[img]http://i1062.photobucket.com/albums/t486/isthistaken1/Hannah-Bond.png[/img]

[i]So that’s Wesley Vaughn[/i], thought Hannah as their mysterious benefactor turned to sweep out as dramatically as he came. [i]He’s…[/i] she floundered for a moment, [i]Dangerous.[/i] The billionaire’s outward calm had been impenetrable, flawless, as he spoke, but inside he was anything but. The furious storm of dark, hungry emotions was tightly locked in a mental vice, but fought its chains with the force of a hurricane, threatening to spill out and infect everything it touched. That frightened Hannah. In fact it terrified her.
 
The fine hairs on the back of Hannah’s neck began to rise as the emotions in the room started to heat up. She didn’t need to be slightly pre-cognizant to know that Vaughn’s words were going to rub people the wrong way, but she hadn’t properly prepared herself for the strength of her new “family’s” emotions.  [i]Christ![/i] she cursed, unable to properly focus on what was being said as wave after wave of distrust and anger hit her, soaked her skin.
 
[i]Maybe their emotions are stronger than normal people?[/i] she wondered, clasping her hands together in her lap to keep them from shaking with strain, [i]Or maybe I am just more sensitive to them?[/i] Sweat broke out on her forehead and the air was so thick with she was having trouble breathing. Where was this coming from? It couldn’t be everybody affecting her this way.
 
Her sharp gray eyes swept the room frantically, finally landing on a head of dark hair. A young man sitting near her, covered in tattoos and piercings, was producing particularly strong waves of irritation, each one rolling off of his shoulders and hitting her hard in the gut like a bowling ball.  Her mental defenses were barely able to keep him out and she could actually feel his irritation beginning to seep into her body. [i]Not good[/i], Hannah hissed internally, placing her hands on her stomach in an attempt to force her breathing to slow, [i]Not good, not good, not good! Will you please just[/i] [b]calm the fuck down?! Please?![/b]

The young man whose long legs had already carried him halfway across the room stopped abruptly, as if an unseen weight glued his shoes to the floor. [i]Jesus![/i] she swore, digging her nails into the tender flesh of her knees, [i]Calm down or leave already![/i] His irritation was definitely beginning to sink it. Crap.

She heard the sharp hiss of air through teeth and watched as the young man’s hands clenched tightly at his sides. 

[i]I was on my [u]fucking[/u] way out of the [u]fucking[/u] room already. You don’t need to tell me twice.[/i]

She blinked. What was that? The thought wasn’t hers. It didn’t sound like her. It tasted strangely in her mind, foreign, but not unpleasant. It was rough, masculine, its tone thick with irritation and spiked with surprise. [i]Funny[/i], thought Hannah absently. The tone mirrored the emotional cloud swirling about the stranger’s retreating back.

[i]And next time, would you kindly [u]not[/u] deafen me, thanks?[/i]

[i]Oh my god.[/i] Hannah’s eyes flew open as wide as they were able, shock flooding out anything else in her system. Pure adrenaline carried her tiny body across the floor, where she leapt up on a couch, tottering precariously on the arm so that she was eyelevel with the man. It was all she could do to keep from hugging the stranger. [i]You can hear me! You can actually hear me![/i]

[i]Not… Not exactly the reaction I was expecting.[/i] The man turned his head briefly, but was continuing down the hall just as quickly. The knife’s edge of irritation dulled, less potent than it had been only a few seconds before. [i]If you’re going to come, come. You’re looking like a goddamn psycho right now, and that’s coming from me.[/i] A laugh echoed in her mind, accompanied by the slight acidic bite of self-deprecation.

Electric joy sizzled in Hannah’s veins and a stupid smile threatened to split her face in two. [i]Absolutely![/i] she mentally cheered, jumping to the floor and scrambling for her bags. On her way there she tripped over her high heels, landing hard and bruising her hands and knees. She was only down for a second though, launching herself back to her feet to collect her things before returning to the stranger’s side, silly grin still intact. [i]Lead the way![/i]

She followed the young man up the stairs, taking four steps for every one of his strides. [i]He can hear me![/i] she whispered in her head, [i]Oh, well you can hear me. Sorry about that, ha.[/i] It was going to be an interesting adjustment, sharing her mental space, but she was just so elated to be talking, nothing else seemed to matter. He stopped at door, on of many on a long hallway that would serve as their living quarters, and Hannah looked up into his face, eyes sparkling with interest.

