A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 50 | probably a situationship

Dwain was a broken toy from the trash while Lisa was a lost puppy in the cold.

Elisabeth fixed Dwain.

She became his Superwoman.

While he became her Superman.

Why then would she hurt him?

"Stay with him."

The casual throw of Orlando's arms around me, plus his brief whisper of teeny-tiny words branded with despair, fished my subconscious out of a disheartening memorial lane.

"If he's left with Elisabeth, he will summersault down the cursed street of agony. He is two-foot deep in misery and it might wax him to ashes if you don't sweep him to safety."

Did Mr. Horton matter to me?

With gargantuan honesty, my eyes mirrored my thoughts.

Being vulnerable for Dwain wasn't part of the sour bargain.

Yet Elisabeth had her evil way with him, again.

The slutty girls behind the glass windows gave Dwain some privacy as he pulled his hair and slumped in his seat.

He rocked his forehead back and forth with hidden frustration, grief, cowardice, and hurt.

Most of his chest buttons were undone, showing hair on his torso.

His bow tie loosened up.

The tie incident renovated his plain-business-like wear and he became the sexiest male in the room.

His white shirt exposed a titanic amount of muscles which busied me for a while.

The cufflinks of his shirt locked half of his machismo, yet a side view of him was still perfect.

Lisa brought bondage upon Dwain.

Why?

Slapdash mockeries washed-out, white walls, my sight, all faded to fifty shades of darkness as lights shut down.

Why did Elisabeth play the victim and get away with it every time?

The hallway blacked out and ate me up, but protective hands claimed my waist, pinned me in place, and redefined my balance.

Strewn lamps above our heads shuddered to life and spelled a dim glow.

"He needs you." Orlando's arms tightened around me. "You own him."

His comfort mellows leaped onto my spirited Chesterfield and nestled my unusual-happy-moment pillow.

If Dwain wanted to hold me back, shouldn't he have chased after me?

The mental snob at the back of my head snapped back.

Yes, says she, the shy hypocrite who ran off Mr. Horton's mansion with the truth in between her jaws, grow up, lassie.

Damn, my ego sprinted for the hills, covered in bruises.

If I'd stayed, Lisa won't have had the opportunity to hurt Dwain but then, guilt would have been the death of me.

What should I have done?

Orlando wiped away my tears, drew me into his haven, and we breathed out in unison.

Icy emotional fingers braced out my deeds and canceled me.

"Fight for him."

Dwain wasn't my homeland anymore, so why did I have to fight for him?

I shrugged in doubt. "Fight for Dwain when he doesn't know half of the truth?"

With a petite struggle out of Orlando's hold and loose rattles of my hands on his shoulder, I captured the thick frown on his unsullied face.