Under His Touch (BXB)

5

"Are you deaf? I said give me your keys." The guy holding the knife scrunched up his face at me.

He made a grab for Dec's keys and I pulled back, taking them out of his reach. I scrambled away and rose to my feet, panicked, and he waved the knife at me menacingly. My heart was about to explode. The movement was automatic, since my brain had gone on practical autopilot the minute I came face to face with the weapon.

"You have got to be kidding me," I said, mostly to myself.

As if it wasn't bad enough that I was constantly staring heartbreak in the face, now this? Why did the universe hate me?

He shoved the knife closer, threatening, and I reached up and batted it away. "Get that the hell out of my face!" I snapped, and instantly clamped a hand over my mouth.

What the hell was I doing? Did I want to get stabbed?

The guy glared down at me, and I found myself glaring right back. "The fuck did you just say to me, kid?"

"You're not getting these keys, asshole. This isn't my ride. And what are you even wearing? Is this emocore or are you legally blind? You look like a Hot Topic from the early two thousands threw up on you."

I was having flashbacks to Avril Lavigne's early years, and not in a good way.

Look at him, for crying out loud—black duster, spiked leather armbands, skin that looked like it had never seen the sun, and. . .was that. . .guyliner? I was not getting robbed by a male Wednesday Addams wannabe.

Not in this, the lord's year of twenty-seventeen.

"Do you wanna get cut, faggot?"

That. Was. It.

There were two things I could, under no circumstances, forgive anybody for. The first was wearing crocs. The second? Calling me a faggot.

I kicked him in the balls.

Rage spilled back into me—anger, at this goth prick and at my best friend and at myself for falling in love with him in the first place. For being too nice all the time. For not hitting the world back.

I kicked my attacker again, in the shin this time. How was that for nice?

He swung the knife at me and I jumped away, my back slamming against the cold metal of Declan's truck. The sound of the keys hitting the concrete pulled my eyes down, and a gruff shout from my right brought them up again just as the knife swung back down in a sharp arc.

There was no chance to move out of the way. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped the blade didn't sever my lifeline.

The impact didn't come. Just the sound of a body hitting the ground.

When I opened my eyes the robber was lying on the ground a few feet away, groaning, and it was Declan who stood over me instead. He looked terrified, and his hands came up to cup my face, the warmth stinging against the cold.

"Leo are you hurt? Are you okay?" Before I could answer he pulled me into a tight hug, his spicy scent filling my nostrils, wrapping me in warmth for a second before he pushed me away and turned to my attacker.

I couldn't tell what I was feeling. My hands shook as I watched Declan stride over to the robber and pick the groaning man off of the ground.

Aside from the three of us, the parking lot was empty and silent. The nearby streets all empty. The only sounds were Dec's breathing and the pained noises my attacker was making. Silver glinted in the soft glow of the streetlights and I saw the knife that had nearly ended my life lying on the ground.

I picked it up, fingertips scraping the cold ground, and clutched it at my side. It didn't make me feel any safer or saner than I had five minutes ago.

"Listen up, you ugly, alternative son of a bitch," Dec snarled, punctuating each insult with a rough shake. "If I ever see you around town again, let alone catch you anywhere near him, I will rip your eyes from their sockets and feed them to you—optical nerve still attached. Ever wonder what the inside of your throat looks like? I'd be more than happy to show you."

The guy mumbled something I couldn't make out, and Dec shook him again. "Declan!" I cried. My voice came out hoarse, but it was enough to draw his attention. "Please, let's go."

I was afraid he might argue, or change his mind and kill the guy right here, but instead he dropped him on the blacktop.

As Dec strode back over to me, his eyes checking me up and down like he was taking stock, the thief jumped to his feet and bolted off into the shadows, tail between his legs. Cowardly son of a bitch.

I dropped the knife and kicked it under the car parked next to the jeep.

"I dropped your keys," I said, eyes scanning the ground.

Declan pulled me against his chest and wrapped his arms around me again. He rested his chin on my head, enveloping me in his warmth, and I tried not to scream. "Don't ever, ever scare me like that again," he whispered.

Heat lashed through me, and I shoved him away as hard as I could. "Get your damn keys. I wanna go home."

As if only just remembering our non-fight, his eyes glazed over and he nodded curtly.

I walked around the hood of the car so I was out of his reach and waited until the lock clicked before climbing in.

Images filled my head as the engine purred to life—Mina's cigarette smoke curling in the air, an explosion from the film we'd seen, the crisp scuff of my shoes on the sidewalk and Declan's easy, confident grin. The tip of a blade pressing against my throat.

My pulse raced so loud I could hear it.

I stubbornly held back more tears, wishing I could just vanish into thin air.

"Your hands are shaking," Dec said from the driver's seat.

"I'm cold," I lied.

He revved the engine to life and we fell silent again, speeding toward home. All I wanted was to curl into a ball and forget this day had ever happened.