When Perfect Meets Crazy

Chapter 44: 42.5 - He was in deep trouble (Bonus)

Ian wasn’t sure why he stayed away. No, scratch that. He knew exactly why he stayed away. He just

wasn’t ready to accept it. For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t his type.

Not even remotely.

She was average height, overly opinionated and condescending. She wasn’t nice, sunny or voluptuous.

She was curvy, sure but he liked curvier. He favored vibrant blue eyes that brought to mind images of

sparkling oceans. Her dark molten pools were nothing close yet seeing them light up and twinkle on

occasion when she found something truly funny or when she was goading him to his wit’s end made

something in his chest cavity unfurl. It was like a present she was bestowing on the world.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Fucking shit.

She hardly even smiled. She wasn’t his type at all. He liked nice girls who smiled loads. She was

nowhere close to his type so how the fuck did he manage to fall for her and not even realize it until she

found another guy?

Until he pushed her to one. How the actual fuck did that happen?

It was her heated comment about him blowing hot and cold on Trevor that started the soul searching Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

that led to the realization that he liked her. A lot.

Up until that Sunday when he broke up with Tammy, he’d believed they were nothing more than friends.

Heck, they were barely even friends.

He didn’t see it coming at all. After the night when she was loopy on meds passed, they fell back into

their normal rhythm. So he wrote that night off as a one-off thing but now, everything was falling apart.

The mission wasn’t heading anywhere. Townsend was angry all the time. His time off from school was

coming to an end in a month or so and there was still no breakthrough in the case. And now to top all

that off, he’d gone and stupidly fallen for a girl who didn’t have the slightest inclination to return his

feelings.

And the award for biggest idiot ever goes to me, he thought bitterly.

He heaved a sigh and hefted himself over her window.

He had stayed away for a full week. It was time he faced her again. Avoiding her hadn’t helped one bit

so hopefully, this would.

It had to. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand having her cloud his thoughts. It really had to

stop before Townsend figured it out. He wasn’t sure what the agent would do but he didn’t trust him

with her one bit. Not since the time she complained about feeling stalked by a psychopath.

Heaving another sigh, he collapsed onto her bed, waiting for her return. He was sure she was home.

Her car was in the driveway. She was probably taking her bath. She did that a lot.

He’d wait.

•

Less than ten minutes later, his waiting was rewarded.

She entered the room, wearing a pair of shorts he had never seen her in. He was willing to bet she only

wore it because she thought he wasn’t going to show. She liked to act all tough but she really was just

a cautious innocent girl. He had noticed how she never so much as wore revealing clothes whenever

he was in her room.

She was always in sweats. Her tough brash girl act was just that, an act.

He watched, heart beating just a little harder as her gaze honed in on him, turning hard, predatory

even.

“You.” She snarled, lips curling to reveal a vicious expression that had him wondering if he should bolt.

As though she knew what he was thinking, she hissed, “Don’t even think about it.”

He swallowed.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in deep trouble even though he had done nothing wrong.

Forcing cheer he didn’t feel into his voice, he said, “Hi.”

“You’re going to die.” Her voice was quiet, calm. Almost deadly.

It was all he could do to suppress a shudder. He knew what she was capable off. His intuition warned

him to tread very carefully.

“But first, you’ll explain.”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

He’d never been this terrified of a person. The girl in front of him rivalled his father in underhanded

tricks and unlike his father, she was under no familial obligation to protect him.

Also, she knew enough about him to deal a lethal blow.

“Do you have any idea,” the eyes he liked so much came alive, glowing with anger directed at him,

“what you put me through? Do you?”

He took a step back, subconsciously putting his hands up in surrender.

What had she gone through while he was away? Did they trace him to her?

His heart pounded, unsure whether the fear choking him was for her safety or his.

“Nothing can save you.” A dark chuckle escaped her small mouth. It wasn’t like her other laughs. Those

ones that usually sounded carefree, almost surprised by itself. This one sounded very mafia-like, very

deadly.

“I was so worried about you. I thought you got caught. That you were dead. Or worse. I have a very

active imagination.” She stopped moving when she was a foot away.

