VII
He was standing perfectly still, head tilted to the side, a look of deep concentration on his face. My heart sank into my chest. If the eyes really were the doorway to the soul, then I couldn't even imagine how dark he was. His cold, no longer brownish eyes were the color of coal and empty, void of any emotion.
Sneering, he roughly lifted my chin so I had no choice but to meet his flat stare, licking his lips, which was getting even more frequent. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to even guess what he was exactly thinking. I froze as he leaned in closer in a motion almost like he was going to kiss me. He smelled of peppermint and smoke, gasoline and a bit of gunpowder all mixed with the bitter odor of blood and sweat, almost too disgusting and deadly but almost even—pleasant.
I closed my eyes, shuddering as he brushed over the side of my face and then I heard the door lock turning behind my back as it clicked. Realization suddenly hit me hard in the stomach as I regained my senses. I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to be locked up in a room where a wounded stranger just threatened me with his knife. What else was he going to do to me?
Run Ellie!
I gathered all my strength and struggled to push him away, but it was useless; he was too big, too strong. Fear turned and rose inside me, twisting with anger like a storm that had nowhere to go, until I had no energy left until I accepted that there was nowhere to run until I surrendered.
I should've listened to dad.
A sop escaped my mouth as he held me and threw me to the other side of the room, my back hit the nightstand, causing a vase drop on the ground and shatter into pieces. I stared at him through unshed tears. Still unable to cry, unable to scream even. How did I trust this guy?
"Please let me go… I… I won't tell anybody." I stuttered.
Grinning smugly, he shrugged. "Now… what's the fun in that?" He took a deep breath, folding his pocket knife as he reached for his shirt, taking it off, swiftly. I swallowed thickly, taking a step back which to my wonder he didn't notice. He had a lean torso rippled with muscles beneath the skin but it was also covered with scars, lots of scars.
Some of them I could guess that'd been caused by knife or something sharp but some I had no idea. My gaze rested on the edge of the wound under his arm as he turned. It went right around his ribcage. It was nasty, looking awful and still bleeding that it almost stopped me from thinking about me and what he was going to do with me next. All I was sure about was that in that condition he couldn't do anything even if he wanted to.
Still, though, he didn't complain about the wound or even made a sound that would at least show he was in pain. Casually, he walked passed me to the small bathroom at the end of the room and pulled out a first aid kit. From scared to awkward I didn't know what to do, so I walked to the bathroom staring at him in the mirror. In the dim light of the fluorescent lamp above the mirror, I saw how pale he'd become.
"That…" I stopped myself when I heard how weak I sounded. So I closed my eyes and tried again. "That wound needs stitches, immediately. "
"What do you think I'm going to do then?" He snapped, his shaky hands searching for something in the kit as I stepped into the bathroom.
"I can help." As much as I tried to sound courageous, I knew how miserable I really was. He stared at me with tired eyes, completely blank and unreadable. It lasted for a good minute maybe longer as I found myself zoning out and then suddenly snapped out of it the moment he smacked his lips and raised a brow as if daring me to take a step closer.
Somehow with all the bleedings and the scars carved all over on his toned body, he stood like a cold hard stone still I could imagine how painful this might have been so I started searching in the kit for something to ease the pain.
"Do you… " I stopped myself, my voice was obviously shaking, swallowing thickly though I continued. " Do you have a Valium? "
He let out a dry laugh, sitting on the toilet seat, he said, his voice rough and scratchy. "How much is enough for you?" I gaped at him as he scoffed. "Don't bother kiddo, that stuff doesn't work on me."
"But that's impossible… there must be at least some sort of sedative that would work on you—" I was freaked out as he suddenly grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to the tip of his nose almost brushed against mine.
"Listen up… " He purred, almost dizzily, he seemed as if he might pass out as if all the blood in his head had drained to the wound but still he was fighting it. " Kit-tie… as much as I love our little…chit chatting, I'm not in the mood now so… how about you shut up and uh… sew me up, hmm?How does that sound? "
He didn't let me respond, pushing me back and it took everything in me not to break into tears as I focused on the wound under his armpit. I grabbed a pretty decent towel from the linen closet and applied pressure to the cut to try and stop the blood that was pouring out. First: clean the cut. I told myself as I lifted it up and then started probing the wound. My hands were trembling so was his body, I took a quick glance at his dark eyes. They didn't look so dark anymore, anymore now. I could even detect a little green in them if I could stare at them longer but I had to turn away and as stupid as it sounds this new-found discovery made me a little confidence in myself.
