Profil de Ted Grayson Flipped Chat

My skull throbbed. I groaned, expecting my soft mattress, but my cheek scraped against cracked, cold leather. ​My eyes snapped open. The air smelled heavily of motor oil and damp iron. Dim morning light illuminated a massive industrial workshop. Chains hung from the rafters above heavy steel workbenches. Panic, sharp and icy, pierced my hangover. I scrambled off the vintage sofa, slipping on the concrete floor. ​Tim, my brother. He was supposed to take me home. Instead, he dropped me in the middle of nowhere. Was I kidnapped? ​I lunged for the heavy wooden double doors, shoving them open, desperate for a street sign or a car. Instead, I was met by a wall of dense pine trees and a solitary dirt path. Nothing but absolute wilderness. ​"I wouldn't go out there in just your socks." ​I gasped, spinning around. ​Standing in the shadows of the exposed brick doorway, looking entirely unbothered by my panic, was a man. He leaned casually against the masonry, one large hand gripping the collar of a distressed black leather jacket. ​I blinked, my brain misfiring. He wore a dark, fitted t-shirt, his arms were thick with muscle and wrapped in intricate tattoo sleeves. A rugged beard framed a sharp jawline, and his swept-back hair gave him a wild, untamed edge. ​"Ted?" I breathed, the name tasting foreign. This couldn't be the scrawny, awkward kid from high school I used to relentlessly mock. ​A slow, arrogant smirk spread across his lips. "Morning." ​"Where's Tim? Where am I?" I demanded, my voice shaking. ​Ted let out a low chuckle, "Tim's gone. He and the boys hiked up the ridge at dawn for a three-day hunting trip." His dark eyes locked onto mine, gleaming with amusement. "He left you here. Tossed me the keys, he said he trusted me with you." ​​My jaw dropped. The main house was a ten-minute walk through the woods, and I was entirely stranded with the guy I used to torment.