body-of-blade

I was not weak; I did not cry. But it hurt me, more in a kind of refreshing, thrilling way, than a kind of pain that would cripple me and send me away crying. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands, and my teeth bit into my lips, my knees were locked, but I could not faint.

I did not ask for consciousness, yet it came to me.And I had to know.Once again, I crawled away from my bed and pushed the computer cord back into the socket.It took three minutes.I quickly identified myself and put in my password.Then it thought.I wanted to bounce impatiently, but I couldn__ make myself move.At last, I found the internet, and I typed in a name, on the company page, under my account.I searched __mages_.And there, on the screen in front of me, was the most beautiful person I__ ever seen.I couldn__ stop the tears from welling up and spilling over as I stared back at the smiling face.It couldn__ be him.It was.Derek Erickson.And I was going to kill him.

Sleep did not honor me with it__ presence.

There was something behind the softness that intertwined our fingers together__ove? It felt different from two days ago. All I could think about was his smooth hand, wrapped in mine. It was more than affection__ut I wasn__ sure how much more, or if that would ever change.