[i]Yeah, and we’ll work out why such that’s a big deal when I put my stuff down.[/i] He had two black, inexpensive bags, a backpack and a duffle bag, but when he pushed open the door he only put down one of them, using the second as a marker to hang on the handle of the one next to it.

“Least they’ve got a nice view,” he said aloud, more politely than the voice in her head had been. 

Hannah was blinded by an image, her reality falling away and replaced with another. The crests of small waves caught the moonlight, glittering like fish scales or diamonds as a warm, salty breeze filled her nose and lungs. [i]Moving up in the world, Alistair… Disgustingly opulent.[/i]

[i]I agree[/i] nodded Hannah. The house was too much for her tastes, just too much in general. [i]You’re name is Alistair, then?[/i] she asked, [i]It’s a real pleasure to meet you. I’m Hannah.[/i] She tried to put as much enthusiasm as she could into her mental voice, not that it was hard. She was overflowing with warmth, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

[i]Yeah.[/i] His fingers tightened around the doorframe for a minute, but his features – including worry lines no nineteen year old should have had – smoothed out. [i]Nice to meet you, I guess, Hannah.[/i]

She was so distracted, she didn’t notice his hand shooting out to shake her own until it was too late. [i][b]NO![/b][/i]

[img]http://i1062.photobucket.com/albums/t486/isthistaken1/Alistair-Hughes.png[/img]

Alistair was no stranger to unexpected noises – even loud ones. There was the odd person so wrapped up in their own thoughts that it was all they (and he) could hear, but those weren’t so frequent as the bone-chilling accidents, pain, [i]anticipation[/i] of pain, terror… Hospitals were gruesome, but so was the couple who lived in the flat above him. They screamed at each other in their minds.

And out loud, too.

He never got used to it. Eyes closed in pain as if a gun had fired right next to his ear, but it was too late. If Alistair thought grieving mothers and dying crash victims were the worst possible minds he’d ever accidentally slipped into… Well, he was dead wrong. Touching Hannah’s hand alone ripped his consciousness apart at the seams and moulded into something else, warped it with a lifetime of memories. It was enough for him to understand the flashes of the past fluttering at the corners of his eyes like butterflies, or moths.

[Warm brown hands, sheathed in plastic gloves rubbed circles over his back, spreading the ointment thin, careful not to let their skin touch. “Who did this to you, [i]cher[/i]?” asked a patient voice, laced with motherly concern. The voice was enough to calm his nerves, ease the pain in his heart. He could almost forget about the sting of the hundreds of fire-ant bites that covered his small body. He shook his head no.]

[He was standing in a crowd of young people, an orientation folder clutched in his right hand. It was hot, boiling hot, but still he was wearing long sleeves. He had to to be able to deal with the crowds. He could feel everyone’s emotions, thousands of them, the weight raging against his spine, threatening to make his skeleton collapse. He was drowning in it.]

[He was in the hospital, clutching the same brown hands from before, but now withered and grayed. He was sad, so, so, sad, the rift opening up inside him threatening to swallow him whole. He didn’t want her to go. She couldn’t go. She was the only one he had left. He listened to her breathing, labored, the sound like the tearing of metal. He wanted to help her and only knew one way. He took off his gloves.]

Alistair wrenched himself away – “Sorry, s-sorry...” – but it wasn’t enough for him to wipe away the fog, to separate their minds for any longer than three seconds. This was all his fault. What a surprise! Almost as soon as he made sense of the bleached walls of the mansion, one hand holding himself up and embedded with splinters from his white-knuckled grip on the wooden frame and the other dangling limply by his side, he was assaulted again by a dazzling array of colours, too dark to be a rainbow.

Something was tugging at him, at metaphorical shirt-tails at the very edge of his mind. It was stealing, it was leaching, and though he did certainly [i]try[/i] to stem the flow as one would a nosebleed, it was futile. Speaking of nosebleeds… He had one. A migraine too. A backache, leftover itchiness, an overwhelming sadness that he couldn’t quite shake off and God only knew what else.

[i]We’re not touching anymore. It should be fine. It should be fine.[/i] He slid down to his knees, spurned on by some primal instinct to curl up. Then: [i]Fuck, fuck, fuck. What did [u]she[/u] see?[/i]

Hannah was on the ground now and, unlike him, she wasn’t waking up.

[i]Fuck.[/i]

He hoped she wasn’t dead. Alistair didn’t know how to hide a body.