy that it will still be mine and I won't have to share it.

"It's...interesting," he returns, the corner of his lip lifting in a side smile. I feel myself mirroring him. He takes an even bigger sip and makes a sound of joy for my entertainment.

Though I am having a back and forth debate with reason as to whether I should accept his offer, he seems to win every rebuttal. "I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow," he confirms, "From?"

"Lexin...No!" I catch myself as I go to respond. You almost gave him your address? It's like you're a completely different person. My reason scorns me – I can't disagree with her, but for some reason unknown to me, I go against her wishes of leaving and never looking back. I notice that he looks confused and slightly startled by my abrupt response and the silence that follows which lasts just a little too long.

I calm my voice and put on a casual mask as I scramble an excuse together, "Sorry, um...there are road works down my street, it's a mess. I can just meet you?"

"Okay, meet me in the town square."

"Great!" I exclaim. My eyes widen as I hear myself. What is wrong with me? I sound like a schoolgirl getting asked to the dance. I compose myself and add, "I've got to head off."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he states with no question in his voice. He takes my hand in his, his eyes fixating on mine. "It was lovely to meet you, Avery."

I brush past him, and feeling his warm body against mine even for a second sends energy pulsing through my body. I feel a sensation in my stomach that wants to make me sick and giggle at the same time.

I push through the doors of the Cosy Coffee and as the cold sweet air hits my face, I feel reality begin to set in. It's as though I have just stepped out of a dream.

My reason, muted by him, until now suddenly kicks back in and I take notice of her. What the hell do you think you're doing? Now you've really gone and done it. This guy is only going to be trouble.

I waltz home with an unfamiliar spring in my step. I feel a tingling in my stomach that I don't recognise and there is a subtle smile creeping its way across my face as I open my front door.

Although, it immediately falls and my heart stops as I catch sight of a handwritten envelope in front of me. The envelope is a dirty cream and it looks as though it has been crumpled up in someone's coat pocket for hours.

With fragile hands I lift the thin paper, although it feels the weight of a boulder. Once I open it, I am greeted by another cream sheet of paper with cut-out letters from magazines forming words.

"Whoopsy daisies, looks like the grimm reaper's made a little bit of a mess, have fun cleaning this one up."