Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
And I freeze.
I also think I die a little. It’s not an exaggeration. It’s not even dramatic, even though I’m given to drama from time to time. It’s simply a fact. When I was young, my mom would tell me stories about angels. She used to say that angels were the prettiest beings there ever were. The most beautiful creatures you’d ever see, and heaven was full of them. She told me that was where we went when we died. It’s one of the only fond memories I have of her, and I’ve always kept it close to my heart. Now as I look at him, the man who brought me here and tied me to a tree, that’s the only thing I can think of.
That my Phantom is actually an angel.
Even with his mask on, I knew he was the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on, and now that his mask is off, I know I was right. And it’s not just his stunning green eyes that are surrounded by thick, curled eyelashes that can only be called a forest. It’s also those cheekbones of his, so high and peaked, cut from marble, giving way to the hollows so deep that I’d be afraid of falling into them. His stubbled jaw is a perfect square with a slant to it that I’ve only ever read about in books, and his mouth is all pink and plump, full. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mouth like that on a man, and I never thought it would be so appealing if I did see it. Even his ears are appealing. As symmetrical as the rest of his face.
With a scar on the left side.
That continues down from his eye, cutting through his sharp cheekbone and his lush lips, bisecting them like it does his thick brow, and going all the way down to his jaw. It’s like someone dragged a piece of glass or a knife, something sharp, along the entire length of his face, from top to bottom. It’s brutal. It’s vicious. It’s so barbaric that it has to be tragic. But whatever or whoever did that to his face should know that despite the severity of the carnage, it’s not the first thing you notice about him. That spot is reserved for those eyes of his, and then his lips. Followed by any number of things on his heartbreakingly beautiful face.
What happened to him, though? And why am I wasting my time wondering about it?
Slowly, he comes to his feet, and my thoughts shift as I crane my neck up. Up and up and up to be able to see him. I was right when I said he’s taller than the trees. He’s definitely tall enough to cast a shadow on my small, hunched, tied-up form, even when he’s all the way over there, on the other side of the smoke. Then he starts walking toward me, and the ground shakes under his powerful feet. At least, I’m shaking as I watch him come closer, his eyes locked with mine. He finally reaches me and before I can take another breath, he drops down to his haunches. It’s so abrupt, his action, that I draw back, pressing my spine into the tree. Not that there’s anywhere to go, but still he notices. My retreat. And something happens to his eyes, I don’t know what, but it makes my heart race in my chest. Something happens to his face, too, tightening his cheeks and making that scar ripple, and my heart races even harder.
With fear.
But then his features become blank, and I gather enough courage to speak when I notice a bottle in his hand. A juice bottle, orange in color. I don’t know how I missed him carrying it over to me, but I did. It’s uncapped and tipped toward me, and it takes me a second to realize he’s offering it to me.
He’s offering me… juice?
Is he insane?
I do the only thing that makes sense. I scream. I throw my head back, bang it against the tree again, and let out the loudest scream of my life. I scream and scream and fucking scream to the sky as I struggle against my bonds. I jerk my body. I kick my feet. I wiggle on the ground like I’m throwing a tantrum and don’t let up until my throat is hoarse and hurting and feels like it’s bleeding. Panting, I look down and meet his eyes again. They’re just as cool and beautiful as they were before. His expression is the same as well, calm and unchanged, like I didn’t scream up a goddamn storm. Even his hand hasn’t moved, not even an inch. The bottle is still tipped forward, as if waiting for me to put my mouth on it and drink.