melodicshock:
“Listen ya fuckin asshole, sass isn’t a form of apology. I ain’t forget that stunt you pulled!”
She clenched her teeth, her temple vein popping like an angry worm. Her eyes narrowed to fierce slits as she knit her brows. Her skin flushed from face to ears, she growled and grumbled; sticking a finger to his chest. Leaning obnoxiously close, her burning irritation struck into a flame that lit her penetrating gaze.
“Say yer sorry and mean it. Then you can get outta my face.”
HIS HAND, ALMOST IMMEDIATELY, SWUNG UP AND CLASPED HER WRIST AS SHE HAD JABBED HIS CHEST. He wasn’t intimated by her, IN THE SLIGHTEST, even leaning CLOSER than she did. TEETH GRIT, BROWS FURROWED. Being, well, in HIS LINE OF WORK, he had impeccable reflexes. Some would even say, KILLER reflexes.
FOR SOME REASON, people laying their HANDS on him, without his consent, gave him VIOLENT thoughts. Always, ALWAYS. ESPECIALLY like this. GOD how he wanted to WRING HER SKINNY LITTLE NECK, COLLECT HER BLOOD, STAB HER IN THE CHEST & CUT HER UP INTO LITTLE PIECES, PUT THIS RUDE BITCH IN HER PLACE, IN A GARBAGE BAG. There was no other way to describe the way he looked at her, other than SCATHING.
“ I ALREADY SAID I was sorry, did you NOT remember ?
DON’T fucking TOUCH me. “
HE HISSED VENOMOUSLY, throwing her hand back at her side, taking a few steps back, he kept his gaze. It was a look of WARNING, one that said ‘ Don’t come any closer ‘. He was a TICKING TIME BOMB, yet held himself back. She hadn’t given him a reason to REALLY hurt her, yet.
For a second in time that moved agonizingly slow, she gasped. The pressure of his deceivingly flimsy grip strained her wrist a sickish pallid color. Wincing, her body cringed against her will, their eyes locking. A pause passed, his venomous words stabbing countless bites into her ears. The hairs on her nape bristled to attention. The MAGS M30 that dangled near her hip snapped into her grip; her lips tugged tightly in a menacing scowl. Raising the barrel two inches high, she held the magazine clip firmly with her off hand. She shot a wary glance toward her safety lock. It was still engaged, cooling her heart. Taking a deep breath, she mentally counted to ten; then with a slow and steady hand she lowered her gun. Her pinched face slackened then settled on a solemn relief. The wrist he’d grabbed now faintly throbbing, she grunted before walking away.
