Matthew
I'm staring at Sarah's sleeping form, the woman who's supposed to be the embodiment of everything I despise.
Yet, I couldn't stand another man touching her earlier. Sometimes I don't understand my own feelings.
I reach out to brush back a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. She had fallen asleep after crying in my arms. I thought about leaving the room and taking a long walk afterward, but I find myself unable to move now.
It's madness, this fleeting sense of protectiveness toward her. It's ironic. I should be pleased that Mark's action scared her to death. It served her right. But instead, I feel this need to shield her, to keep her safe from men like Mark… or even men like me.
"Damn you, Sarah," I whisper against the silence, my voice a low, grating sound against the quietness of the room. "What have you done to me?"
I can still feel the heat of jealousy when I see Mark's hands all over her body in my mind.
