Song of the Chapter: So Good-B.O.B

(21)

I wandered into the bathroom, a pair of shorts clenched in my hands. I looked at the mirror, where a reflection of a frustrated young boy stared back at me. I may be tan, but I didn't have his caramel skin. My eyes may be blue but not as light and vivid as his baby blues. I sighed. I was nothing compared to him. That guy, who appeared out of nowhere seconds before Stephen disconnected the video call. I didn't know why I even compared myself to him, since I haven't even met him in person but something...something that vibed off him hit me hard. Through the laptop into my heart like a shot of electricity.

Danger...

And that guy kept appearing in my dreams for the past two nights like hell. And they all were somehow revolved around Stephen. And I didn't like it.

I jumped violently when something fluffly curled around my left calf. A soft purring sound filled the air, someone rubbing their head against my calf sending chills through my body. "Sheamo!" I bent and picked the ginger kitten up into my arms, grinning down at him. I carried him here two nights ago, both of us with John covered in snow. The perfect coincidences were that he and Stephen's hair was ginger, with green eyes. Kitten's eyes were a lot lighter, black irises wide, revealing only the slightest of the green. It purred. It was so small that it could curl into a ball and sleep in my joined palms. "There you are," I scratched its neck. "Are you still angry at me? If Stephen saw you in our bed he would've scolded both you and me. That's why I hid you under the bed!"

It gave me a flat look. I laughed out loud. "We'll make him forgive us when he finally catches us together." Sheamus yawned, like he didn't think that whatever I was planning, wasn't going to work. The exact persona of Stephen. "You naughty cat."

"Dirty little secret, eh?" I almost dropped the kitten. Brock's large frame leaning against the bathroom door made my breath hitch. It took me a few seconds to calm down and fully take in the expression in his face. He was smirking. But not that dark, cruel smirk he had on a number of occasions before. A new, almost awkward one. I set Sheamus on the floor, but it kept rubbing off against my legs, without leaving the room. Honestly, I was glad of this little presence between me and Brock.

"I couldn't leave him outside when it was cold and snowing... He was alone."

I dropped my gaze to the floor when Brock straightened up and took two long steps towards me and stopped. Still, even after I was a bit comfortable around him, he was intimidating me. His finger hooked under my chin, lifting it up and forcing me to look at him. He stared at me for a few seconds, before dropping his hand and placing it above my heart on my chest.

"One day, this heart of yours is going to get you in big trouble," he said, tilting his head. I placed my hands on his chest and gently pushed him away, when his head lowered as if to kiss me.

"Please," I mumbled, stepping back. "Can you... I need to shower." I turned my back to him, waiting for him to leave the room. For a moment I didn't hear anything, but then I heard his retreating footfall. When I turned around, he was gone. But possibly in my bedroom. And I was right. He was sitting at the edge of my bed staring into nothing when I went to close the door. Quickly stripping off, I got into the glass shower stall.

Turning the meter into steaming hot water, I let it hit my body. Soon enough steam started to fog around me, and the air around me turned hotter. It actually felt nice. Closing my eyes I tilted my face up, letting hot water hit on it. I knew I was going to be red all over when I finally get out, but I didn't care. By the time I was at Hunter's bar, I'd be fine. But I had to ditch Brock expertly. Because the way he came into my room, at this time of the day, it seemed like he wanted to spend the rest of his day with me. A shiver rushed down my spine.

I yelped in fear when arms enclosed me, pinning me flat against the glass wall. I wriggled, knowing that it was Brock. He emerged out of Smokey air, and I gasped when his body pressed against mine, naked. "Brock, get out!" I whimpered, finding unable to move with Brock forcing me back.

"Don't fight me," he murmured in my ear, and I couldn't breathe. I could feel him; all of him, nude, aroused and demanding. I whimpered again, the pitch of my stomach clenching painfully with dread. My eyes were wide, steam hitting against them and burning but I couldn't blink, not even if it took only a second.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" My voice cracked at the end, as I squirmed against him.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" his calm demeanor only managed to rile my dread even more. "I'm not going to hurt you." A fearful mewl escaped from my lips, those words echoing in my head. I was scared; Shitless scared and I didn't hide it.

"What are you doing?" My words were shaky, lips trembling as I asked the same question again. I could think of only one thing he was going to do. And that was to hurt me. I cringed when his teeth grazed my shoulder blade, nipping at my skin. His lower parts pressed more tightly against mine, and I panted with the need to get out of there.

