CARLA
William Blake is so angry and that's obvious. His golden eyes look like a flame blazing of fire, his raven hair is messed up and he clenches and unclenches his fists. At first, I feel scared because who wouldn't be if they saw an angry tall man full of muscles in front of them?
Why should he be mad? I'm the one who's supposed to be angry at him, he should be begging for my forgiveness right now.
I stand up and look him in the eyes and he seems to hate that because he makes a disgusted look in his face. I would be lying if I say that it doesn't hurt, because it really does.
“Where do you think you're going?” he asks so harshly, but with a tone of mockery.
“I don't know. Anywhere but here.” I answer with the same tone. Where I've gotten the courage to do so, I also don't know.
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