Falling for a Superhero

Chapter Eleven-"The Proliator's Touch...or Eleven Stitches"

"He really saved you?"

"How was it?

"Is he cute?"

"What happened?"

These questions were thrown at me in the class where questions are a grade. I said one thing—ONE THING about my arm hurting and Cheyenne's response was: "You should've let Proliator heal you and we wouldn't have this problem!"

And thus, the crowd of people (mostly girls) that had questions inside and outside of the news' report about it.

"Excuse me ladies," Dastan said after directly walking in twenty minutes after class started. The girls fled back to their work—no rush since Mrs. Hayes wasn't here—and then Dastan finally looked at me. What; was he here to feel sorry for me? Because I didn't want his sympathy. He pressed his hands to my table and I noticed that his eyes were slowly calming down to a deep brown and his cheeks had pink to them as if he was out in the cool weather for a while. "Where the hell is my camera?"

That was just like him to only care about his precious, expensive camera. I leaned over to my bag and pulled out the camera in its case. He snatched it away from me. Usually when we exchanged with something, it wasn't that forceful. That meant he was in a bad mood, I'm guessing.

He didn't even glance down to the only thing people saw of me—the "Proliator's touch," the "proof of being a damsel in distress"...or the thing normal people refer to as eleven stitches wrapped in bandages. He just took the camera from me and gave it to the partners that worked on the sports section. Then, he started walking towards the door to leave.

"Wait," Cheyenne called for some reason. He turned around and asked her what she needed with a single raise of an eyebrow. "Where's Mickie?"

"How the hell should I know?" he spat and then exited. For Dastan to cuss Cheyenne proved that he was pissed off for some reason. And from the topic of the question and answer, I'm sure his mood had something to do with Mickie. Usually he'd charm her even further or use advanced sarcasm, but directly retorting to her question wasn't normal.

I helped Cheyenne with her article—well as much as I was allowed since apparently my dusty boots, ripped jeans, and country-fied shirts didn't exactly scream fashion. And then the class was over. Immediately as we exited, Hayden caught me around the waist and immediately started to search my face.

"Are you okay? I heard about what happened and I'm—"

"I'm fine," I said in sort of a laugh. He looked down to my left arm.

"You don't look fine," he muttered with a seriously worried voice.

"Well I am. It's nothing," I smiled. Did they forget where I grew up? I've been thrown off ATVs and horses and been pricked by barbed wire. Glass was nothing.

"I'm really sorry that I didn't get out of the rally fast enough to drive you home," he apologized.

"It's not your fault," I assured. "I just started to walk home when it ended."

"Don't do that ever again," a new voice said. I looked over to see Nik. He nodded his head and then I gave an apologetic look to Hayden before walking off with Nik. "You've got to stop walking around alone. This isn't Frankford."

"I know that," I sighed. "I meant to get a ride from Hayden, but I didn't want to wait for him to get out of the pep rally."

"I don't even know why you went in the first place," he said. That's when I paused.

"You're not my brother," I told him. "I don't have to explain myself to you. I get that you care—or at least I think you care, but if you're gonna be as bossy as Sebastian, then don't."