STORY SUMMARY: Things were going fine for me until I blacked out one night and woke to a demon butler serving tea and scones. He's convinced I've made a contract with him—I'm convinced he's lying.

Rating: T (Subject to change)

GENERAL DISCLAIMER: It's not my sandbox. I'm just playing in it.

Sweetness

Part Two

I liked to think my survival instincts were up to par as I swung my weapon, smashing the proffered teacup out of his grasp and sending it careening against the wall. A pale stain formed where the beverage had splattered across my carpet; I spared it only the briefest of glances before my eyes darted back to my perpetrator.

"Who are you and what heck are you doing in my apartment?!" I shouted, uncaring if I disturbed my floor-mates. Perhaps even hoping (probably in vain) that someone would have the cognitive sense to call the cops. Though, knowing the kinds of people whom took up residence in my building, it was doubtful. The place was affordable for a reason.

Appearing only slightly perturbed by my violent outburst, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Probably-Criminally Insane, calmly placed the breakfast tray down on my night stand and rested a gloved hand above his heart. I might have been gaping as he followed that up with an audacious bow.

"Forgive me, my lady, I've acted carelessly. I was informed last night that you may not remember our encounter." He straightened, frowning slightly. "While that may complicate matters, I see no reason why we cannot simply reintroduce ourselves. You are Zella Marie Frey—"

With no small amount of effort, I lifted and pointed my bat at the guy with narrowed eyes, promptly cutting him off. The slight trembling of the aluminum betrayed my fear.

"W-What, I don't know what you're talking about. My memory is working great, you're just not in it! I even know my own name, thank you very much—so there's no point trying to remind me. And how did you even get in here? I reinforced all my locks!"

The man parted his lips as if to respond but a sloppy jab from my new best friend (which, annoyingly enough, he managed to side step with ease) solved that problem.

"Actually, no, never mind any of that." I ground out. "Just—just leave. I want you to go." No movement. I tried again.

"Get out!" Nada.

My courage was rapidly diminishing along with my volume; as he set a foot forward, edging along the corner of my bed frame, I squeaked and shuffled backwards.

"Please?" It was an afterthought and I wasn't at all surprised when it also had zilch effect. In lieu of taking my directive, he continued smiling that disarming smile and began approaching at a steadier pace.

My dad, being a military man, had once drilled it into my frontal lobe to never turn my back on an opponent. I tried to keep that advice in mind as I was herded further and further into a corner.

"I'm afraid I can't follow that order, my lady, as it violates our contract." He certainly didn't look sorry—in fact, he looked the exact opposite of sorry. It wasn't hard to guess that to some degree, he was enjoying himself. It made me want to knock his face in—and I would have tried if I wasn't a three-hundred percent sure that it would result in me getting killed faster.

And what contract was he referring to? I hadn't been lying when I said I'd never seen the guy before in my life; regardless of the nonsense he was spouting...why was I even considering the existence of a contract at all? This loon was clearly a few crayons short of a Crayola pack. Being devastatingly handsome didn't change that.

I eyeballed the waning amount of vacant space separating us; with each passing second he drew just a little bit nearer, as if unsure of the best method to coax a frightened animal out from it's hiding spot. I glowered—because no way would I be treated as a scared kitten in my last moments of life. This stranger, whoever he was, was clearly planning on doing terrible, horrible, unspeakable things to me and I refused to go down without a fight.

He must have sensed my shifting resolve, because suddenly he was advancing much too quickly, much too soon. As he began toeing the boundary of my personal bubble, I swung the bat, striking only air. He continued dodging each assault with expert precision until finally seizing the top end with a single hand—halting my attack along with my heartbeat. My soon to be executioner met my eyes with an unabashed gaze and I absently noticed their odd shade of burgundy. Decidedly lovely—despite whose stupid-terror-inducing face they were attached to.

As those gleaming orbs found and held my own, I was loath to admit that my bottom lip began to quiver; my tear ducts followed suit, producing water without consent. Still, I glared up at him with abandon as he used his grip on my weapon to confiscate then toss it aside as if it were a twig. It hit the floor with a resounding thud.

AN: A reader once asked me why I was keeping my chapters so short. Because it's a drabble folks. It's even posted in the description. Drabbles=short but frequent updates. Drabbles also decrease the chances of author abandonment because they're relatively easy to write. :)