"He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."

-

Friedrich Nietzsche

He blinked. His blank face seemed- I don't know. Seemed ..nothing ? He didn't respond- no thank you or what the hell ? . No one ever complimented my looks so I don't how you actually respond to a compliment.He simply walked back to the mahogany desk and sat down in a huge office chair that could roll.

I fricking live for rolly chairs.

The wall behind the desk was entirely covered in glass , you could see the entire landscape of the busy town. People hanging out with friends in some corners. It must be great.

The rest of the room was in a theme of black and red. The doors were a blood red and the carpet was stark black as well as the wooden floors. That's a lot of black.

It reminded me of dracula. Maybe I should ask him if he was a vampire- wait, that's stupid. I mentally remind myself to purchase the midnight sun book that just released which has Edward Cullens Point of view. I can't really afford it but I could borrow-

My trail of thoughts were interrupted by a faint clicking. I brought my eyes back to Mr.pretty who now wore leather gloves and was using a black cloth to clean-

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

He was cleaning guns. Three guns lay parallel to each other on the desk , each separated gun part glistening in the moon light from the window. He did it very quickly , taking out the magazine in a second and looking into it with one eye and putting it back. All in one second. He cleaned the barrel with a long rod and continued to do so with the other two guns.

He looked even more intimidating and cooler. Like those girls who had the fairy princess bags in primary when I was stuck with a rug sack that my mom used to feed the birds- okay, maybe not that kind of cool.

I gulped before sitting down on the chair right in front of the desk , frowning because it wasn't a rolly chair. Fake.

The man didn't meet my eyes until I cleared my throat and muttered gleefully.

"Can I try that ?"

His movements halted before he set the guns down and looked me right in the eye. His grey eyes scanned me as if searching for something. Probably thought I was a spy or something. But I mean , the wet linkin park tee and beer soaked hair, really ?

His blank face did not falter as he cracked his neck. He moved his neck in both directions and sighed in relief ?

He folded his gloved hands in front of him and nodded. Not knowing what to do I just picked one of the guns up and took a magazine clip.

His grey eyes scanned me once again and look towards the gun. I put the magazine clip in and realized I put it the other way around so I quickly turned it. His face remained blank which i was thankful for since that was embarrassing.

I put the clip in and muttered a small "yay". He looked at me again and nodded again.

How can ones hands look so good in gloves ?

I tried taking the clip out but it wouldn't budge. I tried for about a minute or two but couldn't do it. This is exactly how I feel when I try to do a hairstyle but fail.

Mr.pretty gets up from the chair and buttons his coat up. That one action sending shivers down my spine. He takes out his gloves as he makes his way over to my side and I fiddle with my fingers that are slightly covered in some type of powder. I probably shouldn't bite my nails then.

He takes the gun in front of me and clicks a button next to the handle. The magazine clip pops out and I let out a small "Oh." I reach my hand out to take the gun but he tucks it in a belt that's filled with weapons. Oh.

He takes the other two guns , slightly stretching across the table and I can see the veins in his hands bulge. Holy.

He puts both guns in the holster type of thing and walks to the corner of the room before he returns with a packet of handwipes.

I gulp as he stands in front of me. The moonlight rays perfectly reflect on his flawless face as he looks at me and my hands expectantly. I can't just give my hand to a random stranger ! I don't even know his name-

"Wait, what's your name ?"

"Ricky." Holy smoky. His voice was a ripple in a deep dark ocean with depths of midnight hues and mystery. He didn't speak, per say ,but muttered instead. Low enough to not count as a properly sounded word but high enough so the person could hear him.

I can practically imagine the sweat rolling down my forehead. Too much fear for one person.

"Real name. Full name." I try to say sternly but it ends up coming out shyly. What did i expect. Maybe if I had his full name then he would avoid killing me. My names ugly so he'll take pity on me and say 'eh, she's worse off alive than dead''. There's a reason why everyone calls me May or Maya. I don't exactly have a nice name.

"Dalaric Mikael." His name was hot too ? I hate it here.

"Mayella Moore." I try to say in the same tone as him but fail , again. I should stop trying to copy him. I pout thinking that I should've lied about my name to make it sound cooler.

He looks at me blankly and grabs one of my twiddling fingers , easily picking my entire hand up. I had chubby fingers and they were embarrassingly soft and small. I watch him look at my hands with his greyish green orbs and a twinge of delight passes through.

