Hard » Michael Phelps

"Why are you doing this to me? Did you just forget everything we had?" "No. I tried, but it's just too hard." ©PhelpsFeels, Copyright 2016

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3. II|Clarisse

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

The first thing that came to my mind was the New York City rush hour. Judging from these beeps, it was a particularly slow day. Being a New Yorker my whole life, I had seen a lot of shit from this city, and was well informed that getting stuck in the traffic at 11 AM probably meant that you won't be able to make it home by dinner. So, naturally, I willed myself to wake up to avoid being trampled by the bustling cars or rushing pedestrians. I still valued my life and honor, despite everything.

And, to my horror, blinking didn't help my eyes to open. I tried as much as I could to force them open, but I just couldn't. With my frustration and fear the beeps grew faster. My brows furrowed in confusion. Cars don't beep louder with emotions. My mind was incapable of putting two and two together, and I couldn't feel my limbs.

I couldn't just die lying down, that would be too pathetic. I wanted to die a fighter. My ears were buzzing, but that didn't prevent me from mentally scolding myself.

Weak. Pathetic. Can't even open your goddamn eyes. You're a lousy excuse of a woman. Get. The. Hell. UP!

And with that, my electrifying eyes flew wide open. I was immediately blinded by an intense white light, and a blur of colors directly in front of my face. My vision was fuzzy, and I had to shut my eyes for a couple of seconds before opening them again in order to refocus.

The blur of colors slowly fit together, like seams on loom, crisscrossing like a puzzle, until I could finally make out a sharp image of a man leaning towards my body.

He wasn't exactly the worst thing to wake up to. I'd favor this over a bunch of rapist wake up calls any day, but that really isn't much of a comparison.

Starting with his figure. The first thought that crossed my mind was that this guy was an athlete. Because, strictly speaking, you don't just tower over human beimgs and not use that kind of height for your advantage. Eying him, he seemed about 6'4" or something. But he was way too buff to be a basketball player, he sort of fit my eye as a runner, maybe, or a swimmer. Either way, his built seemed perfect, even to someone with as little knowledge about decent humans as me.

His face was sharp and chiseled perfectly. These sorts of jawlines are simply hot as hell, and again I'm not too experienced to be considered a judge. I was jealous of his lips, which looked as if they were drawn by Van Gogh in a rich bright red color, perfected to curl up in a gentle smile.

His eyes were an odd color, they could seem soft hazel from one angle, chocolate from the other, and a striking golden from another. Smile lines decorated the corners of his eyes, and I knew that this person was one to smile a lot.

His nose was a little jutted from his face, he looked like he was a fair few years older than me.

Again, I was not one to speak.

Despite a handsome face, I could see that he was a sight for sore eyes, what with the barely visible purple bags under his eyes, his stumped figure, and his tongue flicking ever-so-often against his slightly crooked pearly white teeth.

And what I noticed then made me let out a laugh. He backed off a bit, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but the smile still rested on his face.

He probably thinks I'm a lunatic.

"What's so funny?"

I just let out another chuckle.

Impatience appeared on his face, the smile seemingly stuck, so he looked like he was constipated.

"Y-your ears," I croaked between giggles.

"What about them?"

"They.. they make you look like a bunny," I burst into uncontrollable laughter.

He pouted a bit, which made me laugh even more. God, what's with the kicked puppy face?

"Hey, I'm a grown man. You just can't say that I look like a freaking bunny. It insults all the manliness," he flexed his biceps in demonstration.

"Manliness my arse," I scoffed, "More like, lameness."

He only grinned from ear to ear, leaving me time to take in my surroundings.

Which I could not recognize.

"Where am I, anyways?"

"You're in the Southern Manhattan City Hospital."

It was daytime, judging from the sunlight streaming from the window, and last night's events replayed in my head. I shuddered at the thought, before looking up at the guy.

Gratitude washed over me, making my eyes water from the intense emotion. Or perhaps that was just the final straw that made all my insides cave in from all my feelings, but you know, I'm no psychologist.

His eyes quickly widened as he stumbled again over me.

"Oh my God, I made you cry. Shit, I'm hopeless with people, I'm sorry!" he rushed quickly.

I smiled at him as he grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my face.

"No you didn't, I'm just so emotional, and, well, thank you. You saved my life," I breathed through my silent tears.

I felt like, scratch that, I KNEW, that I looked like shit. That's what not showering does, really. Or eating and drinking, for that matter.

"You're welcome!" he enthused, "The doctor said that you had a minor concussion and were out for a couple of days. Today is actually July the eighteenth, and you healed pretty quickly too, but I was staying here in your room just to make sure you were okay," he rambled on, "So would you like me to drive you home?"

And that last one hit me like a ton of bricks.

So I mumbled the reply under my breath.

"Come again?" he asked.

"I said that I have no home," I firmly stated.

His mouth formed an 'O' shape, and I just crossed my arms. I didn't like where this conversation was heading.

"I-it's fine, then. The doctor said that you can get out today if you wake up, since you're totally fine now. I live in a large house anyways, you can come and live with me," he scratchd his neck awkwardly.

I shot up from my laying position and sent him a glare that would've sent him to hell. And indeed, he shrunk a little.

"How do I know that you're not some rapist?" I growled.

"I literally just saved you," he blinked at me.

"You could've done that just to have me for yourself!"

"I don't do that stuff," he lamely replied.

"How could I be sure?" I snapped back.

He just shook his head, with a simple "You can't," and picked me up like a sack of potatoes before hefting me and flinging me over his shoulders and walking out.

I started banging on his back, earning several glares from onlookers as he checked me out at the receptionist downstairs.

I was yelling profanities at his butt, seriously not liking this situation.

Alas, it was all in vain, as I hit the hot and humid air outside the white building and found myself dropped in a nice white Mercedes car with pretty leather seats not five minutes later.

And to be brutally frank with you, I felt extremely violated.

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