11 Large Extended Metaphor

After hearing my words, Marvel smiled with his eyes though his lips were still; I could tell by how the steel blue marbles under his soft-looking lashes glittered. Without cutting away our only connection, he finally sounded.

"I heard from Gilbert that you want a job that pays well," Marvel resumed the conversation as now he's looking into my contract that was already on his table.

"I'm in need of money," I truthfully answered, not denying the matter.

Marvel's hand stopped moving above the papers and he turned his stare at me again. For a brief moment, I felt he was studying my complexion in silence.

"Write down how much you want," he told me, canceling his intention to fill in the blank which should have been my salary, and leaving only his signature; the truth that was rather shocking.

Confusion flew in and filled me. When Marvel and I were linked in an unending gaze, he seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but I was in my inner struggle to think of a way to refuse his offer without sounding too resistant.

"Sir, I think it's inappropriate for a mere worker to decide something like that," I tried to be attentive, knowing that I wasn't in a position to write my own salary and tell him to give it to me every month.

In fact, at that very moment, my subconscious warned me that I shouldn't easily trust him. Red flag. What if he said that only to test me? I can't afford to lose everything now because I get carried away by his sweet talks, I thought.

Without a word, Marvel got up from his chair, going all the way to cross over the center of the room as he was serenely walking toward me. As he came closer, I felt the gradual change of atmosphere; it was the air around him, and in an impulsive gesture of vigilance, I almost lifted my leg backward to stay away, even though there really was no threat over there.

True, there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just... The kind of persona he presented just now, I didn't want him to get near me.

I had a feeling Marvel was one of few people who could snatch me on the spot if I was unguarded. He carried the manner of someone I didn't even want to lock sight with, let alone cross. Beneath his upright, symmetrical brows, his eyes were as direct as I expected, not even blinking as much as the average person. He met mine with a blunt refusal to avert his gaze first. I reciprocated, but ended up faltering by his illusive look.

Never had I seen a man so perfect. As far as I believed, the more perfect the image, the greater the danger underneath.

Everyone has flaws. If they've been polished right out, then trust isn't even an option.

I rose from my thoughts when Marvel stopped, and we were less than two feet away now. No matter how much the space that separated us, I couldn't lie about how nervous I was being alone with him in the same room, and because of that, I always tried my best to conceal my emotions.

Not because I didn't want to be genuine with myself, but because I felt the need to reset myself to get my composure ready for the upcoming situation.

"You're saying my order is inappropriate?"

A calm, yet firm voice slicing rather than slithering in the air, trimming down the absence of sound. Something within me snapped as I watched Marvel with caution even though he was talking in the most tranquil way.

"My order is absolute. I never get to repeat my words only to be denied on the first command. And you," he paused as one side of his lips twitched upwards to render a crooked smile when he leaned in closer. "You're the one who has to obey me."

My frame failed to take his words. He hailed me with the kind of tone I couldn't ignore. It wasn't a question. It didn't require me to answer. There was a definite power in his words, a capability to make what he said into reality, and it was when I knew I shouldn't have said what I had said.

Within a millisecond after my shock, he took a large step and extended his hand toward my head, his motion calm yet steady I almost couldn't see it coming. For repeated exposure to the possible harm, I stepped back in a staggering motion, but on the first attempt, my end was a wall-sized shelf, escaping was beyond possible.

CLINK!!

There was a loud noise and I shut my eyes in surprise. It was Marvel's hand reaching out the rack behind me to grab something.

"Hold the glass for me," he said, handing me an empty glass as I opened my eyes, missing the idea of when and where he picked it. With no argument, I just did as he asked.

One of Marvel's legs was in between mine, our shoes on the same line. He was standing there in all his grandeur, still smiling with perfect eye contact. His face was one of utmost confidence, whatever game he played, he wasn't accustomed to losing.

Behind my back was a whole antique shelf, displaying many whiskey bottles of any type and brand. Although it wasn't strange for someone who loved the drink to have such a collection in their house, I just never imagined I would find that kind of aesthetic in the underworld.

"Your hand," Marvel said again, tapping my free hand with his knuckles.

"Y-yes, Sir?" I responded, looking at him in puzzlement.

"It gets in the way," he pointed out, aiming at this bottle he desired right behind my forearm.

"Oh... I'm sorry," I lifted my hand to my side, creating an opening.

I could feel Marvel intentionally grazing my waist with his hand before he took the bottle, pouring the neat whiskey into the glass I was holding. It wasn't like he couldn't tell me to move, to make the situation easier for both of us. It was because he wanted to do it, and so he did it.

When the glass was half-filled with the amber liquid, instead of taking it, he grasped my wrist carefully, directing it toward his mouth. Drinking from the glass I was holding, his vision was set for me. I tried to be indifferent, but it didn't work against someone with a character like his.

I wished I could stop the trigger, but I felt unprotected, incapable to undo the suspense. The only thing that was left was for me to fend for myself in return, but even at such a moment, I was cognizant of my own fear. So, although it felt as if my bones had no more strength and my muscles were all out of power, I still got the option to remain still, to be quiet enough to choose how to handle my situation, to imagine what the better version of me would do.

I decided to busy myself thinking of a way to get out of this set of circumstances. I first dragged my gaze away and noticed Marvel's suit was wet. I soon remembered he was back when it started to rain, and using it as an excuse, I tried to build a connection to get along with him.

"Sir, I think we need to change your clothes, or else you will catch a cold," I suggested, acting cool and composed as if nothing happened.

The man in front of me was so tall and well-built, his physique exposed both strength and beauty. It wasn't out of curiosity that I patted his shoulder to sweep the wet dots away, but because I wanted to show the entire event he created wasn't enough to affect my sense.

At least, I needed him to know that I still could face him.

"If you don't mind, let me help you," I offered, taking the whiskey bottle and glass away when he had stopped drinking, putting them back on the rack behind me.

Going undercover for years, I could act on a cue. I could switch from one character to another, with or without preparation. And if my opponent started to get suspicious of me, I would behave as if I did what I was supposed to do from their point of view.

"It's my responsibility to take care of your health and serve you, so let's go to your room and change-"

The coldness of fingers touching my cheek startled me, freezing up the rest of my words. How odd to feel those half-familiar features devoid of warmth, as if it were stolen. When I lifted my head, I somehow knew, with that nature, Marvel must have gotten used to people pausing in their tracks to be lost in the ocean of view.

He smiled like a long-lost lover and approached me with a flawless transition. Before I could develop a reaction, his artistic form had turned blurry and fallen apart above my dilated vision as he reduced our distance. Seizing up the air I meant to breathe in, his lips contrived a way to communicate with mine without the need for words.

Under the starless night, my first kiss with Marvel tasted like a profile of dark fruit, chocolate and espresso opened into a wood spice and an edge of peat; the taste of his whiskey.

I always asked myself, what should I do to get closer to Marvel, to step into his territory, to make him trust me?

I think I know now.