So I took Sunday off. My bad. I wasn’t feeling well. Fingers crossed today will be a better day. Okay, so on to the post. We last learned what Naya’s reaction was to sitting so close to this boy who seems to pull her towards him. Now lets hear his version.
Now that she’s sitting right next to me, I’m somehow hyper-aware of everything about her. The ram-rod way her back is pressed against her chair, the sound of her heart fluttering wildly in her chest, her midnight black hair moving gently across her shoulders. But it’s her scent that’s killing me. It’s wafting off her snowy white skin, overwhelming my other senses. And it’s more than the obvious stuff too, like the coffee she’s had or the smell of her shampoo, but harder to pick up stuff. I can clearly make out her subtle hint of peppermint toothpaste, lavender smoothed across her pale arms; even the waxiness of lip-balm.
All of those smells combined are easily ignored compared to the one that’s taken hostage of her clothing. This lone scent causes my nostrils to flare and clench my teeth together dangerously hard. Men’s cologne. Inexplicably, I am suddenly furious with whoever was close enough to place his rank scent on her: on my Naya.
Whoa. Wait. ‘My Naya?’ I don’t even know this girl!
Desperately needing to get a grip, I bring my focus back to my hands, which are still pulled together so tight that it’s starting to hurt. They won’t come apart no matter how hard I try, so I press them under my arms to try and pry them open against my rib cage. I’ve almost got one of my fingers free when I see her getting to her feet. She’s being pulled up to the front of the class by a tall brunette.
As soon as she’s on her feet, it washes over me. A sensation so strong that it feels like a hundred hands on me, all pulling me in the same direction: toward her. Confused, I push back against the mounting pressure and manage to keep my butt firmly planted in my chair, for the moment anyway.
Once she’s several feet away from me, however, the sensation lessens, allowing me to relax my body enough to release my fists. They ache from the strain of being held prisoner for so long.
Although physically no longer chained to her, my eyes haven’t gotten the memo; they never leave her. I literally can not stop myself from watching her every move. She is simply too mesmerizing to stop. Her jet-black hair is like liquid lava as it falls down her back and against her beautiful soft, ivory skin. And her face–her face is so fresh and clean, void of the harsh make-up worn by most of her peers, making her even more stunning to look at. It strikes me that because of her natural look, some might call her plain. Just the errant thought of someone even thinking about her as less than perfect, makes me feel utterly and irrationally hostile.
That’s all for today. Feel free to comment ant SHARE this post with those you think might enjoy Pulled. Earlier bits of the story are here on the blog.