"I want you," those three words made me realize that my guess was correct. It would be a wonder if I get out of here alive. His hot breath fanned against the crook of my neck, before he sunk his teeth into my flesh. I yelped in pain, but he covered my mouth with one of his meaty hands, blocking out my voice. I struggled violently against him, mustering up whatever the strength I had in me and pushing him as hard as I can. His other hand crept behind me, grabbing one of my ass cheeks. I bit his hand, causing him to hiss and yank his hand back. Taking the small of that advantage I slipped away from his hold, hasting towards the glass sliding door. I was almost there, when arms snaked around me waist and yanked me back, my back connecting with the glass wall again. I swear I heard a crack.

I whined in pain, tears now pooling in my eyes as a result of the nausea I was feeling and the eerie emotion that had settled in the bottom of my heart. The only thing I could think of was failing the one job I had to do; Saving myself for Stephen.

"Stop it, please!" I begged, sobbing when he attempted to make his actions gentle and soothing. The tip of his nose trailed the line of my jaw to my chin, planting a brief kiss on my skin. "You can't do this!"

"But I can," he chuckled, nuzzling his face against my hair. "Why is it so hard to give yourself in to me, Randal? I could treat you so much better than Stephen." That, I had no doubt. But he would not do it by the way I liked, not like Stephen.

"I already gave in...to someone else," I closed my eyes, finally admitting what I had done out loud. It was the truth. Maybe not physically, but emotionally, mentally I was Stephen's.

He grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling it back and exposing my throat. Gasping out as jolts of pain shot through my scalp, I grabbed his hand, trying to make him release my hair. "Does that mean you are no longer a virgin?" He hissed, his hand closing around my throat and squeezing me. How did he even know that? I could only choke, attempting to inhale give some air for my screaming lungs.

"Brock...please," I chocked out, wheezing.

He suddenly let me go, my legs giving out underneath and I slid onto my knees coughing for life. Those black spots that had appeared in my vision slowly faded, clearing the sight. But my head spun, my mind clouded in emotion. Shaking violently, I moved to a corner when Brock nudged me with his foot, an angry jab at my side. "You are right where you should be, you little whore." He whispered harshly, bending down to get in my face. I pressed against the wall as much as I can, my hands hovering over my face, a sad attempt to shield away from Brock's cold gaze. "I should've taken you sooner."

"You're fucking insane," I heard myself whisper, before flinching as Brock crouched down next to me. He gripped my hair again, pulling my face closer. I couldn't control the tears that ran down my cheeks but I was glad of the hot water that cascaded down on me, concealing the tears.

"I'm not insane... Do you hear me? I'M NOT INSANE!"

My breathing stopped. That almost sounded like Brock was trying to convince himself that he was...sane. His grip on me loosened and he let himself sit on the floor, beside me. All the anger in his face vanished the next second, replacing a blank, hypnotic expression. His lips moved like he was mumbling something like 'he killed her.'

I hugged myself, staring at him in a mixture of fear and sympathy. Time passed, I didn't know how much. The water was turning cold. Brock had gone completely still, and the only things in his small glass box that moved were his lips. I inched away from him, crawling to the sliding door. The whimper he let out had me frozen, on my knees, one hand on the handle. "Don't go..."

My chest tightened as I stayed looking at him, unable to move.

"Please don't go..."

I shook my head. Whether it was at myself or him I didn't know, but what I did know was that I had to get out of there. But my body was glued to the spot and I couldn't move. A tiny voice in the back of my head whispered it was because I didn't want to. Just to challenge that voice, I turned the handle.

"Randal..." Brock's voice was tiny, even if he was twice the size of me. My heart thudded loudly in my chest, booming in my ears. I couldn't understand Brock. His actions, his emotions, his words, his expressions...everything. The only question that nagged me was, what was he trying to do? He said he wants me but still hurt me, again and again. Physically and emotionally. He doesn't want me to be with Stephen and he claims that he'll treat me better than him yet...he's as worse as Stephen.

Playing with my feelings was one thing. But playing with my head...

"Stay..." Brock's eyes were as light as silver. I remembered Stephen saying that my eyes changed to that color when I was feeling down... Does that mean Brock was sad and regretting his actions? No. Someone like Brock never regrets things like that. He reached out to me. I cringed away, furiously sliding the door to the side and exiting the stall. I kept my eyes forward as I heard him pleading for me to come back, to come and be with him...to not leave him alone. I swallowed back a whimper of dread myself. Life in this house was fucking twisted.

The next second, a piercing sound of glass shattering rammed the echoing walls of the bathroom. Gasping, my eyes wide in fear I spun around to see Brock still sitting on the floor, but he was holding his head in his hands and one side of the glass stall was completely broken, pieces of sharp glass scattered across the floor. Blood was seeping out of the cuts and scratches in his right arm, and the horrid realization of he might have punched the glass to break it crossed my mind.

