Warning One-Twelve [Peter Ballard, 001]

009 : A Face to Fit a Fantasy

You tried to recall for a time when your heart had sunk as low as it did now.

 Further than even the soles of your feet, leaving your entire body and sinking below you as far as the earth would allow it to descend. Every rapping of a fist against the door was striking at your nerves, Tensing your body beneath Peters hands.

 He had paused in the act of laying his hands carefully upon you. Now the fingers of each hand clasped the tender skin of your wrists, as if grounding you would help the shock. 

It didn't.

 You scrambled from beneath him, his grip subconsciously loosening as you made your attempt to free yourself from under him. 

 Looking at him- it was as if you were trying to see through him. Find his thoughts, rake through the files of his mind to find a plan, anything to save you from the very dire situation. His hair was tousled, shirt obviously more unkempt than he would ever allow himself to be seen in. The expression upon his face lay the same array of features it always did. Set, and monotone. No sign of the lust in his eyes from being moments away from going down on you that had been more than apparent seconds earlier.

 He didn't seem tense whatsoever as he strode toward the door, pressing his fingertips against the cool steel. You lay on your back atop his sheets, still not coherent enough to will your limbs to lift you from the bed.

 A moments pauses drawls by, before his eyes turn on you. Any aspect of him that didn't express unease, was proved false by his eyes. They were expressing such strong emotion, you could almost feel the impact as his pupils stared into their designated spot on your own.

For the first time in your own eyes, he looked lost.

 As if he didn't know how this were to play out, and all at the same time, he knew that if it wasn't handled right, it would not end in a satisfactory triumph.

 The blue of his irises burned with a light so strikingly hot that it imprinted lines into your eyes.  Warped shapes, blinding and ruining your vision even in the dim light. It reminded of you of the times as a child you had foolishly stared at the sun in the sky, paying the price of the swirling spots that floated in your sight as an outcome, lingering for even minutes after.

They weren't lines obstructing your vision.

They were words, flashing an ominous four letters into your temporarily blinded sight.

Hide.

 It only took the act of Peter dragging his eyes and their potent gaze away from you to throw you into a fight or flight reflex. Your feet seemed to move before your mind had a chance to accept it, pulling you from the sheets and up behind the door. 

The knock again.

 You were mere centimeters away from the sound. It vibrated against your skin, so forcefully pressed against the cool tile of the wall. It was a dreadful hiding place. You were perfectly in Peters range of sight. But in hopes that the door would open inward, its panel would conceal you from the curious intruder.

You didn't dare breathe.

 Without his eyes on you, Peter looked collected. His hand was wrapped around the brass of the doorknob, willing himself to turn it open. It left you gazing in anticipation.

He had no idea who could be behind that door. 

 It could be a stray orderly, calling him to duty, or something as simple as a laundry delivery. if such were true, all that comes of the situation would be annoyance.