[[[౨ৎmusique ౨ৎ )]
During the Hunt
Oh, there were so many things Amani did not need nor want and this–Dominic Vaillant reappearance was one of them. He stared at her as if confused, but Amani knew he wasn’t confusing, he was pretending in the same manner he had once pretended to care for her, to love her and she hated him for it. She hated herself, most of all, for loving and believing in him and her happily ever after. But then again, she was young, and it was her first relationship, she was bound to be a fool in love, unfortunately.
He had apologized to her, and that had only made Amani’s face to scrunch with hatred–or at least she wanted it to only show hatred, but in her eyes—oh how much her eyes failed her! There was still that fright, as if she could not believe (she couldn’t, really) that he was truly back, flesh and blood staring at her. If this was any other circumstances, if they had not ended the way they did, she would have reached out for him, had caressed his face perhaps–just to feel his body against her skin again. But that would only bring disgust towards her, what had she even seen in him? Why hadn’t she been able to see through him?
“What?” he asked bluntly, dumbfounded by her question. “I’m… I’m taking part in the scavenger hunt,” his eyes flickered back to his group for a moment, before meeting hers. “What kind of question is that?”
“You know that is not what I meant,” Her voice was harsh, "What are you doing here? In Wyndham?’ That was to say you, 'your presence was a thorn among flowers and it was. As if perhaps sensing her distress, her little creature, bit her softly, it hurt a little, but it was more like a pinch and it managed to relax her a bit, as Amani rubbed it from her pocket, trying to calm the creature down as well.
Dominic began to walk away, but then he turned around and Amani’s heat skipped a beat. Have we met? he asked. Amani’s hands balled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as Dominic’s words echoed in her mind. Have we met? The question was so absurd, so filled with false innocence, that she could feel a bitter laugh bubbling up in her throat. How could he stand there, so casual, as if he had not shattered her? As if she had not spent months picking up the pieces of herself he had carelessly scattered?
“What type of question Is that, Dominic?”