I don't waver my gaze once from his beautiful face, he's just so beautiful. I notice how his turtleneck only emphasizes his jawline and i'm afraid he could use it to chop my fingers off. Or my toes. I had cute toes so that would be a shame.

He takes one of the wet wipes and softly grazes it across the fingers with the powder. I furrow my brows , what is he wiping it off ?

Almost as if he can read my mind , he answers with a blank expression.

"Gunpowder."

Oh.

He does it so softly as if handling a fragile piece of glass. Not any different than me if you add a bit of thickness around the edges.

After finishing he throws the wipe in a bin and leans back against his arms on the table. I remember seeing this in the office scene in fifty shades of grey- not that I watched it or anything. Please don't tell my mom.

He stays staring at me and I feel uneasy so I fiddle with my fingers and pick at loose piece of skin while slightly sniffing my beer soaked hair to see if he could tell that i stink.

He raises one brow and I sheepishly smile. Oops. "My um-friends poured beer on me. I'm sure it was by accident. I mean, I can't really call them my friends but- but they're um-people." I look down at my shirt in faint sadness. It stinks too.

"Do your friends pour beer on you ? Is that like um a-a thing ? Or is it like a ritual in friend groups ? I tried googling it once but-" Before I can continue , my phone- which i stole from an ancient museum- rings.

I can't really see the caller Id since the screen is cracked on that part so I answer in hopes that it's not the hospital calling to tell me that my mom needs to be checked into a psych ward.

"Hey biaaatchhh !! I've left with the crew , call a cab ! Bye ! Love you mwah." Shay ends the call with a kiss and i sigh , trying not to cry.

I'm going to have to walk. And my house is an hour away.

I get up from the chair and walk to the door before turning around and facing Mr.pretty who I probably won't meet again.

"Thank you. You're a nice dude." And a pretty dude. I give him a thumbs up and make my way downstairs. I easily find my way out of the sweaty bar and ready myself for a walk home.

My stomach growls and my throat is dry. I have about forty-five minutes left to go and i'm tired. Maybe that's why they call me chubby.

I hear a faint purring of an engine but continue walking , thinking it's another car that thinks she's a prostitute. A prostitute in a band t-shirt ? Makes sense.

The purring grows louder and stops. I turn my head slightly to see a sleek matte black car that looks perfectly clean and polished. It looks vintage and not too expensive either.

Not realizing i'm staring again , a familiar deep and enthralling voice calls out from the rolled down window.

"Get in."

Mr.Pretty blankly rolls the window back up and leaves me conflicted. I could get in and make my way back home without dying from exhaustion and hunger or I could die by a gunshot from one of his many guns in his belt.

I weigh my options and end up doing eenie mini mo to choose one of them.

Eh , whatever.

I quickly make my way into the car and gasp in awe at the interior. It's all black and smooth and oozes comfort. I could live here. I want to live here.

"Seatbelt."

Murmuring a 'sorry', I buckle up and look at him. He's looking at the road and I admire how his side profile is perfect too.

He asks me to put my address in the GPS system and for once, I don't see a judgmental look from the person.

I notice that he took off his coat and is now in his turtleneck only. His arms are bulky and stretch when he keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on the stick shift.

I furrow my brows as he pulls up into a Mcdonald's drive through.

He looks at me expectantly.

"I'm not um-hungry. Thank you."

He shakes his head and orders a meal for himself. And a chocolate sundae which is literally my favorite. I try not to drool as I cough to muffle the growls of my stomach.

He puts the bag of food in my lap and continues driving towards my house. I see a fry poking out and i'm tempted to not pop it in my mouth.

We stop at my house and I get out with the bag before turning around to place it back in the seat. He locks the door before I do so and I gawk.

"You need to eat. I-It's yours." I curse myself for stuttering like a fool and rush towards his side and try to hand him the bag with a huff.

He rolls his window down just enough so I can hear him. His gaze is on the road in front of him and I so badly want to see those eyes once more.

"Good night, Mayella." His deep , dark voice rumbles before he rolls the tinted window back up.

I pout as I eat the fry poking out after he drives off , hoping that he didn't hear the muffled shouts of my mother from the second floor of my rugged apartment building.