Getting Wilder ✔️

issue eight: nugget vs slenderman

This surprise update for all my wonderful readers out there. Y'all don't know what you mean to me. If you do like it so far, please do vote! It really encourages me and helps Nico's story to read a wider audience!

I had forgotten Wilder.

I had forgotten how kind and considerate he had been to me. I had forgotten why I had clung on to him so desperately. I had forgotten why he had meant the world to me. I had tried to rip my feelings for him away, but seemed to lose a chunk of my own heart in the process.

He led me out of the car and into his home. His arms around me were warm, protective and comforting. He didn't say anything except shooting me worried glances, his eyebrows furrowed as he studied me intently. I kept averting my gaze, my cheeks burning at the sudden attention.

We entered through the main door and I gazed at the vaguely familiar ornate chandeliers and mahogany wainscoting. The stone busts at the bottom of the staircase that had always freaked me out somehow still remained as I remembered. He led me up the staircase and into his room on the first floor, seating me down on the bed.

He reached into his pocket and I saw as he fished out my phone, placing it on the bedside table. He kneeled in front of me and I sniffled, finally gaining my senses. He peered into my face, his eyes strangely dark. "Did they hurt you?"

I rose to my feet suddenly, walking away from him and towards the door. I felt humiliated, unable to look at him and started making my way out without a word. My entire body felt warm from embarrassment with the possibility that he had heard everything in the journal. How hard I fanboyed about him. How desperate I was for his attention. How pitiful I really was. 

I opened the door and tried to make a run for it downstairs. Before I took any step, however, I felt his hand grab mine in a strong grip that sent shockwaves through me.  He spoke in a soft but firm voice, "I asked you something, Nico."

Nico. He was calling me Nico again.

I turned around to face him, feeling my cheeks burning. I couldn't believe he had heard everything. I couldn't believe I had started crying in front of so many people. Part of me was terrified that they would make a video about it all again.

"I...I am going to leave," I turned and tried to walk away again, however, he held on to me firmly.

"Come to my room. You look like a roadkill mouse."

His insult caught me off guard and I stared at him through my now drying tears. "Huh?"

He pulled me back into his room and slammed the door shut behind him. He pushed me gently on the bed, climbing beside me and placed his hand on my face, gently stroking my bottom lip as he looked at it.

My stomach tightened in anticipation as I gazed at his face so close to mine. I could feel his hot breath, could see his perfectly shaped lips, their soft pink hue, the slight dip of the cupid's bow. The air was suddenly suffocating me when I felt my lips tingling from the memories of the kiss.

He held my hand in his warm one, gently. As if I was fragile. I was shocked by how tender he was. He pulled my arm slightly and I winced, realizing that I had a massive scrape near my elbow.

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing in anger when he saw it and quickly rose to his feet. Inadvertently, I found myself longing for his closeness again. He walked into the bathroom and I took the opportunity to gaze around his room.

He had changed the colours of his wall to a much more boring brownish colour. There were posters of several football players on the wall. A massive TV set in a cabinet across the bed. A number of glittering trophies filling the shelves. There were also a few photo frames. That of his family. Some from his football team and one- my heart jumped to my throat- of us.