:D Ooh la la, chapter eighhtt!
Well, I hope you like the story so far. I know it's a bit dull and slow at this point, but I promise I'll make more action soon
Oh and please request stuff that you want more of so I can include it!
Well now, I'll shut up and let you read…
I splutter, frozen to the spot momentarily. And then I remember I'm only wearing a towel. I quickly race back into the bathroom and slam the door, before sliding down it and resting my head on my knees.
Oh. My. Gosh. What is he doing here? Did Macey tell him to come over? If she did, I'll put some sort of paralyser in her next drink, I swear.
Then there's a gentle knock at the door, so I get up and open it a tiny crack. Thankfully, it's only Macey holding a pair of black jeans, a purple top and some brand new underwear. I take the clothes from her with an appreciative smile.
Within two minutes, I walk back into the kitchen, all changed and fresh. My damp hair hangs messily around my shoulders.
Macey raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at the sight of it and drags me back into the bathroom, while Zach looks on, amused.
She brushes it out and dries it a bit more, before tying it up in a loose bun. Once I'm deemed as reasonable looking, Macey and I return to the kitchen, where Zach's still standing with a smirk on his face.
Macey looks between us, and then grabs her keys off of the hook.
"I'll leave you two to catch up," she says, making her way to the door, then adding, "You make her cry, and you'll be very sorry."
With that, she disappears out the door and speeds off in her little light blue car.
"Well…" I say awkwardly once all noise of the car has completely faded away.
He just sticks his hands in his pockets and smirks even more. "Personally, I liked the towel better, Gallagher Girl."
I blush, trying not to remember the scene which occurred a few minutes ago.
"Do you want something to drink?" Zach asks, casually, as if he owns the place.
I nod slowly. "Water, please."
He turns his back to me and reaches for two glasses, and then fills them with orange juice.
"Uhh…?"
Zach just shrugs and walks over to me. "You're too thin. You need to eat something."
"Orange juice isn't food," I remind him as I take the offered juice and perch on the back of the couch.
"Closer than water." He smirks, taking a seat on a wooden chair.
I take in his appearance. Everything from the ruffled hair to his worn-out shoes, nothing goes unnoticed; so maybe that's why I see the mysterious, playful sparkle that has partially returned to his dark eyes.
"So… what have you been up to?" I ask, trying to break the silence.
"Oh, this and that," he replies, frustratingly.
I just stare at him, eyes narrowed.
Zach sighs and elaborates on his cryptic answer. "Most of my time has been dedicated to finding and capturing you and your little friends."
I wince a little at this and turn my head away.
He takes a step closer and says, "What happened, Cammie? Where did it all go wrong?"
I close my eyes as a tear dribbles pathetically down my cheek.
He takes another step.
I shake my head and place the glass of orange juice on the coffee table, as he takes yet another step towards me.
"Zach…"
But by now, there's hardly any space left between us, as I look up at his face, searching my own. His gaze is too intense to look at for too long, like looking at the sun, so I hang my head again, sniffing quietly. Then, I feel a warm hand on my face. His thumb strokes my cheek, wiping away the remaining tears.
He pulls me closer and kisses me deeply, one hand around my waist. Somehow, we make it around to the couch and lie down on it. His hands lace through my hair; the moment feels so perfect, until a loud crash of thunder brings me back to my senses.
The storm outside thrashes violently, and it causes me to remember everything. I can't be with him, anymore. It'll be putting him in danger, and that's something I'm not going to do. So, not knowing what to do, I run.
Running feels like I have a plan. Running feels like there's something I'm working towards to achieve. But most of all, running feels better than staying still.
I'm focusing on my completely ruined life so much that I don't notice the van until too late. It's coming much too quickly for me to run away. It reminds me of another night, though not quite so stormy, in D.C. And very soon, I'm running for a completely different reason.
To be fair, most spies could beat two attackers, who are roughly their size. Most spies could fight their way out of a headlock but kicking their attacker in the guts. Most spies could flip all the bad guys and run. But most spies wouldn't be able to focus on all this, and the tranquiliser gun the third accomplice pulls from his pocket and fires at you.
The last thing I see through the van doors before they're closed and before I black out is the vague figure of someone running, very fast, towards me, shouting my name…
