It never took me long to hitch a ride from a stranger. I didn't have the money for a taxi and was looking to go much farther than that. I was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana for the first eighteen years of my life and once I could leave, I left. I packed a bag and flew the coop the second I could. I didn't have a shot in hell in college; I dropped out after a semester. It's not that I wasn't smart, but I just didn't have the money. So I bartended on Bourbon Street and made a lot of money in tips before I threw everything in a backpack and decided to head west after an altercation that didn't end too well. I always managed to get a free ride from some kind gentleman who was naïve enough to let a pretty girl in dirty clothes into his car. I became the master of the hijack, and I managed to leave five men stranded on the side of the highway after I stole their car and drove it until it ran out of gas. Removing my fingerprints from the car was surprisingly easy and I would check out the news and police reports every time: not a trace of me left behind. I was a natural when it came to this criminal stuff.

I decided that I had gone far enough when I reached northern California. I left the car behind in Oakley but hiked my way over to Beacon Hills a few towns over. I stopped there due to the mass amount of abandoned locations that I managed to find, making it the perfect place for a homeless girl to stay.

I didn't realize, however, the mass amount of wolves that Beacon Hills had. I heard howling often at night, but I didn't want to blow all of the remaining money I had from bartending on a hotel. I used public restrooms whenever I needed one and I used the sinks in the handicap stalls to bathe. It wasn't as nice as a shower, and I realized over time that I needed to step up my game and start breaking into homes in order to bathe. The first few break-ins were successful. I scoped out the place before, making sure no one was home and that there were no alarms. Some people didn't even lock their doors. My showers were quick, so getting out of there before they got home wasn't a concern.

It was the seventh house that I broke into in which I was caught. I didn't realize that the house had a basement and figured no one was home. As I stepped out of my shower and slipped on my bra and panties, the door kicked open and a knife was thrown at me. I managed to dodge it in time, being warned by the kicked open door, and I immediately ran for it and grasped it. The person who threw it also made a dash for it but I reached it before he did. He tried disarming me but failed – it was a good thing I took karate lessons as a kid and had adrenaline rushing at this point – and I kicked him down and immediately straddled him, putting the knife to his throat. He was rather attractive. He had dark hair and large blue eyes, with full lips and defined cheekbones.

"It's funny," he spoke, his voice as smooth as you'd expect it to be, "how you're the one who broke into my house but I'm the one who has a knife to my throat."

"I didn't think I was doing anything wrong, pretty boy," I frowned. "After all, you threw a knife at me which I thought was completely unnecessary."

"You broke into my house!" he reminded me. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"I was leaving in like two minutes anyways," I told him. "You could have just asked nicely instead of trying to kill me."

"You can get off of me now," he glared.

"What, do you have a problem with mostly naked women on top of you?" I teased, giving him a wink as I removed the knife from his neck, but not letting go of it. "I mean, if that's your thing, I won't judge. The hot ones are always gay."

"No, it's just that it's distracting me from the fact that you broke into my house. That's a potential felony."

"I'm pretty sure attempted murder will get you more years in jail than me just breaking into your house to borrow your shower," I grinned. He let out a laugh.

"I'm sure they'd understand," he defended himself. "Now if you wouldn't mind getting off of me and out of my house, I would appreciate it."

"You could at least be a little more polite," I rolled my eyes, getting off of him but keeping the knife. "My goodness, didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

I felt his eyes on me as I bent over to pick up my clothes and as I slowly put them on. I did my best to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible, and I also had to make sure to not cut my clothes or myself with the knife. "I don't think manners apply when someone breaks into your home," he frowned. "And regardless, I don't really care for manners."

"If you're going to check me out that much," I retorted as I put my jacket on, "then the least you could do is ask me out to dinner."

"What if instead, I let you shower here from now on so you stop breaking into people's houses?" he leaned against the door, his hands finding his pockets.

"What's the catch?" I asked, tying my boots.

"You have to shower with me," he winked.

I could only laugh in shock. "Oh! Well then," I placed my hands on my hips, still holding the knife. I made sure it was pointing away from me. "I suppose it's better than nothing."

"Are you serious?" he asked, looking skeptical. "I was serious."

"So am I," I bit my bottom lip as I smiled. "Considering I have to break into people's houses, it'll be nice to be allowed for a change. But why are you being so generous, Mister..?"

"Hale," he introduced. "Peter, to be specific. It's because part of me actually kind of feels bad for you, considering you're homeless yet very attractive and presumably in my age group. Also, your accent suggests that you are definitely not from around here and have nowhere else to go. I do have a heart deep in here somewhere," he placed his fist on his chest.

"Ouch, homeless is a rough way to word it," I shook my head. "I've found a comfortable place to sleep in that old distillery, thank you very much."

"Well, how about this," Peter crossed his arms. "If you're nice enough, maybe I'll even give you a nice bed to sleep in."

"And how do I know you won't kill me?"

"I don't even know your name, sweetheart," Peter smirked.

"Alexandria," I gave him the satisfaction. "Don't call me Lexi."

"Can't make any promises." Peter winked at me as I slipped past him out of his bathroom. He walked with me to the front door. "Do I get my knife back?"

"After you threw it at me?" I feigned pondering. "Maybe one day," I flashed him a smile.

"I'm gonna like you," Peter declared. "When should I expect you to come by next?"

"When am I allowed? Don't want any more knives thrown at me."

"This time tomorrow morning?" he suggested. I checked my watch: it was 9:30 AM.

"I'll be back," I waved to Peter, who waved back as I through the woods in order to explore the town a bit. I wasn't sure what I had gotten myself into, but I figured things couldn't get any worse.