The Greene Effect - REWRITE!!

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE - THE BRIGHTEST FLAMES

Amelia Greene -

I can't believe I'm doing this.

I reach the front of his tent in a manner of minutes but stop right outside. His shadow moves around inside, showing he's alone and likely finishing up work.

But I can't seem to step through. My feet are cemented into the snow, and everything in me tells me to turn and walk away, but I can't do that, either.

I shiver, tiny snowflakes falling onto my nose. Standing outside sucks, yet I can argue that it's objectively better than being in a room with Pierson.

The same heartsick feeling floods me, watching his shadow once again stand and stretch, his arms stretching the material of his jacket. I swear lowly, knowing I can't turn back around now.

I swallow down all my previous, despite how difficult it is, and push open the flap.

The intensity of his eyes as they land on me almost dissolves all of my courage, but I manage to keep my chin up. He licks his bottom lip, turning to face me head-on, crossing his arms loosely.

I say nothing. He waits, and then, speaks first. "What do you want, Greene?"

I eye him, checking for any signs of intoxication.
The question slips through my mouth. "Are you drunk?"

"Excuse me?" He asks, raising an eyebrow of offense. I slide past him, eyeing his desk. There are few papers on it and is relatively clear.

"Are you drunk?" I repeat, turning back to him.

"No, I'm not." He narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"

You owe me so much, Stiles.

"Because," I put my hands on the desk and slid myself onto it, backwards. Pierson's looks unamused, eyes flickering from my dangling feet to my calm stature. "I want to talk."

"You don't deserve a minute of my time."

A rush of heat warms up my face. "And you think you deserve mine?" I instantly sigh, regretting my moment of frustration. His face remains indifferent. "Pierson. . I don't want to fight with you."

He doesn't believe me; I wouldn't either. "It seems like you enjoy it."

"I don't. I only feel like shit after. All I want is to be able to talk to you like a normal person."

My eyes land on his chest. His dog tag, a dull silver, glints at me. Without thinking, I reach out and take it between my fingertips, curious. Though I don't pull it, Pierson steps forward. He already towers over me when I stand, but now sitting, I'm at his waist.

PIERSON
WILLIAM
O POS
NO PREFERENCE

A hint of a smile upturns my lips. He never did seem like the religious type. A positive blood type for a negative man. A nice name, though.

My eyes flicker back up to him, and I see for a split second that the defensive posture of his relaxes, before returning. "Greene, look where the hell we are? You think this is the time and place for casual conversation?"

I taper my vision, pulling the tiniest bit on the chain.
"Stop being stubborn. You know damn well this is anything but casual." He chooses to look elsewhere. "Please, stop ignoring it." My words fall flat. "Pierson." Finally, he gives in. "Please."

He relaxes and I see how tired he truly is. Bags line underneath his eyes, which have more red in them than I think would be healthy. The sight does something odd to me.

"I told you I don't know, Greene."

I do. I just want to hear from you.

"Then can't we at least try to figure it out?" Pierson's reluctance reminds me of Stiles' words again; I have to be the one to push this because he certainly won't. "It won't just happen because you look at me before we go separate ways or you kiss me when you mellowed out."