Tell Nobody (working title?)
A/N: Hello! This is my first fanfic ever. So, please go easy on me! This is just the first chapter, but I will update if you guys enjoy this and want me to continue. Please leave your thoughts and opinions! Love and peace, avecglitterxo.
CHAPTER 1: The Red Haired Intruder
I stand just outside the room, my back flat against the wall, eyes still adjusting to the darkness in the hallway, breathing heavily and trying to prepare myself for whatever could be waiting for me around the corner. I steady myself, building the courage to turn the corner into the lounge.
Taking a deep breath, I whirl into the room, searching for and flicking the light switch as I enter.
My breath catches in my throat and my heart pounds for what feels like the last time.
In the corner, comfy in my armchair sits a man. The man is slumped, his head down, showing only his tangled red hair. His hands tighten around the arms of the chair, knuckles whitening, boasting old wounds. They are tanned and clearly belong to a man who is no stranger to a fight. The tears in his jeans reveal scuffed and bloody knees, another tell-tale sign of the kind of man he must be. My eyes dart down the length of his legs, where I notice the mans thick leather boots, worn with age. He lifts his head slowly as he senses my presence, revealing a thin red stubble, and dark tired eyes. A relaxed smile pulls at the corners of his scarred lips as he registers my terror.
"You woke me," he accused, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Within seconds, I've launched myself across the room towards the opposite door, my heart pounding. The man makes no obvious attempts to pursue me.
I'm in the kitchen before I hear him call after me, his voice emotionless.
"I'm not the enemy, little one."
My stomach churns at the pet name this stranger has awarded me.
I turn, ready to run but am halted by his slender, but tall body leaning lazily against the door way. I allow myself a few seconds to take him in, analysing the situation, deciding whether I would be able to dodge around him or push him out of the way. The man looks almost bored. My heart is in my throat and I'm backing away, face flushed and tears threatening to spill from my stinging eyes when I finally see the mans confidence falter. He looks questioningly at me for a moment, his eyes scanning me, leaving a trail of crawling skin behind. I feel nauseated as he observes seemingly every inch of my trembling form. He reaches out a hand, stepping towards me.
"No," I whimper, unable to say any more than that.
I curse myself for sounding so weak.
"It's ok," the red haired stranger says, almost convincingly.
I feel ridiculous for almost believing him.
"Who are you?" I stutter, positioning my body in front of the kitchen drawer, allowing my arm to reach round to ease it open.
"Well, I don't-"
"You're in my house." I state, somewhat pointlessly.
His eyes flicker to my extended arm and back to my face, giving me a sympathetic smile. He reaches out, ignoring that I could have a kitchen knife in my grasp quicker than he could reach me. I twitch away from his searching hand, but he doesn't pull away. He wraps his somewhat knarled hand around my wrist. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for him to crush my thin wrist. I wait for the searing pain that is sure to follow, but I feel nothing. Shaking, I open my eyes. Slowly, one at a time. The man says nothing but leads me to the kitchen table, seating me in the corner of the room.
I sit at the table, trying to calm the frantic tremors running through my body. Trying to tame the the adrenaline raging through my veins. The stranger says nothing. I say nothing, even though I can feel his unfamilar eyes burning into my temple from the opposite side of the table. I turn my head in time to see him look me over one more time before beginning to speak quickly and in a hushed tone.
"Listen to me," he instructs, leaning across the small table until I can almost feel his breath on my face.
My eyes dart towards his face, to his hands knotted together on the wooden surface and then back down to my own fists balled in my lap. I feel sweat pooling on my back of my neck, the hairs on my arms standing on end, each wanting to escape from this intruder as much as I do.
"I'm sorry I gave you a fright," he says.
I scoff at the potential sarcastic replies in my head, still to laced with terror to voice any of them.
"I shouldn't of," he continued, his lips betraying his amusement at the situation. He leans back in his chair, pondering something before putting his weight back on the table, his face serious. Any trace of amusement now gone from his no longer glimmering eyes.
I wait.
"You're not safe here," he begins again. "You know you're not safe here. Why are you still here?"
I feel every breath on my cheek. Why am I listening to this stranger? Why have I not called the police? My heartbeat quickens again. Because I know he's right. I want to deny it. But what would be the point? He's right. I argue with myself for a few more seconds before deciding to take my chances.
"What then?" I spit in the mans direction. He may not be the immediate danger, but that doesn't mean, in any way, that I trust him.
His brow furrows, considering his reply for a few seconds too long. I hear the sound of splintering wood, my front door being smashed as if it were glass. A male voice. Another. Multiple voices. Multiple footsteps all moving in one direction. Towards me. Us. Fast.
They're here.