“Eleanor, if you have any mercy in that dark heart of yours, when you leave right now, you will walk and not run.”
She gave him a smile, a smile that told him everything she wanted to say but didn’t have the words or the voice to say.
“I’d never run from you, remember? But I’ll always run back.”
Nora didn’t kiss him or touch him anymore. If she did, she feared she wouldn’t be able to stop. And she had to go, had to leave, had to see whoever waited for her behind the door of the White Room.
Turning around she walked with agonizing slowness to the door at the back of the bar. She opened the door and stepped across the threshold, shutting the door behind her.
Once alone, Nora stopped and looked down at her feet. She wore high heels. She always did these days at the club. Søren preferred them to the boots she’d always strapped on during her days as a dominatrix. More demure, high heels were. More ladylike. She could do anything in her heels if she had to. Anything but run, and she knew that was the real reason Søren made her wear them.
She kicked off her shoes and left them behind in the hall. And Nora didn’t walk and she didn’t crawl and she didn’t fly.
She ran. Down the hall she ran as if the hounds of hell nipped at her heels. She ran as if God himself had ordered her to. She ran as if her life depended on it and in that moment she might have sworn that it did.
She didn’t know why she ran. She didn’t know who or what waited for her in the White Room. She only knew she had to get there as fast as she could and whoever it was, he was worth running to.
Nora’s hand shook so hard when she finally reached the door to the White Room, she could barely get the key in the lock. But then it was in, and the door flew open, and she stopped running. She stopped running because for no reason, none that made sense, none that mattered, he was right there in front of her.
“Wesley…” she breathed, unable to take another step. But she didn’t have to, because he was on his feet and running to her now, and he held her in his arms and she held him in hers, and she knew she’d never run again. Not from him anyway. Not from her Wesley.
“Nora…I missed you…so much…”
She pulled back to stare at him. Her Wesley—same boyishly handsome face, same big brown eyes that looked at her like he’d never seen anything like her before.
Nora took his face in her hands, still unable to really believe it was him, her Wes, right in front of her.
“My God, you need a haircut.”
She gave him a smile, a smile that told him everything she wanted to say but didn’t have the words or the voice to say.
“I’d never run from you, remember? But I’ll always run back.”
Nora didn’t kiss him or touch him anymore. If she did, she feared she wouldn’t be able to stop. And she had to go, had to leave, had to see whoever waited for her behind the door of the White Room.
Turning around she walked with agonizing slowness to the door at the back of the bar. She opened the door and stepped across the threshold, shutting the door behind her.
Once alone, Nora stopped and looked down at her feet. She wore high heels. She always did these days at the club. Søren preferred them to the boots she’d always strapped on during her days as a dominatrix. More demure, high heels were. More ladylike. She could do anything in her heels if she had to. Anything but run, and she knew that was the real reason Søren made her wear them.
She kicked off her shoes and left them behind in the hall. And Nora didn’t walk and she didn’t crawl and she didn’t fly.
She ran. Down the hall she ran as if the hounds of hell nipped at her heels. She ran as if God himself had ordered her to. She ran as if her life depended on it and in that moment she might have sworn that it did.
She didn’t know why she ran. She didn’t know who or what waited for her in the White Room. She only knew she had to get there as fast as she could and whoever it was, he was worth running to.
Nora’s hand shook so hard when she finally reached the door to the White Room, she could barely get the key in the lock. But then it was in, and the door flew open, and she stopped running. She stopped running because for no reason, none that made sense, none that mattered, he was right there in front of her.
“Wesley…” she breathed, unable to take another step. But she didn’t have to, because he was on his feet and running to her now, and he held her in his arms and she held him in hers, and she knew she’d never run again. Not from him anyway. Not from her Wesley.
“Nora…I missed you…so much…”
She pulled back to stare at him. Her Wesley—same boyishly handsome face, same big brown eyes that looked at her like he’d never seen anything like her before.
Nora took his face in her hands, still unable to really believe it was him, her Wes, right in front of her.
“My God, you need a haircut.”