Without saying a word though, he took over and pressed his trembling hand on the towel as I proceeded to look for something to clean the wound. My fingers soon, wrapped around the small bottle of alcohol at the corner of the bathroom, I walked to him, pushed his hand away gently and lifted up the towel once again as I splashed the liquid without any warning. I half expected him to cry out or at least jump a little but he only flinched in response, pressing his eyelids to close together.
I felt nauseous. The things I've done that morning. I had to thank my dad but I didn't know why it was so difficult to be happy with him. The wound looked clean and ready for some stitches. I was scared again. I started looking for a needle and thread in the kit, trying to keep my hands steady, without a tremor this time. This man was no rabbit. He was a wounded wolf. However… I took one last look at the gash. It was nasty. Ugly. Almost as awful as all the other scars on his body. I had to sew up the gash; I had to make my stitches as small and neat as I could. Like an artist. I felt like throwing up. Pressing the flesh together, I began stitching with the thread that held the wound in place. If I tremble he would see it. My fingers worked with him as nimbly as I could. I noticed he had his eyes closed, his muscles tensing as I pinched the wound together. He didn't complain about the pain as I clipped the last stitch then letting out my breath I finally took a step back.
"You should rest." My voice sounded sickly. I knew I wasn't supposed to feel like that but I haven't had eaten anything since morning, I left home in that state of mind and then this… this happened. I shouldn't have to be so hard on myself yet I was and I hated myself for that and for sounding so small in front of him.
He didn't say anything. Still, eyes closed as he got up, passing over me and I didn't know whether I was extremely insignificant or not that he paid no mind to me not even a small thank you escaped his lips but I guess I should've known better than someone like him.
"I… I think I should really get going now. "
He was standing still near the window. At his side magazines and newspapers littered on a small round table, an ashtray overflowed with butts, sat on top of the mess and other things I couldn't exactly differ in the twilight of the room. The only light was from the nightstand, flooding the room with cheap yellow glow. I just stood there awkwardly, my feet feeling numb. Last traces of fear were now gone and I was only tired now. All I wanted was to go back home.
He didn't say anything and that made me all the more frustrated. Picking up a dirty shirt from the corner of the room, I saw he stumbled across the bed and punched the play button of an old and dusty cassette player. The sound of tempos blasted in the room. The music seemed familiar. Something I knew but I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. I wasn't much into music; I only listened to everything was trending on the radio—
Funny how secrets travel
I'd start to believe if I were to bled
Thin Skies, the man chains his hands held high
I stared at him, walking yet again to the table, slumping in a chair. Rummaging in his the pocket of his pants and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He thumbed back the top, fit his lips around one and drew it out, bringing his other hand up simultaneously to light it. He inhaled. Completely lost. But no—
Cruise me blond
Cruise me, babe,
A blond belief beyond beyond beyond
No return No return
He wasn't lost.
I was.
Somewhere in between all that mess, he caught me staring, took the cigarette from his mouth and held it out to me, offering. I guess I once smoked back in school. The girls were smoking and they offered and I thought it was totally uncool to refuse. I was already an outcast and that would make it so much worse. I just took a quick drag which ended with me coughing hideously. That didn't work. Not only they all laughed at me when I got home, dad found out and it was terrible.
I'm deranged
Deranged my love
I'm deranged down down down
So cruise me babe Cruise me, baby,
Once I thought, I was ready to say the hell with everything but now it was different. I couldn't take the joint. I shouldn't have felt safe here; I shouldn't have enjoyed the music. I shouldn't have…
And the rain sets in
It's the angel-man
I'm deranged
But I was also tired. Tears filled my eyes. I didn't know why. I had enough for today and he was a mess so why did I feel like crap, then? The music slowly began to fade.
And so was I, when I took the joint and closed my eyes.
A/N: The lyrics belong to David Bowie's "I'm deranged..."
I'm so sorry if this chapter felt like a filler but hopefully more is on the way...
Thanks for all the reviews and comments and I'm so sorry for the delay
