The Last Wish

23. Imagination over boundary

The tick tock of the clock was louder than the resounding beats of his heart.

He didn't miss a beat, staring at the stilled girl, a spoonful of soaked cereal stopped midway from her mouth. So much reaction for a name, he thought with a mental snort.

She looked up at him, with an attempt slow motion and his heart skipped a beat. The edging nerves in her eyes were bloodied, she gritted her fangs and growled, "my name? You want my bloody name, huh?"

Propping her petite body with the help of the chair, she stood on the glass table, thanks for the tempered quality, it didn't break falling down with her. She towered over him like the Statue of Liberty, substituting the face of glory to a face of growl-y.

"My name," she hissed, clawed fingers and protruding fingers, and without a warning, she pounced on him. He fell backwards in his chair, bringing her down along with him.

"Are you okay?"

"Matt," she tapped his fist that rested on the table. Momentarily, he snapped out of his daze and looked up. She was seated gracefully on the chair, one leg propped up and placed under her and her face was apparent with mixed emotions of confusion, concern, panic and fear. His heart almost warmed at her being concerned for him.

"Matt?" she said, "are you okay?"

He nodded brusquely, feeling silly for having imagined such an absurd phenomenon of a mutilated vampire version of a naive girl

She visibly exhaled, "good that. You looked as if you were mentally giving birth to a child." She stifled a laugh.

He scoffed, "very funny."

She smiled, more of a smirk but said nothing else.

"So," he demanded, failing in his attempts of putting it in a pleasant way, "you still didn't tell me your name."

Her eyes, once fresh with warm concern turned to pure skepticism. As if contemplating the pros and cons of telling her angelic name to him, or least that's what he could intepret from her convulsing facial emotions.

He scoffed, "don't tell me-"

"-for all I know, you could be a pedophile or a serial killer or a chainsaw murderer," she finished his sentence, listing every possible suggestion of a 'bad Matt'. At that moment, he decided she was definitely a mutilated vampire in disguise of a borderline pretty naive self.

The brim of his controlled self poured out, vexing his veins. "And yeah? You stay with one, willingly?"

She grinned sheepishly, "now that you told it out, it does sound idiotic."

He glared at her. Internally, his little mind man was running around chaotically, wondering why Matt's emotions were absurdly heightening for accusations based on pure stupor by a girl, spelling stupid herself.

Her attempt 32 teethed smile was of vain, doing nothing to reduce Matt's heated attitude. In the end, she sighed, "hey Matt! My name is Isabelle Martin," she said and added quickly, "you can call me-"

"Isabelle."

"-Belle."

"Isabelle," he said, smirking.

"Call me-"

"Isssabelle."

"Belle," she said with a gritted smile.

He stared at her for a long time, both parties muted. His gaze was cold enough to freeze the south pole to frozen mirrors, but her hazel orbs stood unwavered, except for the little teary water perching at the edge of her eye lids.