Chapter Four
I blinked my eyes open, sleepy.
I remembered falling asleep on Zen. My face flushing, I tried sitting up, but I couldn't. I glanced up.
Zen had his arms around me, his eyes closed, sleeping as well.
Was it just me, or was it kinda hot?
When I took a closer look at Zen's face, I noticed something odd. There was a trail leading down his face. He had been crying.
Crying?! Why in the world. . .?
Gently, I pushed his arms off and shook him. He stirred, but then mumbled and went back to sleep. It sounded like he said, "Don't leave me." I grabbed his shoulders. "Zen!" I snapped into his ear. He sat up, frightened witless, and we smashed heads.
"O-Owwww. . ." I said, rolling on the couch. "Oh my God, what do you want?!" he muttered, holding his forehead, just like me.
"You know, I forgot." I said, wincing in pain. He threw his hands up, exasperated. I burst laughing, which got him going, and both of us collapsed onto each other, laughing like idiots. When we managed to calm down, Zen stretched out luxuriously on my couch, draping his arm over his eyes. "Jeez, we slept in. It's almost noon." I said, checking my phone.
"Is it?" he asked, frowning. Laying down, he almost took up my couch. This guy was tall. At least 6'7". "Yes, it is." I said, poking him hard in the side. He gave me an "oof", but his mouth was smiling. I couldn't help but smile back.
Then I suddenly remembered what I wanted to ask him.
"Hey! Zen, I remembered. When I woke up, you were-" I started, before the bell rang. Multiple times.
Zen and I both stared at the door, whoever on the other side smashing the doorbell like there was no tomorrow.
Which could be true for Zen if it's another Science Sicko (my name for 'em). "Stay here," I said, nodding. He looked up at me with his silver eyes, as if I had just told him I was Arnold Schwarzenegger. I opened the door, my black hair mussed and messy. "H-Hey, afternoon." I said, blowing strands out ofmy face.
My mouth practically dropped.
In front of me stood a drop-dead delectable guy, his black hair hanging limply to his neck as if he had straight-ironed it. His eyes were the perfect shade of blue, not washed out like mine, and not so intense that you felt he was scary. He was almost as tall as Zen,his hands in his pockets. He sported a long-sleeve black t-shirt, a mini jacket that cut off at his abdomen and had no sleeves, and black jeans, the knee and below hidden by his belt-buckled boots.
"I'm looking for Zen." he said, his dark voice sending an electric current down my spine.
"W-Who?" I managed. Zen, who was behind the door, peeked out the window. "Ah! It's okay, Anastasia! I know him!" he said suddenly. Zen stepped out from behind me, striding up to the guy. "I've knownGabriel here for years!" he said, putting his arm around Gabriel and tugging the poor guy forward. Gabriel nodded, in a headlock. I smirked and stepped aside so they could come in.
"Anastasia, was it?" Gabriel asked once we were all seated comfortably. "Yea. And you're Gabriel?" I replied. He nodded. "You can call me 'Real'. Everyone else does." Gabriel said. He was so menacing, but his personality was like the little brother you wanted to sadistically make cry. I tried to hide my grin at this sudden thought. "Anyway, how'd you find us?" Zen said, straight to the point.
Real stared at his hands (which were clasped, his elbows resting on his knees) and finally said lowly, "They're all looking for you." Zen's smile vanished like air. My grin was plastered tomy face . "They want you back, and they're not going to give up. They're sending Angels like me." Real managed, sitting back and propping a foot up on my coffee table. Zen stared at the ceiling. Finally, he whispered a colourful word angrily, and buried his face intohis hands.
If you looked up the word "stressed" in the dictionary, you'd see a picture of a 6'7" Angel with black wings sitting with his face inhis hands next to it.
Not really, but there should be.
"I still have our Connection." Real said, holding his hand out. I saw a glimpse of their "Connection". Real's hand had some kind of ancient-ey looking sign CARVED into it, the scar healing, but visible. From the looks of it, it would never go away.
And just seeing that sign, I knew something was up with Zen. Something not sugar-coated and sweet and gorgeous.
Something ugly and terrible, something I honestly didn't want to know.
