The Inescapable Trap Called Love

{Amy's perspective}

I regret meeting him.

I regret every second of that cold, snowy night that brought him into my life. And as my hand stung from the force of the slap I just delivered to his smug, infuriating face, right in the middle of campus, I regretted nothing more than not hitting him harder.

The crowd around us fell silent. Everyone was staring at me. This was not my usual, composed assistant professor but burning with rage. He was standing there with one hand brushing his cheek and still wearing that infuriatingly cocky grin.

"You done my angel?" he asked in a low voice that could be heard above the murmuring students and staff.

The words died in my throat as I realized how many people were watching. This wasn't me. I wasn't the kind of person who lost control like this, especially not in front of my students.

Saving a life changes you, they say. They speak of the warmth of gratitude and the glow that comes with knowing you did good. Some will thank you in tears, and others will compensate you with smiles you would never forget.

But no one warns you about the other side. No one tells you that saving someone might not bring peace but something else entirely. Chaos. Frustration. Fury.

Nobody prepared me for how saving a life would ruin one of mine.

No one could have told me about him.

I desired a quiet meaningful life. Years of hard work landed me into Arora University in the country, as a professor. 

But this guy brought Chaos.

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It all started on that snowy night, January 9th, in Lumora, the capital city of Serinity Country. The streets were quiet, blanketed in fresh snow that glistened under the dim streetlights. It was close to 11.55 PM, and the only sounds were the irritating snow crunch of my boots and the occasional hum of a passing car.

I was clad in my pink sweater; it shivered with each nip of icy wind at my face. My icy blue eyes kept scanning the bright screen of my phone. Frustration was bubbling up as each call remained unanswered.

"What the heck do you mean I have to walk?" I yelled into the frosty air, blowing out a breath that vanished almost immediately.

I shoved my phone into the pocket of my jeans and growled, "I travel all the way from Fairview City to visit you, and you cannot even make an effort to come pick me up? You're not answering my calls, and now I'm stuck here in the middle of nowhere. Ugh, unbelievable!

Taxis are all busy because of the storm. Great. Just perfect.

The streets were almost empty, only the occasional vehicle passing by. The night's silence, broken only by the crunch of my steps, should have been peaceful. Instead, it made me more irritated.

As I rounded the corner, I saw something odd: a woman running down the street. She was moving franticly, breathing heavily in the freezing air. She passed me without saying anything, her face pale and her eyes wide with panic.

"Uh… what the hell?" I whispered to myself as I watched her disappear into the distance.

I stood there for a moment, baffled. What could she possibly be running from? Or to?

Shaking my head, I kept walking, my boots slipping slightly on the icy pavement. But before I could go far, another figure appeared—a man this time, stumbling down the street in the opposite direction.

He looked rough, his hoodie pulled up over messy hair and his jeans ripped and dirty. His face was pale, his movements jerky, and his eyes darted around like he was being chased.

As he approached, I automatically stepped to the side to get out of his way, but he still pushed past me.

"Move, bitch," he spat, his voice hoarse and laced with something I couldn't quite place—fear? Anger?

I froze, my heart pounding. "Excuse you? Who's bitch? You son of a bitch." I called after him, but he didn't even glance back. He just kept running, his feet slipping on the icy road as he vanished into the night.

What the hell is going on? First the panicking woman, now this guy?

I stood there trying to make sense of it all, my breath visible in the cold air. My instincts told me something was wrong. My gut told me to turn around and go back. But instead, I kept walking forward, my steps cautious, my senses heightened.

I moved down the road, my nerves raw from what was happening in that moment.

And then I saw him.

A man who'd change my life forever, he'd become, a curse for me, though a riddle I would leave unsolved.

And at first, I almost didn't notice him. He was slumped against a brick wall on the side of the street, sitting on the snow-covered ground, his head tilted forward as if he were resting. But as I got closer, the dark stain spreading across the snow caught my eye.

Blood.

My heart clenched. My steps hesitated for one moment, and then I coaxed myself ahead, each footstep heavier than the last. When I arrived at him I saw the entirety of it his hands grasped his stomach; blood seeped through them. His head leaned to one side, a streak of red ran from the temple, staining his black hair.

I feel my panic rise through me. Breathing fast, I drop to the ground beside him, snow now seeping into my jeans.

"Hey, are you alright?" I shake, my voice barely above a whisper.

Still no answer. His eyes close, his skin pale as the snow surrounding his body.

I say louder to him, a little shaking at his shoulder: "Hey! Are you able to hear me?

There was a weak stirring on the bed. A groan slipped his lips: quiet, muffled, but loud enough. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and then I forgot how to breathe.

Bright blue. The color of an opal--sharp, piercing, uncomfortable even in its weakness. His eyes seemed to look at me, unfocused and dazed, but naked somehow, while making me feel that I was the one bared.

"Can you hear me?" I asked again, trying to sound calm.

He blinked slowly, his mouth opening as if to say something. His voice was little more than a whisper when he finally murmured, "Are you… an angel? Come to take me up?"

I stilled, shocked by what he said, then shook my head. "No, you are not dying on my watch, okay? Stay with me."

