Sweats Nervously Novels & Stories

“See you later Rue. Take good care of my son.” “Sure will,” The walk was very peaceful and cold as usual. Nico tucked his neck inside his woolen scarf. “Nervous?” He scoffed. “As if,” “It’s okay to admit you’re nervous Nico. You’re sweating buckets.” “No I’m not,” as he was saying this, a drop of sweat rolled down his face. Yeah, he was sweating in fucking minus degree climate. It was not because he was nervous......... “Fine! I’m nervous,” he sighed. “I know I ‘m overreacting for such a simple thing. I’m not even your mate. Why should I be nervous?”

And all I can do is offer them a sheepish grin, trying not to let my own nerves show. Warren, with a mix of exasperation and a hint of fear, turns to me and blurts out, "Lady, you've practically turned our lives into a rollercoaster ride today, and not a fun rollercoaster, more like one that's going to get us all killed!" I can't help but scratch the back of my head, a nervous habit I've picked up over the years. My heart is still pounding from the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Judging eyes follow me everywhere I turn, and from the heated gaze of the two guards I have been intimate with, I know they blame me when I'm not watching. Once the dawn chorus began, my heart sank. “ How do I do this alone?” My bones crack within. My muscles twitch restlessly, and my feet hasn't stayed without motion for a minute. I'm nervous. The kind that gets you sweaty, makes you check the time always, while getting uncomfortable the closer you got to the moment. I fan myself and run my fingers through my hair. Halfway I remembered I had just had it done yesterday and this rough handling would damage the curls. I dismiss the thought as quick as it came.

The thought of being extra nervous during dinner made me even more nervous and I felt really weird. “Well, for one, you’re sweaty all of a sudden, you’ve been rubbing your palms uncomfortably, you look so pale, you look scared and worried about something, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost and nobody asked if you were nervous or why you were nervous so, spill.” “Um…it’s nothing really, I'm just a little bit flustered, that’s all, nothing much.” I told her with an awkward smile, trying to convince her that I was fine.

Ben was an easy shot for the guy. Sweat was running down Edwin's forehead, his palms were getting wet. Nervousness- that was quite an understatement. He felt worst than that. He tried to keep it at bay. And took a shot at the guy.

"Enough, Ethan! Just-just leave me alone. I can't deal with this right now." He threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll back off… for now." He had smiled to himself as he had left the room, knowing full well she would be burning a hole in his back with her eyes. He could almost feel her unwinding, and it would not be very much longer before she would slip up. People who are feeling nervous often fiddle with things while they sit, such as twisting their feet together or shifting their weight from side to side in one's chair.

I pressed my hands together when they started to sweat. “I, ehm… I…” I sighed and rubbed my face, which was a dumb thing to do since my palm was all sweaty. “You’re right, I'm nervous. I've been nervous since I stepped back into the house because my being back here means all of this is real. Too real.” “And what’s ‘all of this’?” Leonardo asked softly, and I raised my head to him.

I stood still and watched him drive off, disappearing into the distance. I let out a soft sigh, turned and stared up at the enormous structure of a house. I swallowed again, only noticing how sweaty my forehead was. God, why the fuck am I sweating? I reached out and wiped it off with the back of my hand. I pressed my eyes shut and let out another soft sigh. My heart is thumping so fast right now. Why am I even so nervous? It'll be simple, just go inside, beg and come out. That's it. Easy peasy.

I stop mid-motion, looking down at what I am doing. “It’s just bread.” “It’s uneven,” she replies. I inhale slowly, adjusting it without commenting, because I am starting to understand that this is not about the bread or the pan or anything else. This is about control. “You’re sweating,” she adds suddenly. I glance at her briefly. “It’s warm.” “No, it’s because you’re nervous,” she says, her tone almost casual. “People always sweat when they’re nervous.” “I’m fine,” I reply. She hums softly, like she doesn’t believe me but also doesn’t care enough to argue.

Itchy sweat broke out from my temples but I was too nervous to wipe them off. In one clean motion, he emptied the contents of the glass, his throat bobbing and calmly dropped the glass cup on the table, my eyes widened in horror. ‘What have I done?’