“Don’t leave…” he cried desperately.
Her steps faltered for a moment but she knew that he was watching her as she was walking away. She also knew that if she turned around, she would see eyes filled with hurt — a man in pain. It would’ve been a sight enough to melt even an stoic heart.
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“Don’t fall for me,” she warned him.
“Eh. I’m not in any danger of doing such a thing,” he chuckled, “so, no worries.”
“I’m just saying so everything’s clear between us.”
He laughs out loud but as soon as the laughter died down, he slowly begins to wonder about this sweet, crazy, unpretentious, beautiful girl.
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“It’s a bit ambiguous, don’t you think?” He asked with a touch of cynicism.
“Depends on how you use it, I guess,” she quietly answered.
“What do you mean when you said it?” He pried further.
“Let’s just say that my interest goes beyond platonic.”
After a long pause, he finally said, “Do you smoke?”
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She tightly gripped the steering wheel.
“But the road —” She sputtered, “the signs —”
She’s all alone in the dead car.
“It felt so natural to turn left back there,” she said.
The wonderfully paved road led her to a dead end in the middle of nowhere.
“I knew I should’ve turned right instead,” she muttered.
Him: We’ve been friends for long time yet I still can’t figure you out.
Her: Just quit figuring me out, silly.
Him: How else can I know how you’d respond when I ask you to be my girl?
Her: Let’s just keep walking.
Pulse racing, she cleared her throat. She’s finally experiencing that warm feeling.
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Kat loved Vincent.
She loved his quirks and eccentricities. She adored his boyish charm. She admired his many talents. She celebrated all his triumphs. She had not met a guy to match his sweetness and generosity — he’s practically a dreamboat.
Yes, Vincent was generous.
Just how generous? Kat found out she wasn’t the only one.
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Sylvie felt guilty about how she’s been treating her father these past few years. He may be wrong about a lot of things but he’s still her father after all.
She was about to patch things up with him that day. Instead, she found herself down on the floor drenched in her own blood.
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“You’re good,” he said.
“Me? Good?” she sputtered disbelievingly. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ve watched you play this hand with ease,” he admitted with respect.
“I really can’t say I’m good at this,” she just quietly told him. “You see — the fate of this last card rests on the player whose turn is before mine.”
On the other side of the wall, they can hear scratching then hissing of a fire coming into life. The feeling of dread enveloped the three that’s left.
Light enters the room once again, one was taken, never to return.
Before all’s too late, one admitted to the other,
“You know… we’re a match.”
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When Simon left, Samuel was torn between rejoicing and grieving; his brother was, after all, his best mate. They did everything together. What Simon did, Samuel followed suit. He was his hero.
Now, it feels like he’s breathing easily. He can finally step out of his brother’s shadow and know who he truly is.
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