I don’t look at him, because that will make me want to hug him or kiss him, and we’re simply not in that type of relationship. A strong hand grips my wrist, wrenching me back, and I gasp as I turn and face him. A shadow covers his face, and a weird expression I’ve never seen before takes over his sharp features. It’s a mixture of pain and rage, accentuated by the deathly hold on my wrist.
