Page 81 of Misted
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After Mist complainingthat she doesn’t believe we did what we did in the alley, we spend the rest of the evening in town.
Once we fetched the bags and put them in the car, I wanted to return to the house. Crowds were never my thing — or hers. It’s a major security hazard. However, she wanted to stay for the bonfire and the local village’s festival that has to do with the sowing season.
The villagers treat us to fresh grilled fish and mouldy-looking cheese that I refuse to touch. Mist eats everything in sight — including the disgusting-looking cheese.
She laughs with a few older ladies and hides her tremors behind an amicable façade. I sit against a tree trunk at the far end of the bonfire away from the young dancers and teenagers’ making out in the bushes. Smoke blows from my cigarette as I watch her like she’s the fucking goddess of the sowing season.
Something about her radiates from a mile away, and although she’s now older and changed, I can see Hellion loud and clear in her carefree laugh and her true talkative nature.
She carries a plate filled with cheese and other appetisers as she waltzes her way through the dancing crowd.
With a body like hers, she doesn’t even need to sway her hips. She has a natural grace whether she’s wearing those expensive-snobbish gowns or a simple summer dress.
A sorry fuck who looks no longer than twenty wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her to dance with the laughing, joyous crowd.
The urge to burn him inside the bonfire like a witch heats inside me.
I only stop my murder plot when she playfully wiggles free and continues her way towards me. It’s dark where I lurk and onlookers don’t really notice me. However, Mist’s entire attention is on me as if she can find me anywhere. I swear the rise and fall of her chest deepens with every step she takes towards me.
She plops beside me cross-legged with the plate nestling on her lap. For a moment, she watches the dancing and the laughing, bright energy in the cool summer night.
There’s no need for words to feel what she must be thinking about. This could’ve been our life if she didn’t fuck up everything.
“You’re still smoking that?” She stabs her fork in a piece of cheese without much attention.
“Why?” I raise an eyebrow. “Do you want to try?”
“Not today, Satan.”
A smile tugs on my lips as she scrunches her nose the slightest bit. I reach out to her face and hold her chin with my thumb and forefinger. The fork clinks against the plate as the fire reflects in her bright eyes and over her tiny freckles.
Her lips part while I take a long drag of my cigarette. I pinch her cheeks and she opens further. My mouth hovers inches away from her open one and her pulse throbs against my fingers.
I blow the smoke in her mouth and she swallows it all and visibly reigns in the coughs. My forefinger drags along the teardrop of her upper lip and she leans into me, skin heating and pupils dilating.
It’d be so easy to crash my mouth to hers and devour her, but something keeps holding me back.
Like the fact that if she gets the chance to run, she’ll never look back.
I pull away, leaving her with a pout and hurt written all over her soft features. But instead of leaving her be, I drag her between my open legs and cage her in. Her back leans against my chest until I can inhale lilac from her hair.
There’ll be no running away. This time, I’ll cage her like I wasn’t able to all those years ago.