🍎YOU and HIM Chapter 3 Snippet #2🍎

Hermit here,

Thank you for your continued patience while I continue to work on the official release. To all of you who have been patiently waiting, here's a bigger snippet to what I've been cooking up within Chapter 3 (which will become chapter 4 upon release.)

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Adam

Parkbend, Arizona 12:13 PM

“Turn your head this way, Mr. Gaudin.”

Adam obeys without a word, angling his head slightly to the left as gentle fingertips lift is chin just so.

There's the pop of a cap and something cool touches Adam's cheek.

The makeup artist currently standing behind him applies concealer to cover up the bags underneath Adam's eyes with a purple blending sponge, smiling at him encouragingly through the vanity mirror. 

Adam doesn't return the smile.

He hasn't for the last week.

His expression remains neutral, impassive even, and the artist wavers. 

Usually, he'd play his part to a T.

The modest singer and songwriter, Adam Gaudin who always speaks to others with gentle charisma—no matter their status—radiating warmth and light wherever he goes.

Perfect.

Infallible.

A joy to work with.

But now?

Now he can feel his carefully curated facade crumbling because of the countless nights he's lost sleep, tossing and turning in bed, ruminating over when Elijah will give him a fucking update. 

He's so close to snapping, any wrong move liable to send him over the edge, a ticking time bomb in the truest sense. 

Because when it comes to you? He can never maintain his cool. 

He wants to pick up the chair and throw it against the wall in his frustration, impatiently waiting for the moment his phone buzzes.

Makeup Artist: Alright, could you please close your eyes for me and lean back just a bit?

He follows the artist's instructions, trying to quell his anger, but thoughts of you rise to the surface.

Not you with all of your snark and cunning on the highway, or your ferocity and resistance as you tried to stand toe-to-toe with him in a knife fight, or even the way you managed to seduce and thrill him when you pulled him down for that kiss.

No.

Instead he's forced to remember you in your weakest state, your body lying limp in his arms while he applied pressure to your wound.

Don't you dare die on me, little devil. 

Don't you fucking dare. 

He said through clenched teeth, hissing the words in your ear with venom as he tended to your injuries over his own while Saffron drove.

It bothers him more than he cares to admit, seeing you in that condition, but he convinces himself it's just because he needs you to complete his goal. 

He doesn't care whether you live or die otherwise. 

You dying would just make things annoying and inconvenient for him. 

He'd go back to square one. 

That's all. 

Is that really true? Or are you just lying to yourself?

The thought barrels past his defenses and he violently slams it down. 

He doesn't know where it came from and he doesn't fucking care, he refuses to let it take residency in his mind. 

He'd feel nothing if you died.

Not one damned ounce of remorse. 

Makeup Artist: …audin?

Adam: I'm sorry, what was that?

He wasn't listening and the artist smiles at him apologetically. 

Makeup Artist: There's something I needed to grab from my other makeup bag. I'll just be a moment. Hang tight, okay?

Adam says nothing as they leave the room, his arms folded over his chest as he observes himself in the mirror, scowling at the fact that he almost rivals Cain with how tired he looks. 

Drawn.

Tired.

Pathetic. 

Just another thing that ticks him off about this whole situation. 

He's had sleepless nights before, either from staying up late working or stalking his prey.

But he's never dealt with something like this before—this innate restlessness that's somehow managed to bury itself deep into the marrow of his bones.

He feels like he can't even sit still, wanting to pace back and forth like he's in the waiting room of a hospital.

It takes all of his willpower to stay in his seat. 

When his phone buzzes, Adam sucks in a sharp breath and then goes to check his messages.

Elijah.

Fucking finally.

He clicks on the message, his eyes scanning over the words, his nails biting into the skin of his arm so hard he almost bleeds. 

I'm sorry, Adam, but I've already told you…

All we can do is wait. 

We've done all we can on our end. The rest is up to them. 

Adam's hands curl around his phone, his blood rising in pressure.

He feels like he's being admonished by a parent.

And when his eyes hit the parting words on Elijah's message he finally boils over.

Adam: Asshole!

There's a shriek as Adam's fist connects with the vanity mirror.

He's breathing hard, his entire body trembling as he imagines grabbing Elijah by the throat and twisting his neck until it gives a satisfying snap. 

He wants to kill that doctor. 

Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to just leave and go and do exactly that.

They did everything they could? Bullshit. 

If that were true, you'd be awake by now rather than lying unconscious in a hospital bed for an entire week with no signs of waking.

They've done nothing. 

Adam withdraws his hand, shards of glass sticking out of his skin, his expression hard as he meets the gaze of his makeup artist.

They stand a few feet away in a state of shock. 

Their blue eyes are wide with terror, clutching a smaller black makeup bag to their chest.

Makeup artist: M-M–Mr. Gaudin?

Makeup artist: Are…are you okay?

Adam ignores them, slowly inspecting his bloody knuckles, red rivulets dripping down the length of his arm.

Okay?

Is he okay?

He resists the urge to let out a sardonic laugh, his expression becoming more pinched as he looks down at his phone where Elijah's text remains open.

The words that finally made him snap glaring up at him. 

I would suggest…

Maybe you prepare for the worst and come to terms with the fact that they might never wake up. 

All the best,

Dr. Elijah Boone.