4.1 | s e v e n .

8.7K 412 70
                                    

          THE SMELL OF electricity stung her nose and she felt herself grow woozy

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.


          THE SMELL OF electricity stung her nose and she felt herself grow woozy.

Dean was crouched over Bobby, two fingers at the pulsepoint of his neck.

Makayla knew that Bobby was alive.  She knew that the man standing before her would not have kill him.

Still, she could not vocalize her thoughts.

"Your friend is alive.  Simply-"

"-catatonic."

The man was surprised when the girl in front of him finished his sentence with a whisper.

She, herself, was surprised too, at the fact that she seemed able to read his thoughts when she looked at him; they raced through his mind at miles per second, too jumbled to fully comprehend.

His startled blue eyes landed on her for the first time that night, and he seemed to cut his mind off from her.  Her own brain turned to Jell-O as he stared upon her intently.

This man was hopelessly emotionless, but the girl swore she could see the faintest ghost of a smile flicker on his totally-kissable lips

"Hello, Makayla."

"You."

It came out a low, astonished whimper, much more fearful than she intended, and his brows crinkled just slightly and the sound of her fright. 

You don't have to fear me, Makayla.  I mean you no harm.

His voice echoed in her mind, although his mouth did not move, and she flinched slightly at the action.

How was she not supposed to be afraid when he was some telepathic monster?

Dean stood straight, rather dramatically, at the exchange of familiarity.

"Mak, you- you know him?"

The girl felt her cheeks flush as she met eyes with the stranger-that-wasn't-totally-a-stranger, her gaze sweeping to the floor.

"T-Trenchcoat,"

was the only word she could muster- much to her chagrin- but luckily, Dean was able to understand.

His green eyes widened with surprise as he came to stand beside his sister rather defensively.

"Wait, so you're- you're the Trenchcoat Psychopath?"

The man in question creased his brows in slight apprehension as he glanced down at his attire, his hands smoothing out the khaki material of the jacket he sported.

His eyes met Dean's.

"If that is what you've taken to calling me, I suppose that I am.  Although I find the title 'psychopath' to be rather inaccurate."

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀 ↝ 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘭Where stories live. Discover now