His head lolled a little, but he kept his eyes on me, weakly clinging to consciousness. I looked down at his stomach and immediately felt sick. The wound was deep—it was definitely a stab.

"Okay, okay, don't panic," I muttered, mostly to myself.

With all the force, I pressed down the handkerchief on his stomach to close the wound; my fingers started shaking as I looked for my mobile to dial emergency.

"Hello, yes—an ambulance, please. There's a man here; he was stabbed. He's bleeding heaps," I could barely speak to give them where I was situated.

The dispatcher assured me help was on the way, but it felt like an eternity before I hung up. I turned my attention back to him, my hand still pressing against the wound.

"Hey, stay with me, okay? Don't close your eyes."

He gave a weak, crooked smile, his voice barely audible. "Not… an angel, huh?"

"No," I said firmly, my voice cracking slightly. "I'm very much not an angel. But you're not going anywhere, so keep your eyes open, alright?"

He murmured something incoherent, his voice like gravel, but it sounded suspiciously like, "I'm not dead yet?"

I watched, half in disbelief, as his trembling hand reached into his jacket pocket. From it, he pulled out a sleek, gold-trimmed cigarette case. It looked wildly out of place, given his bloodied state. With slow, deliberate movements, he plucked a cigarette from the case and clumsily brought it to his lips.

"What are you doing?" I asked, bewildered.

He looked at me, half-lidded and amused. "Need… a lighter," he rasped, the words barely audible.

I blinked at him, trying to make sense of this absurd request. "A lighter? Are you serious right now?"

He groaned, clearly annoyed. "Yeah… give me the fukin lighter."

I fumbled through my bag, not even sure why I was doing this. My fingers closed around a small lighter, and I hesitated before passing it to him. "You really shouldn't—"

He'd already snatched it from my hand. With an astonishing determination for someone who was bleeding out, he flicked it on and lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, coughing violently a moment later, his body shaking from the effort.

I stared at him, agog. "Who smokes on the brink of death?"

He exhaled a shaky plume of smoke, smirking faintly. "A man who's got nothing left to lose."

I opened my mouth to retort but stopped when his expression shifted, the smirk fading into something softer, sadder.

"I only came out tonight because my mom caught me smoking again," he muttered, voice quiet, almost reflective. "She yelled at me. Said I was a waste, throwing my life away." He coughed up some bitterness in laughter, the sound hollow. "And now… look at me. She was right. I'll probably die out here, and she'll never know I'm sorry."

"You're not going to die," I said firmly, though my voice trembled. "You're going to survive this, and you'll have the chance to apologize. I promise."

He scoffed, though the sound was weak. "Don't make promises you can't keep, angel."

"Don't call me that," I shot back, trying to mask the ache in my chest. "And I never break my promises."

His piercing blue eyes flickered up to meet mine, something unreadable swimming in their depths. "I deserve to die," he muttered, almost to himself. "For everything I've done. For the people I've hurt."

"You don't," I said, my voice breaking. "Nobody deserves to die like this. And you're not going to. You'll make it through this. I'll make sure of it.

A faint, crooked smile tugged at his lips. "You're a stubborn one, huh?"

"And you're an idiot," I retorted. "Now shut up and stay awake."

He chuckled weakly, the sound more air than anything else. "Alright… but if I make it, you owe me something."

I narrowed my eyes. "What could you possibly want right now?"

He smirked, faint but mischievous. "If I survive… you're gonna marry me."

I gawked at him. "What?"

You heard me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "No take-backs, angel."

"Shut up," I said, rolling my eyes, though my cheeks burned.

He grinned faintly, asked, "You got someone waiting for you? A boyfriend? Husband?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" I snapped, thrown off by the question.

"Just answer," he said, his voice quiet but insistent. "I'm dying. Tell me."

I hesitated, then sighed. "No. I've never been in a relationship, alright? Twenty-five years, and nothing. Happy?"

His smile widened, though his eyelids were growing heavier. "Perfect," he murmured, as if it were the answer he had been seeking all along.

Before I could even process what he meant, he crushed the cigarette in his hand, ignoring the burn, and tossed it aside. I was too stunned to react.

Then, without warning, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.

I froze. My mind went blank as his lips met mine—cold, tasting faintly of smoke and blood. The kiss was brief, a fleeting connection, raw and desperate, before he pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting mine.

"It's the toke... for promise.... and My name… it's Bill...," he whispered, his voice a ragged breath, as if telling me this one thing was the most important act of his life.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could say anything, his body gave out, and he slumped back, unconscious.

The weight of his words and the kiss left me paralyzed, my heart pounding violently in my chest. It wasn't supposed to be like this. My first kiss wasn't supposed to be stolen by a dying man on a snow-covered street.

The far-off wail of sirens began to pierce through my daze, growing louder with every passing second.

I clutched his hand tightly, my voice shaking as I whispered, "You're not dying. Do you hear me? You are not allowed to die."

The red and blue lights painted the snow around us, the ambulance approaches us.

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Well my reading buddies, how's the chapter?

How's the kiss?