A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 57 | how affections escalate

I was very much attracted to Mr. Horton.

It was certain.

At least, I thought so, until the doubts began to surface at the back of my head.

Was I attracted to Dwain?

And even if the answer was an obvious guess, what peculiarity about Dwain got me head over heels for him?

Maybe it was his smile which was all I'd dreamt of in a man. . .tender and sweet with just a perfect hint of amusement.

Or the way he looked at me so beautifully without ever flinching.

He always had soft eyes for me which was very different from the hostile glare he shot at others.

He was hotheaded, quick to anger, and silly, not what I wanted in a man.

It was unfortunate that life gave me what I never asked for, even though there were plenty of options out there to choose from, yet I won't trade Dwain for any amount of silver or gold.

I couldn't hide from my guilty pleasure.

Dwain had become my ultimate happiness.

To be fair, he was my world.

Maybe I clung to him because of the validation I had in his sight. . .the long-lost validation I sought from my parents, but they won't give me.

Even at that, being the apple of his eye, I still wished to let go.

Was it a weakness to want to let go?

Did it make me a bad person to want the thrill of taking risks or to be loved even at the expense of others' happiness?

I should be a fool for asking myself these questions.

Just thinking about them made spiders crawl all over my body and shove their dirty tentacles into my mouth.

A lump built up in my throat.

I wanted to puck, not even because the questions were stupid, but the fact that a part of me was prejudiced towards Dwain.

This man had taken over my senses with his charm.

I shouldn't have second-guessed my choices in the first place.

I knew the consequence of returning to the Horton's mansion so well that I could list them off my fingers from memory without making a mistake.

I'd accepted my faith and come to terms with it.

There wasn't a way out to love Dwain without taking the risk of lying to him.

Was I wrong?

Bits of sweat built up across my face, before tracing beelines onto my neck and raced down my back, but I couldn't move to wipe it off.

My clothes stuck to my skin like leeches.

I was drenched from head to toe.

It was very uncomfortable.

I should have taken a bath.

This was my clue to jump out of my head, but I couldn't.

My efforts were in vain.

Every struggle to get out of my head made my breathing worst.

I was short on breath.

It sucked to be out of control.

It even sucked more to be helpless.

It also sucked miserably to be glued to the same spot and not be able to move a single limb.