A noise awakes her with a start. As soon as she sits in bed, she unconsciously shakes the blanket against her, holding her breath to hear more, all her senses on the watch. When the floor creaks and the noise characteristic of one of the drawers of the kitchen is heard, she has no doubt, someone entered the apartment.
Without thinking, she slips out of bed in the almost total darkness of the room and fumbles for the drawer of the dresser where she keeps a gun. Her body went into autopilot as she recalled the images of her evening. She closed the door, turned the latch and pulled the curtains in front of the living room window … open.
Shit, she swears in silence, finally spotting the weapon by contact with the cold metal among the panties and socks that now overflow the drawer. But we are on the fifth floor, she recalls, clearing herself of her imprudence.
The doors of the cupboards are open and the intruder seems to stir plastic boxes with a relative care. Understanding that he is still in the kitchen, she opens her door as discreetly as possible and runs along the hall on tiptoe.
The kitchen is right behind the wall and she pauses against it, her weapon against her chest. Her body reminds her to breathe so she blows noiselessly, trying to calm the rhythm of her heart that beats wildly. The adrenaline that rushes into her brain electrifies her, just like before when she used to go on missions; she would almost pity the poor guy who dared to break into a former member of the Marine Corps' home.
One last breath and she goes around the wall to find the intruder squatting in front of the inside of the fridge, hidden by the door.
She points her gun in front of her and advances silently towards him, her bare feet light on the ground. With a sharp kick on the door, it suddenly hits the stranger who falls on the side in a cry of surprise. The door bounces on him before finally closing, plunging the room into the relative darkness.
"What are you doing here, asshole?" she says angrily as his silhouette slowly gets up.
"Don't shoot!" he exclaims, hands outstretched above his head as a sign of surrender. "I don't want you any harm."
"Yeah well I can't say so, don't move!" she orders, reaching for the switch, keeping him in her line of sight.
No sooner has she turned her head to check that the button is within reach that she finds herself thrown back, hit right in the stomach. She falls heavily on the ground, breathless, her head narrowly avoided hitting the corner of the coffee table.
She dropped her weapon in her fall but her body reacts by instinct and rolls on itself to recover when the man reaches to her. He jumps on her and pins her to the floor. Strangely, it seems to her that he fell from the ceiling.
"Stop!" he screams in a panicked voice, sitting on her pelvis, trying to grab her arms to immobilize her. He does not succeed in the confusion of her waving her limbs as she hits him hard in the stomach with her hands joined.
As he bends forward over her in a groan of pain, holding his stomach as he tries to catch his breath, she tries to lift him from the ground and tilt him when a thick black tentacle emerges from his chest and surrounds her throat, bumping her head against the ground in a dull sound.
Her hands try to grab the strange arm that weirdly glows in the very dim light coming from the windows, but her fingers slide on the viscous material before being held back by innumerable filaments that surround them, imprisoning them, almost disappearing inside the warm goo. The shock against the floor still resonates in her head, her blurred vision vainly trying to distinguish her attacker but it is so dark in the room and she feels the air that escapes her.
The creature grips her throat a little more and she opens her mouth, desperately trying to catch a breath, frantically waving her legs in the back of the man who seems to weigh heavier than before.
"NO!" he shouts, throwing himself back with all his strength. The black threads then release the woman as suddenly as they caught her, and return inside his twitching body.
The woman coughs and rolls on the side holding her neck before getting up on her knees, anxiously seeking the intruder.
"I'm sorry, I'm not going to hurt you!" he exclaims, raising his hands in front of him.
"What the hell was that?" she exclaims between coughing fits as she gets up.
"Calm down, I'll explain," he begins, staying away from the woman who suddenly throws herself on the switch and turns on the light. "It will not do you anything if you stop …"
"Brock? !" she interrupts, looking stunned.
He freezes in his turn and stands up, watching her with curiosity. The tank top and shorts that serve as her pajamas reveal a sleek and toned body and her long hair in battle hide her face a little. But he would recognize this gaze scrutinizing him among a thousand eyes.
We know her …
"[name]? Is it you?" His voice oscillates between joy and worry, it's not every day that you fall on your high school first love and nearly kill her.
Hm… We like her…