A distant part of his mind wondered what she’d do next. Tammy liked to get up in his face and scream

whenever they got in fights. She’d poked his chest too. Sometimes cry.

He didn’t like that option. He simply couldn't picture her tearing up nor did he want to.

“Sorry.” He found himself shivering under the full force of her icy gaze.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it,” she spat, baring her all too straight teeth.

“I really am. I didn’t think--” he tried again.

“You didn’t think!” she snapped, cutting him off.

Before she finished the sentence, she landed a well thrown punch on his stomach.

He didn’t see coming. He should have given all he knew about her. There was no way screaming in his

face and poking him would’ve satisfied her. She was fire in all it’s glory. And damn, it was a hard punch.

He doubled over, wondering if her dad was the one who taught her to punch like that and just what else

he might have taught her. He prayed to God how to shoot wasn’t on that list.

Unfortunately, in his heart of hearts, he just knew she’d know how to do that too so, instead, he settled

for praying she didn’t have a gun handy.

“No matter what you think,” she thumped his head, “your brain isn’t decoration.”

“If you will just hang on...” he placated, straightening up in the wake of the blow.

“Hang on?” Her tone was velvety soft. He immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. “I’ve been

hanging on. Barely! For the past five days! Don’t you dare say that to me.”

To drive her point home, she kicked him, landing the kick just under his ribs, where he was most

vulnerable.

She was angry. He understood that but the least she could do was let him explain. If the roles had been

reversed, he’d have been labelled a bully among other things for even trying to hit a girl.

At the very least, he deserved to be heard.

“Will you stop hitting me?” He hissed, unable to help himself.

“No.” Her reply was instantaneous. The crack in her voice had him bristling.

Was she going to cry? Was it really so bad that the strongest girl he’d ever met felt the need to cry?

What had he done?

He was pulled out of his self-reflection when she began hitting his chest with her clenched fists. They

weren’t punches but they were painful enough.

Gazing down at her, he felt a tight squeeze in his chest.

He should’ve at least texted. Kept in contact somehow just in case. To make sure she was fine. He was

the one who put her in harm’s way by showing up at her house that night he got caught. He just didn’t

know where else to go at the time.

He didn’t even think of anyone else that night.

Stifling a weary sigh, he caught both her hands against his chest, gently holding them together in one

grip.

“Avy,” he said softly.

She didn’t seem to hear as she jerked back and forth violently, trying to get her hands free.

The oversized tee shirt wrapped around her head like a towel came loose, falling to the ground. Her

hair tumbled down in one damp curly mass.

“Let go.” Her voice shook.

“Avy.” He tried again.

“Let go!” Her volume rose.

“Avy.” His voice took on a commanding edge.

“Let me go.”

“Avyanna!” he bellowed, wincing at the sound of his voice. At how much like his father’s voice it was.

It got through to her though. She stopped, raising her wide panic stricken eyes to him.

His chest contracted painfully. He struggled to draw in a filling breath.

She had never looked prettier than at that moment, with her hair falling whichever way it pleased, her

molten pools staring up at him with all the innocence of a doe and her lips slightly parted. Up close he

could see her dark circles, the individual strands of her thick eyebrows and the tiny birthmark on the

side of her nose.

She was beautiful through and through.

His heart could barely stand it. His chest filled up with contrition.

His hands started to come around her before she even fell against him. He couldn’t rein in the need to

hold her. To just hold her and breathe her in. To be close to her.

He held her steady, repentance oozing from his depths. “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t know.”

He hoped she could forgive him because he suddenly wasn’t so sure he could do it himself.

“I was so scared,” she confessed quietly, all the energy visibly leaving her body. “I thought...” He felt her

gulp against him.

He tightened his hold on her.

“I thought the worst,” she continued. “It was... I thought I’d never see you again. I couldn’t...”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m really sorry.”

Gently, reverently, he stroked her hair, breathing in her lemony scent.

He felt it. The second she started to pull away. He felt it and was helpless to stop it as she began to

retreat behind her walls. Walls that anyone who even remotely knew her knew were extremely tall,

spiked on all sides and rigged with explosives.

He didn’t know how to make her stay.

“Don’t do it again.” She pulled away from his embrace.

She might have as well slammed the door in his face.