Darkness Ethereal | K.TH

What I Want

"Okay."

For some reason, my hand seems to be shaking the most between us two as I reach out tentatively. My skin brushes his the second before I wrap my fingers around his exposed wrist.

The first voluntary contact we'd had.

His wrist is cool and smooth against my warmth, and I force my trembling hand to calm down as I peek up at his storming expression.

Why does he look so angry?

The moment I ask that question in my mind, he snatches his wrist away. The warmth in his eyes has disappeared inside a barrier of cold distance, buried deep underneath a mountain of panic and fear.

"Are you alright?"

His breaths come fast and erratic as he stumbles backwards, nearly crashing into the bedpost as his hands curl into tight, pale fists.

Then he collapses.

My doe eyes go wide with horror as he crumples to the ground, body limp and the life gone from his slitted irises.

"Oh my gosh."

Panic and terror fills my blood as I bend down, carefully placing two fingers against his neck. His pulse is still there— he hadn't died. He'd just fainted.

All because of that single touch.

Forcing myself to stay calm, I pull down my sleeves over my hands. There was no telling what might happen if he felt my touch, even if in his unconsciousness.

Taking a deep breath, I wrestle his heavy body onto the bed. His haphephobia must be really severe if he showed this kind of violent reaction to a simple hand to wrist.

Relief pours through me when I hear his breathing eventually stabilize, and he looks peace with sleep. The medicine had worked— even though there was a slight heat to his forehead, that would be gone soon as well.

Silence fills the cell, and I find myself staring at his asleep figure. For some reason, my heart hurts whenever I look at him.

It felt like he didn't belong here— but free, out in the world instead of caged in this lonely prison.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, watching his long lashes graze underneath his closed eyes. "I didn't mean to make you faint."

The air I breathe is shaky as it escapes my lips, and I make sure the blanket is tightly tucked around his body before quietly turning away to let him sleep.

Then a soft feeling brushes my open wrist, and I look down in shock to see that his hand had been there all along.

How in the world had I not noticed that?

My heart skips a beat as I discern that I must've mistaken the warmth of his hand as the touch of the blanket. When I slowly try to untangle his slender, bandaged fingers from my wrist, I hear him softly gasp.

"Don't leave."

My breath catches, and my hand quivers as I slowly turn back.

"Stay."

Blood roars in my ears as my heartbeat skyrockets, a warm heat spreading from the tip of my nose to the ends of my fingertips as I squeeze back against his gauzed hand.

He's just sleep talking.

There was no way he meant that.

But I'm selfish— my own feet refuse to leave as I carefully take my place next to the bed. I could just simply tug off his grip from my wrist and leave. I could just do that.

I had the choice.

But I also had the choice to stay and feel his hand in mine. And somehow, that sounded more tempting than anything I'd ever been offered in my life.

And he wouldn't know.

I wouldn't let him.

__________________________

Crap.

V's startled shout is what wakes me, instead of my plan to wake up before he did. Now he'd seen my hand in his, very touching—

Crap.

Crap, crap, crap.

Gasping, I flash up to my feet as he looks at me with fury— eyes practically blazing with fire as he trembles with the delicate combination of fiery anger and icy cold fear.

"I am so sorry—"

"This is what you've been aiming for all along," His wintry voice shakes me, and my eyes go wide as he stands up to his full, intimidating height— completely towering over my own stature.

"Haven't you?"

The air of remoteness is back. It's the air I'd felt when I'd first met him, full of hatred and distrust. Except now it's different— much, much worse than the beginning.

He's blaming himself for giving me his trust. Even though it hadn't been the entire thing, he still had— and now he thought I'd tricked him for a fool.

"No."

"Get the hell out now." He whispers, eyes flashing murder and rage. "Before I lose my temper with you."

"You were the one that touched me," I exclaim frustratingly. "I meant to leave after I saw that you were collapsed, V. Why would I initiate another touch when I just saw you faint because of one?"

He looks at me as if he sees a monster instead of a seventeen year old girl. He still thinks I'm lying— he still thinks I tricked him.

Even if he did shut me out for the rest of his life, I would not let him think that he made a mistake trusting me.

"I did not touch you first, V."

Then my eyes widen in realization as I gasp in disbelief.

"But you know that, don't you."

The fact that he just stands there confirms it. My heart shatters as my gaze reduces down to the ground, trying to distract myself from the pain brewing in my body.

"You know that I'm telling the truth."

V purses his lips as revolt flashes across his face. Revolt— but not directed towards me. It's revolt that he feels towards himself— which just confuses me even further.

"Why, V." I mutter to his silence, eyes welling with tears for a person I'd just met a few days ago. "Why do you hate yourself?"

He is beautiful, even in the height of anger. For a split second when the light reflects the side of his face, I don't see the stoic, icy boy I'd gotten to know.

Vulnerability.

His barriers torn down, his walls shattered. For a fraction of a moment I see the boy he hides amongst the labyrinth of hatred and fear, a boy that doesn't know what to do next.

A boy that thinks he's strong enough, when all he needs is someone that can fill his weaknesses.

A tear escapes the corner of my eyes, the same time his hand presses against my cheek.

Surprise colors my eyes as he closes his own, a deep sigh escaping his lips. By pure instinct, I overlap his hand with mine— still numb with shock that he'd touched me after all that.

He sighs again as he carefully draws his hand away, the emotion that I'd identified as self-revolt pouring back heavier than the last.

"Don't hate yourself."

I blurt out the sentence without meaning to— something I'd meant to say but I didn't have enough courage to speak out loud.

"You," He whispers, the sheer depth of his voice so rich and velvet that it makes shivers tingle up my spine.

"Then tell me. Why am I liking your touch?"