Cold Hands and a Warm Heart

I learned a long time ago that him and I belonged in different worlds. Since forever, I'd reached out again and again, peeling back those thick layers to see the lonely boy I knew was underneath, just to have my hand slapped away. One thing a child learns though, is after their hand is slapped one too many times, they will avoid doing what caused the disciplinary action to happen.

He always gets what he wants, and he knows that, and I know that. However, what am I supposed to do when he wants me? I've already given up on him, I lost interest. Hell, the sight of his gaze just makes my blood boil. I don't care about his money, I don't care about his name, I don't care about this new sudden burst of attention he's giving me. I don't care about HIM.

Every argument that crackles between us leaves our lips stinging with unresolved tension he knows he caused. Every brush of our hands reminds me of all the cold things that left his lips. Even our parents don't want us in the same room! His mother thinks he could find a prettier woman, and mine says I deserve a loving man. We live oceans apart. I refuse to be another conquest for this immature boy.

I can see it in his eyes now. He can't stop thinking of me. His gaze always lingers too long in my features, and his eyes soften when they lift and meet mine now. It doesn't matter though. He's the same man the boy was all those years ago. He is no different.

Some wounds will never heal, but are some hearts worth breaking down every wall just to graze with your fingers?