As I’m falling to the ground, I feel as if time has slowed. I keep my eyes clamped shut and I wonder if I will die quickly. I know that guards will be waiting for me on the ground, and I can only hope that I will die before they get a hold of me. I know that my father will encourage torture on me, at least until I obey his every word.
I realize I am no longer falling. I’m in strong arms. Dang it, why couldn’t they just let me die? I think, clenching my fists. I open my eyes and I see not a hard, soldiered face, but a soft concerned one. Then I feel myself falling again and I wince as I feel my body slam down into the paved road.
“You couldn’t hold me for another two seconds, could you?” I mutter.
“No, I really couldn’t. You would’ve been staring at my handsome face for far too long, and I’m afraid my face can only take so much staring,” comes the cheerful reply. I look up again. As much as I hate to admit it, he is handsome, with his jet-black hair and honey eyes. He’s muscular too, but it looks as if it’s from real labor, not a gym. He has a strong jaw-line and I find myself staring at his lips.
“Staring at me again, are you?” he laughs. I return this comment with no more than a glare. He opens his mouth as if to comment again, but instead clenches his jaw and grabs my wrist. “Come on, the guards are coming,” he says and I barely have time to breathe before I’m running.