I put my t-shirt down, my hands shaking. I try to ignore them and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My hair color is dark brown and a vague hint of golden. My dad used to say that my eyes are ocean blue. A guy in my history cl once said that I had perfect s. Another guy said that I had a great body. They wanted to date me. And I dated few of them.
I brush my fingers in my forehead. Then my dark, thick eyelashes. The side of my nose. My s. I run my hand at my neck, then across my collarbone.
Am I beautiful?
Honestly, I don't know.
Maybe I'm not.
"You were wrong, Angelina Valentine." A voice inside my head suddenly whispers.
"Calm down, Angel," another voice whispers. It's the voice I loved.
His voice is fading away.
My hands start shake again, my breath rapidly quickening. I am losing control.
I have to do something.
I punch the mirror with my fist. It shatters into thousand pieces. My reflection has shattered into thousand pieces, too. The mirror now looks to me like an art. And my bloody knuckles.
"I am sorry, Edwin. I can't promise you anymore, because you left me." I bite my to stop myself from crying.
I won't cry. What's the point of crying?
My sixth sense is suddenly alert.
Somebody is watching me.
I spin around.
A guy is standing in front of the door, leaning against it. He wears a tight blue shirt, the sleeves folded. His black hair is ruffled and his hands are folded across his chest. The probable most amazing thing about him is his eyes.
They are dark green.
They are dangerous, beautiful and incredibly unreadable.
And they are watching me.