Parasight by E.S. Carter

Author:E.S. Carter [Carter, E.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: ES Carter
Published: 2017-04-01T07:00:00+00:00

Outside, the sun breaks through the clouds, casting a bright glow on the dewy grass. This shitty old farmhouse and adjacent cottage look almost pretty in the cleansing sunshine. You can almost overlook the rotting woodwork and crater filled dirt driveway. Almost.

I scan the front of the grounds and spot Cal slowly walking away from the cottage and approaching the paddock on my left. She looks different today with her hair tied back, clad in a simple lemon t-shirt and jeans. I’ve never seen her in anything but white, except for last night and the black piece of shit they made her wear that, I’m ashamed to admit, made my cock twitch. Today she looks like a regular girl taking a walk in the countryside, although an ethereal air still follows her, her footsteps as economic and graceful as always.

That is until her right leg sinks into an open hole where a fence post once stood, and her body tilts to the ground suddenly, her leg buckling underneath her weight.

I break into a run, clearing the space between us in a matter of seconds and vaulting over the rotting wooden fence.

“Cal, are you hurt?” I rush out, unable to keep the panic from my voice. I reach her in a few strides and bend at the knees to bring myself down to her side.

“Only my pride,” she answers back quietly. The hole she fell into is half full with muddy water, and her jeans and one side of her body are covered in muck, her hands black and slippery as she pushes herself up and then winces.

“You are hurt, let me help you.”

I reach out to pick her up, and she bats my hands away.

“No, I’ve got myself into worse situations. I can get myself out. I’m not hurt.”

The hole is bigger up close than it initially appeared and I can’t help but ask, “How the fuck did you miss that anyway?” Yeah, because I’m a dumb prick who isn’t used to filtering my words for anyone.

She averts her face, her eyes dropping to the grass as she pushes herself up and misjudges the edge of the hole, her hands sliding off slick grass and landing in the muddy water.

Her movements are clumsy and unlike her in every way. Her hands are struggling to find purchase but likely because she isn’t looking where to place them, she’s attempting to feel where to put them, her movements frantic and uncoordinated.

I’m not always the sharpest knife in the butcher’s block, but things hit me all at once. Her regular stumbles, her lack of direct eye contact, the fact she doesn’t flinch at my scars, how unintimidated by me she is when most people run a mile when they see me, and her eyes, their colour unlike any I’ve ever seen.

“Let me help you, Cal,” I offer softly, not waiting for her agreement. I hook both hands underneath her and scoop her up to my chest, liking the feel of her against me, even more than I did last night in the dark when I put her to bed.

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