Thirteen

She hates how see-through she was—how he could just read her by her effects, her expressions. She always tried to stay calm whenever she was around him but it was impossible. It wasn’t because he makes her weak or gives her butterflies, no—he was unpredictable and could do the most unmanageable things.

Her heart was racing, her breathing was shallow. He smirked, still strolling around her room and touching her things—he sensed that she was tensed and his presence was making her perturbed. But he doesn’t seem to care that she wasn’t contented with him being in her room.

She watched as he picked up a bottle of perfume from her dressing mirror and sprayed decent amount on the back of his wrist. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. “Lavender… smells just like you. I love it,” he commented. She furrowed her brows, feeling the urge to pin him down and draw her sharp claws over his fine face. She hates how she just thought he was fine. He has a good-looking face, she couldn’t argue with