Five Hundred Miles

1.5: I might hate you, really.

Chapter 1.5: I might hate you, really. [UNEDITED]

[I will never find love from him, but I will always love him.—anonymous]

I want to pee. My bladder feels small whenever I'm asleep. Smaller when Gideon Camerons is asleep beside me. His arms are wrapped tightly around me, his legs entwined with mine. How did that happen?

Then I remember that I should hate him. It's hard to hate someone when they are asleep beside you, looking all peaceful and innocent.

“Ugh," I groan softly when I try to untangle his arms off me without waking him. Mission impossible.

“Gideon, let go." I smack his face lightly. Instead he pulls me closer. I'm not his pillow!

“No," he mumbles.

“Are you even awake?" I ask. “Please let go, I can't breathe."

He doesn't respond. I struggle as hard as I can, determined to get away.

“What are you doing?" He asks sleepily.

“I want to pee, but you won't let me. I hope that you'll let go, please." I say.

Easily he lifts an arm and I'm free. I slip my legs away from his, stretching by body.

Well that's easy.

“I still hate you," I tell him, knowing that he'll hear me, then I walk to the loo and do what I have to do.

When I return to the bed, Gideon is already gone. Where is he and how did he manage to slip out without me noticing at all?

I shake my head when I think of him. He is a mean person who treats me no better than a slave, I think, and he seems to be accusing Cara for everything. That is really, really mean. And I hate mean people.

“Wondering where I am ?" asks a voice behind me. Gideon is smirking at me smugly, and damn, he's shirtless.

“You were kind of asleep just now, and I remember you wearing a shirt. What happened to that?" I ask, unyielding to the special effect he's giving me. If he thinks that taking off his shirt will actually make me attracted to him more, he's mistaken. I. Won't. Yield.

Well, stop staring.

You're being weird.

Stop. Staring.

“I'm going to work out and I'll be very glad if you wanna follow. But I think you're not a morning person," he challenges. I cross my arms in front of me and give him a you-think-you're-perf? look.

“You got that wrong, Mr.Camerons," I did not just say that. I never worked out. Never exercised, to be precise. “I'm pretty interested in your so-called lair."

“Okay, bring it on, woman," he smirks at me, and I can't help but notice the way his muscles flex when he stretches him arms.

I'm weird. I'm staring.

Snap out of it!

“Let's go," he murmurs close enough for me to hear. He takes my hand in his, leading me to the doorway.

I notice the sudden change of his attitude towards me. Since...yesterday, he's been kind and tolerable. More than tolerable. He asks about me, he cares. He makes small jokes, and he smirks.

“Why are you doing this?" I ask quietly, more like mumbling to myself. He hears that, unfortunately, and raises a questioning brow at my own question.

“What did you say?"

“Isn't it odd for a cruel man to slip into a woman's bed in the middle of the night, cuddle with her like she's pillow and by the next morning, work out with her?" I ask.