I blinked my eyes open, sleepy.
I remembered falling asleep on Zen. My face flushing, I tried sitting up, but I couldn't. I glanced up.
Zen had his arms around me, his eyes closed, sleeping as well.
Was it just me, or was it kinda hot?
When I took a closer look at Zen's face, I noticed something odd. There was a trail leading down his face. He had been crying.
Crying?! Why in the world. . .?
Gently, I pushed his arms off and shook him. He stirred, but then mumbled and went back to sleep. It sounded like he said, "Don't leave me." I grabbed his shoulders. "Zen!" I snapped into his ear. He sat up, frightened witless, and we smashed heads.
"O-Owwww. . ." I said, rolling on the couch. "Oh my God, what do you want?!" he muttered, holding his forehead, just like me.
"You know, I forgot." I said, wincing in pain. He threw his hands up, exasperated. I burst laughing, which got him going, and both of us collapsed onto each other, laughing like idiots. When we managed to calm down, Zen stretched out luxuriously on my couch, draping his arm over his eyes. "Jeez, we slept in. It's almost noon." I said, checking my phone.
"Is it?" he asked, frowning. Laying down, he almost took up my couch. This guy was tall. At least 6'7". "Yes, it is." I said, poking him hard in the side. He gave me an "oof", but his mouth was smiling. I couldn't help but smile back.
Then I suddenly remembered what I wanted to ask him.
"Hey! Zen, I remembered. When I woke up, you were-" I started, before the bell rang. Multiple times.
Zen and I both stared at the door, whoever on the other side smashing the doorbell like there was no tomorrow.
Which could be true for Zen if it's another Science Sicko (my name for 'em). "Stay here," I said, nodding. He looked up at me with his silver eyes, as if I had just told him I was Arnold Schwarzenegger. I opened the door, my black hair mussed and messy. "H-Hey, afternoon." I said, blowing strands out ofmy face.
My mouth practically dropped.
In front of me stood a drop-dead delectable guy, his black hair hanging limply to his neck as if he had straight-ironed it. His eyes were the perfect shade of blue, not washed out like mine, and not so intense that you felt he was scary. He was almost as tall as Zen,his hands in his pockets. He sported a long-sleeve black t-shirt, a mini jacket that cut off at his abdomen and had no sleeves, and black jeans, the knee and below hidden by his belt-buckled boots.
"I'm looking for Zen." he said, his dark voice sending an electric current down my spine.
"W-Who?" I managed. Zen, who was behind the door, peeked out the window. "Ah! It's okay, Anastasia! I know him!" he said suddenly. Zen stepped out from behind me, striding up to the guy. "I've knownGabriel here for years!" he said, putting his arm around Gabriel and tugging the poor guy forward. Gabriel nodded, in a headlock. I smirked and stepped aside so they could come in.
"Anastasia, was it?" Gabriel asked once we were all seated comfortably. "Yea. And you're Gabriel?" I replied. He nodded. "You can call me 'Real'. Everyone else does." Gabriel said. He was so menacing, but his personality was like the little brother you wanted to sadistically make cry. I tried to hide my grin at this sudden thought. "Anyway, how'd you find us?" Zen said, straight to the point.
Real stared at his hands (which were clasped, his elbows resting on his knees) and finally said lowly, "They're all looking for you." Zen's smile vanished like air. My grin was plastered tomy face . "They want you back, and they're not going to give up. They're sending Angels like me." Real managed, sitting back and propping a foot up on my coffee table. Zen stared at the ceiling. Finally, he whispered a colourful word angrily, and buried his face intohis hands.
If you looked up the word "stressed" in the dictionary, you'd see a picture of a 6'7" Angel with black wings sitting with his face inhis hands next to it.
Not really, but there should be.
"I still have our Connection." Real said, holding his hand out. I saw a glimpse of their "Connection". Real's hand had some kind of ancient-ey looking sign CARVED into it, the scar healing, but visible. From the looks of it, it would never go away.
And just seeing that sign, I knew something was up with Zen. Something not sugar-coated and sweet and gorgeous.
Something ugly and terrible, something I honestly didn't want to know.
No comments:
Post a Comment