The beauty of chapters: I thought he was the one

Chapter 22

Michael: Get your pretty ass downstairs.

Even if it was from his phone I knew enough to know that it couldn't have been Michael who sent the text.

With one final glance of my simple cropped shirt – to cover my bruised chest - and high waist jeans, I took my phone along with my keys and headed downstairs. I kept my hair loose, remembering the cold winds of the last time I went out at night and pass by Kira as she made her way back to the room to get ready for another night out.

The lobby was as busy as the halls, people walking in and out and a couple of boys cracking jokes with the security. One of them whistled as I walked pass, earning himself a slap on the chest from the security which made everyone convulsed into laughter I could still hear as I stepped out into the cold evening air.

I was right by saying Michael couldn't have been the one to send the text. All it took was a glance to my right to spot the two boys oblivious to the stares of nearby girls, as they clustered together, trying to light a cigarette in the strong wind. From the paint of the car to the fabric of their clothes, the colour black surrounded them, the usual act of making people blend into the shadows did not work on them. On them it made them stand out.

The simple t-shirt Michael had on was like fine jewellery embellishing the tanned glow of his skin tone, looking as soft as silk. His beautiful, dark hair fell like long, healthy, silky strings around his face from the middle part, as the rings at the top of his ears – that I didn't know were pierced – shone like diamonds under the streetlight.

His friend's hair didn't hold back from reaching the same level, falling on the side of his handsome face like expensive curtains, inches above his shoulders in a seemingly wolfish cut. The top he had underneath his jacket, fell loosely a few inches over his chest, revealing the delicate skin covering the defined muscles that protected his body.

Just one simple step in their direction was enough to have both of their eyes shoot up at me.

The boldness that each of their gaze held made me nervous to the point of almost forgetting all about what happened earlier. Forgetting about everything else around me as if they didn't exist.

"What's up Chika?" Beamed Jackson.

"Just going to a party I didn't want to go to." I answered and Michael wasn't here to entertain it.

"Just get in the car."

Once on the road, Bruno Mars Fly came on, blasting through the speakers louder in the back and as expected they both sang along.

"I drink til I'm drunk Smoke til I'm high Castle on the hill Wake up in the sky You can't tell me I aint fly You can't tell me I aint fly"

The scene was entertaining to watch if only we weren't going to a place I had nightmares about. I texted Michael earlier in enquiry of where we were going to find out it was the frat house where the fight happened. I knew I'll be protected with them, but how far will that protection go?

Michael's hands looked so delicate and fragile holding the steering wheel but yet it wasn't. It looked as calm as the waves caressing the shore on a summer day until the tides changed to an unforgiving surge that destroys everything in its path. I had seen what his hands were capable of and I knew better than to confuse the appearance of slenderness with frailty.