Foreign Feelings

Evarah's P.O.V.
Okay, so I was embarrassed. What's the big deal? If it wasn't for my stupid big mouth, nothing would have escaped, and I'd be fine. But . . . I'm not.

I was only sulking silently in my room until Pierre barged his way inside.

I jumped off my bed, squealing dramatically. He, of course, cackled evilly in laughter.

I chucked a pillow at him, hitting him square in the chest.

“What do you want?” I demanded, crossing my hands over my chest and tucking them under my arms.

“I want you-” The pillow hit me square in the face and fell to my feet. Pierre chuckled again. “To come down for dinner.”

I picked up the pillow and shove it back on my bed. “Why? What are we having?”

“Tacos!” He sung, and crossed the floor to me. He just stood in front of me, looking down into my eyes while I looked up into his, for several seconds before bending and picking me up.

“Pierre!” I squealed again, hitting his back as he heaved me over his shoulder. I kicked my feet.

“Stop struggling, Eva! Jesus!”

“Then put me down!” I yelled, whacking his backs with my fists. He flinched, and I immediately let up, hitting him lighter, but still forcefully. We started descended the stairs, and my heart jumped into my throat. Quietly, I said, “Pierre Jacques Fournier, I swear to God, if you drop me, I'll-”

He stopped in the middle of the staircase. “You'll what?”

I looked over the side of the railing and gulped. Okay, so it wasn't that far, but I was deathly afraid of heights. “I'll- never speak to you or touch you again. Ever!”

“Oh, that's harsh Eva,” he teased, starting to walk again. He jumped down the last 3 steps, causing my to kick out again. I heel impacted with something hard and Pierre grunted in a very guy-like way.

“Oh crap! Did that get you?” I asked frantically.

“Yep, it sure did.” He bent and put me back on my feet, and I grabbed his arm until I'd regained my balance.

Then, I turned him to face me fully and pried his hand away from his nose. It was red and dripping blood, but luckily, not much.

I felt my eyes grow wide. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. You have no idea how-” I cupped my hands over his cheeks and forced him to look at me. “Are. You. Okay?”

He smiled then. “I'm fine Eva.”

“But your nose is bleeding!” I yelled at him. “Oh God, I can't believe I kicked you! I'm so, so sorry!” I sunk down onto the bottom step and put my head in my hands.

“Ah, Eva . . ?”

“Right, sorry!” I jumped up and stood in front of Pierre again. “God, it's just that blood makes me really woozy, and I go just a little bit crazy.” I laughed, somewhat manically, before breathing deeply.

Pierre eyed me warily. “Are you okay?”

I gave him a weird look, brushing off his concern. “What do you mean? Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be? I mean, you're the one who was kicked in the face.” I put my hands over my mouth. “Did I tell you how sorry I am about that?”

Pierre laughed. Actually laughed. With a bleeding nose. “About 10 times already. Now, are you going to get me something to stop this blood, or just keep standing there gushing about how sorry you are?”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

I scurried off into the kitchen to find a tea towel. Pierre's words followed me. “Stop apologising!”

My dad was in the kitchen, chopping lettuce with Dee.

“Hi, Eva,” she greeted. “How are you today?”

“Ah, a little freaked. Do you have a tea towel I can use?”

“Why, darling?” That was dad, putting down the knife and wiping his hands on his apron. Yes, Daddy Harper wore an apron and chopped lettuce with the family cook.

“I, kind of, accidentally, kicked Pierre in the nose, and now it's bleeding.” When they just stared at me, I added, “Heavily,” to try and get them moving.

“Oh my,” Dee mumbled. “How on earth-?”

Dad pulled a clean white tea towel from the bench and chucked it at me.

“White?” I asked.

“Just hurry.” He undid his apron and followed me back to where Pierre was crouched on the first and second steps.

I knelt in front of him and told him to move his hand from his nose. He did, and I dabbed it with the tea towel. He winced.

“Be gentler, Eva,” dad scolded from behind me.

“I'm sorry, but this really freaks me out.”

“Here, let me do it.” Pierre's hand slid over mine to take the tea towel, lingering for longer than normal on my skin. I looked at him, and his abnormally pale face, and saw a smile in his blue eyes.

While he cleaned his face, I sat next to him on the stairs and leant my head on his shoulder. “God, I am so, so-”

“Sorry?” He guessed, and the smile was now on his face.

“I was going to say stupid, but sorry works too.” I shrugged.

There were footsteps on the stairs behind us, and we turned to see Emilie. She took one look at Pierre's bloody face, turned absolutely white, and hurried back upstairs with a very feminine squeal.

“It runs in the family,” I told him simply, answering his questioning look.