Chapter 17: Mind blues

 I can feel the confusion take over me, and I get annoyed. Really, Ferenc, what is so confusing about having a crush on a fat guy with a sense of humor? My annoyance goes over our connection, and Ferenc scrunches up his nose at me. I wink at him, and give him a sly smile. He begins to feel slight unease. I feel insulted, he begins to look apologetic. 

What are we doing, you might ask? Well, we are staring at one another, lost in our heads. I am typing this cocktail of emotions in the blog, and no one is commenting. Well, killyourself89 did write that I have given Ferenc a stick with which he can hit me over the head at any time of the day or night, but now things are quiet. 

"Does anyone even read that," he points at his phone, and I stop typing mid-sentence. 

"Well, different time zones, you know? Some of my readers are asleep now," I defend myself, but he just snorts. Still, I can feel his amusement. It is better than disappointment, so I take what I can get. 

"Who is your favorite person on that blog?" He asks, and I gulp. His eyes narrow. Oh, he knows just how nervous that makes me. Darn connection. 

"Next question," I say, trying to make my voice as chipper as possible. 

"Who is your favorite person on that blog?" He asks again, his hand going to the rifle. 

"Hey, that is unfair," I protest, but the weapon is already in his hands. 

"Answer me," I can feel his anger. Darn, I miss his amusement. A happy Ferenc is a Ferenc that won't shoot you. 

"Killyourself89," I say, and he blinks.

"What?" He snarls, and I am quick to clarify. 

"That is her pen name. Killyourself89. She is the most sarcastic person I know," I tell him, and he blinks. 

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" He places the rifle down, and goes back to staring at me. Yet, I don't want that anymore. 

"Look, how about we do something? What types of movies do you have in here?" I ask him, and I feel him cringe internally.

"They are in Hungarian, so are the books," he tells me, and I nod. Ok, that is ok. I can go insane in here, with just the blog and the phone, but that is ok. Even insane people live and breathe. Not that I breathe, but you get the drift. 

"So," I begin, but then he gets playful. That is his emotion, by the way. Not his expression. His face is set in stone. 

"Come over here," he commands, and I oblige. He tugs me to sit in his lap, and then rests his chin on top of my head. I can feel a calmness spread over him. "I have missed this." 

"Missed what? Cuddling?" I ask him, and he nods. 

You are reading story When you are dead, but not at novel35.com

"Yes. This closeness. Are you tired?" He asks me. I shake my head. I feel refreshed after the blood, even though it is quite late into the night. 

"I don't feel like calling it a night just yet, but if you are tired?" I say, and suddenly, I am off his lap, and lying on the couch under him.

"Close your eyes," he tells me, and I do so. "Don't open them. If you open them, I will be angry." 

That sends a shiver down my spine. Just what does he want now? What will he be doing that my eyes will get in the way? I suck in a breath, when he pulls my shirt over my head. 

"Ferenc," I begin, but he chuckles. 

"Don't speak either," he tells me, and then his fingers trail down my neck, and then lower. They stop at my nipples, and I feel him as he begins to play with them. I bite my lower lip because there is no way in Hell, I will give this man the satisfaction of a moan. "You can moan, though." 

I grit my teeth. You can moan, though? Just how corny can this guy get? I refuse to let a sound escape me, and he ups the ante. His lips are around my right nipple next, replacing his fingers. His tongue darts out, and I bite my lip so hard, I draw blood. He has the audacity to chuckle at me, and the vibrations travel all around my body. 

"I can make you moan," he says, almost teasingly. I can feel his self-satisfaction from our connection. Just as I am about to retort, he places a finger on my lips. "Don't speak." 

Well, that is the last straw. I open my eyes, and wish that I hadn't. His green eyes are replaced by red ones, and his usually slightly tanned complexion is now extremely pale. 

"What?" I ask, and he snarls. 

"I said that you can't open your eyes," he snaps, and then his eyes turn back to emeralds. 

"What were you going to do to me?" I ask, and search through the storm of anger that are his emotions, for a sliver of a clue as to what almost happened. 

"I was going to have sex with you, but I am no longer in the mood," he tells me, and stands up. "I am going out. If I can't find you here, when I come back, I will hunt you, no matter where you go." 

He picks his coat, and then puts it on. Then the shoes, and then he is off. Ferenc doesn't bother with locking the door. What is the use? I can just break it. I try to decipher his emotions, but he moves too quickly, and soon, he is out of my range. I lay there on the couch, and then take my shirt and put it back on. 

I don't feel like putting this into the blog. For some reason, I feel used. How come the man didn't want me to open my eyes, or speak. Was he imagining someone else? I curl up, and close my eyes. Sleep doesn't claim me until the first rays of the sun begin to enter the hut.  

 

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