A/n: heres part 4..i know...its short. forgive me...but ive been busy lately. ill update more frequently starting now..i pormise! thank you readers! xoxox

Part Four

His house was dark. Rubbing my twisted joints in my hand, I winced in pain. The house seemed homely; family pictures, vases full of untarnished flowers, candles lit on every corner, emitting scents of fruit and other strange things.

Grayson had said he would get me some ice, and disappeared into the shadows of his little “abode”, and I hadn’t seen him in over ten minutes.

My hand hurt like all hell. The muscles tensed, the tendons were curled and snapped, the fingers swollen. I needed that ice, and fast. I heard through the drumming of my headache a tiny patter, and Grayson emerged from the living room with a plastic bag of half-melted ice.

Standing over me as I sat on his leather couch, he stared at me with those eyes. I blinked a few times, turning my head and running my good hand through messy hair. I felt uncomfortable under the weight of his iced eyes; they were so cold the boiled me inside to reveal who I was.

I swept the dripping bag of ice from his hands, my eyes avoiding his gaze. Every time I would look at him, that feeling would rise in my stomach. I didn’t know what it was or where it came from, and I didn’t like it.

I felt the cold slowly encase my hand, and the pain began to mold into a dull numbness that felt absolutely wonderful. I shook my head, laughed a little, and began to rise.

“Thanks for everything,” I whispered, heading for the door. I took careful steps, easing in a plan as I turned to face the silent boy. “If you want, we can hang out sometime. I left my number on the note my friend wanted me to give you. Give me a buzz.”

Now that I had successfully made my way, not on purpose, into Grayson’s life, I could learn more for my psychology paper from the inside without being found out. My luck was beginning to shift.

The room filled with a thick silence, and I shifted my weight. Holding the slick plastic against the crippled tendons, I watched for any slight reaction Grayson would give me…any small facial detail, any body language, that would indicate anything about his feelings concerning his secret admirer.

He didn’t even speak; only staring at me with a creased forehead and angry eyes.

“Sorry about the door, now get out,” he demanded, motioning for me to leave.

Taking my leave of absence, I turned exit, making it as grand and dramatic as possible.

As loud as I could without seeming clumsy, I wedged myself through the open doorway and spoke to Grayson with a casual tone. “I’m always free on the weekends.”

With that last remark, I made my way down the flowered sidewalk to my SUV, hearing the door creak slowly closed, knowing he was watching my back with a blank expression.

The gothic boy had been infiltrated.

But for some reason, I felt guilty.

I knew as I was driving home that something was going to go wrong, some mishap that could not possibly be avoided, and I would be the one to clean up the mess that seemed impossible to scrub out of any carpet.

Somehow I knew my luck wouldn’t stay in my favor for long.

Damn life...I was too close to figuring him out to have a mistake ruin it all.

Maybe I was too wrapped up in this paper to realize what I was doing. But everyone who has made great accomplishments sacrificed something as someone else’s expense…right?

Right?