Sinfully Imperfect

37. His Achilles Heel & Fragile Hearts

It'd been five minutes since he'd been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his head resting on it. His right foot was lazily placed against the wall, while his eyes were firmly closed. Stiff posture and tensed muscles. Dressed in a white spread collar casual shirt, which he paired with a sleeveless black jacket and black slacks. He did clean up well. As usual, his hair was unruly and slicked back.

I'd be lying if I said I expected him to dress to the nines and show up in front of me with such a devilishly ravishing appearance. I wasn't expecting it at all. Anything but the view in front of me. The truth is, I was anticipating it, much like in those rom-com movies and books where the male protagonist rushes to the female protagonist after she wakes up from a coma. All in a messy form, with puffy eyes and a devastated state. However, the way in which Senior Aylwin turned up totally shocked me. But, then again, the guy was beyond my expectations, imaginations, and wildest fantasies. Those were the moments when I felt like laughing at myself the most.

Like, gal, don't ya know who he is? Or is this your first encounter with him?

It was, after all, Aylwin Eldred we were talking about. The guy who'd rather die on the inside than showcase his anguish to others. Even in the dim glow of the dead of night, as the Goddess of the Moon ascended her throne, the sheath of white merging voluptuously with the dark oceanic elysian fields, cascading down the earth till it delicately melted in the eyes of the beholder; I couldn't help but marvel at the immaculate artwork of the empyrean. Woven together with flesh and bones, exquisitely blending with the effervescence of manliness. A breathtaking fusion of rough and rugged.

The sole sound that reverberated throughout the bland, white walls was the sound of silence. Sly sirens sailed past us, swinging stealthily into the stillness of sheer pitch-darkness, slaughtering me savagely.

Unable to tolerate it any longer, I spoke up, "Ironic, how you were the one doing the racing and all, and look who's on the hospital bed. Wow! " I tried to lighten the mood with a slight chuckle, but it was all for naught. It didn't even bother him at all. There wasn't even a smidgeon of movement in his stance. The entire thing was starting to grate on my nerves.

"Have you slept standing up or what?" I blurted out, only to burst out laughing. His eyes fluttered open, yet they did not meet mine. He stared blankly at the white checkered walls. Unwavering, unblinking, and brooding. I promptly simmered down, peeved by his gestures to the point that I wanted to pull out my hair belligerently.

"Senior Poker Face, quit that signature act of yours." I retorted furiously. I was practically bursting at the seams with rage. I'd been crying my eyes out for hours upon seeing him sing, and then there he was.... He was acting like a male version of the Statue of Liberty.

"Please, talk to me. Just say something. Don't be quiet, for God's sake! " I was on the cusp of screaming at him out of exasperation. My head was spinning, teeming with billions of thoughts thrown about. Memories and haziness rushed in, compelling me to hiss in agony. Nonetheless, I pushed them aside, concentrating solely on him.

There was so much I wanted to ask, so much I wanted to confess, so much I wanted to talk about. Seeing him after such a long time felt like it had been ages since I touched him. Ages since I gazed into those captivating orbs. Ages since I had listened to his velvety voice. 

He, on the other hand, behaved as though he was unfazed by any of it. Not in the least way possible. I wanted to scream, shout, yell, cry, complain, whine, give in all at once. Yet I couldn't. I was too drained and helpless to utter anything.

He exhaled, running his fingers through his tangled locks. And at last, his laser-like gaze fastened into mine with so much ferocity that I swore I needed him more than anything in the entire world.