Healer

Chapter 1

                 

A/N: Because I'm excited, I've posted a extra, extra long first chapter. Please, let me know how you like it! Comment, comment, comment! Much love! xx

"Grab my hand," Symon says gruffly, reaching out for my mostly-frozen body parts. I grant him my fingers, showing little emotion as he helps me out of the red Corvette to ensure I make it over the puddle of water underneath my door.

Normally, I'd go starry-eyed by the small, gallant gesture but today, after the argument we had, I cannot even gather up a thank you. I can see right past the gentleman-like actions he's made sure to do since this morning and know he's completely aware that he screwed up royally.

He sniffles, his red nose running as I walk before him towards the ancient entrance of Cawdor Castle- a moat. I push my crimson hair back from my shoulder, braided to keep my hair tame from the rough Scottish weather, and cross my arms in front of my body.

"Gilly, come on. Talk to me," he persists, now right behind me as I pull open the door. "I could have gotten that."

"I can do things for myself, Symon... I don't need you."

"Come on, don't say that, honey."

My emerald irises shut in fury. "I've told you not to call me that."

"I didn't mean what I said- what I did. I was upset."

"You always say that. I always forgive you and it changes nothing." Sucking in a aggravated breath, I approach the woman at reception and hold up two fingers, reaching for my wallet.

"Put your wallet away. You know how that aggravates me," he snaps gently, pushing my hand away, smiling slightly at the woman glancing between us in curiosity. I don't fight him on it, sure I won't win.

"Thank you," he murmurs low to her, turning with our tickets. He rests a hand onto my back, guiding me forward towards another group of guests. A small woman, wrapped in a shawl of plaid, smiles kindly as we walk into the main room, before glancing back down at her pamphlet.

I stare at the splendor in amazement, although I've been here more times than I can count now. Becoming a tour guide in Inverness only six months ago, has given me the pleasure of going to historical monuments every other day, and get paid for it. Unfortunately, it's not much money. I'm practically living pay check to pay check.

Unlike Symon, who wooed me in a matter of minutes at a pub in Edinburgh when I was there, observing its history. He's a news anchor- one of the most well-known in Scotland. His looks have gotten him far, pulled him from the bottomless pit of debt his father left his mother and now, he's recognized by at least one person every time I'm with him.

And he revels in it.

As he moves in front of me, arms behind his back, clutching his leather gloves, I stare at him. The man I met only a mere month ago. His dark eyes hypnotized me immediately, as did his overwhelming sense of self-acceptance. He's so sure of himself. 

Something I struggle with, to my shame. He knows it and uses it against me more and more as we grow more comfortable with each other. He scratches his dark beard contemplatively, glancing around at the furniture and paintings for the first time.

I hate that I'm so attracted to him. When he addresses me as his girlfriend in front of his groups of friends or when his fingers dance against my cheek across the table, I feel a nervous feeling in my chest. It's not love- but something else. Lust... maybe?

At twenty-two years old, I offered him my virginity. Only three weeks after knowing him, something I told myself I'd never do... This past week has been one of experience, leading me towards a different type of life.