I ran to him avoiding the glass pieces, crouching down and cupping his face. "What the hell did you do?!" He just stared at me blankly, slightly shaking. It was like he was looking right through me, at something else. "You're hurt," I toned the harshness in my voice down. "Jesus..." I grunted, trying to lift him up to his feet but failing terribly. He weighed like a ton. "Brock, you aren't helping me... Can you... Can you stand up?"

He did, slowly, bracing against the tiled wall with his good hand. The other one... I gulped. It looked so sickening that I didn't want to keep looking at. But Brock acted like he was immune to the pain it caused. I hesitantly wrapped my arm around his waist, and he immediately leaned more than half of his weight against me. I swallowed back an uncomfortable grunt, but helped him out of the bathroom. And I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that we were both naked, pressed against. I lead him to the bed, and motioned for him to sit there. He looked at me, then at the bed. His jaws twitched hard as he glared at the bed for an unknown reason and proceeded his way to the chair at the work table and sat down. Wasting only a second, the first thing I did was pulling on the shorts I took to the bathroom.

When I returned, Brock was trying to slide his legs into his pants and...

I turned my back to him, picking the phone on the night stand. I dialed the digit that connected to the kitchen, and waited.

"Bourne, here," Evan's voice rang through the line.

"Evan... I need you to call Dr. Michaels and ask him to come here immediately. It's an emergency," I cleared my throat, noticing the rasp in my voice.

"Right, away," the line went dead, and I assumed that he was calling the family doctor right away. Tossing the phone onto the bed, I glanced at Brock. He was sitting motionless, bare-chested like a statue at a museum.

"Brock?" I reluctantly called out. He blinked, and that was all. Resisting the urge to sigh, I stood up and walked over to him. "Why did you do that?"

He blinked again, and then turned his head away. "Because you wouldn't stay..." A lump formed in my throat. Why was he acting like this? Like... He was obsessed? Before I could ask anything else, someone knocked at my door. Casting a final glance at Brock, I went to open the door.

"Are you okay?" Evan bursted, looking me up and down about thousand times before his gaze settled on my face.

"Yeah," I muttered, leaning against the door frame and sighing. The twist in my guts was tightening, so painfully as I felt Brock's cold gaze land on me.

"Randy….?" His eyes narrowed. I dropped my gaze.

"Not for me…" I toed the floor, "Brock cut his arm…."

"What is he doing in your room?" Eyes widening, Evan took a step back, whispering.

"I don't know," my answer was honest. "I don't want to know either. Just… bring me a towel." I left the door open, and walked over to the closet, to grab a t-shirt. I sensed Evan linger in the doorway just a little bit more and then swiftly disappeared down the corridor. Whether it was because the need of the towel or the glare Brock was sending out I didn't know.

"When did you get that tattoo on your shoulder?" Look how casual Brock looked and talked with me, like moments ago he didn't try to…try to…

I sat on my bed, the furthest away from him. "Two days ago," muttering, I rubbed the back of my neck. I avoided looking at him, because I knew the blood that was flowing out of his wounds that wetted and pooled on the floor will nausea me.

"Does it have a meaning?"

I stared at him blankly. No, I wasn't thinking about a meaning when getting it. It was just to…show off.

"You saw the tattoo on my chest of a sword?" I nodded slowly. I couldn't figure out where he was heading with this subject. "At one point of my life, I felt like it was holding a throat right up against my throat, so I went under the ink gun and because I never wanted to forget exactly how I felt at that time," he chuckled darkly. "This has so much meaning to me. in some ways, it's funny, because the period of my life that I so want to forget, but I know I can use this memory as motivation… The tattoo on my back… It's just the reflection I see of me when I look into the mirror."

I blinked at the memory of the monster faced tattoo on his back. Was that how he saw himself? As a monster? I bit my lip to drown in guilty. I remembered that time when I called him a monster. How much must have it hurt him? "Doesn't it hurt you to see those tattoos over and over again and be reminded of what had happened?" My voice was barely a whisper and I was surprised when he answered my question.

"It does. But it's up to you to choose to ignore it, or to live with it." I sneaked a glance at his dull grey eyes, my heart lurching at the pained look in his eyes. And it was definitely not the pain from those bleeding wounds in his arm. The pity and sympathy I felt for him buried the dread I had felt towards him. the feeling alone should have scared me, but like Brock said, I chose to ignore it.

The next hour passed with Evan cleaning up the mess on the floor and me holding the towel around Brock's arm carefully, not putting pressure at the glass pieces that were sticking out of his flesh. Dr. Michaels arrived twenty minutes later, and he kept glancing sideways at me while he tended to the injured arm. Brock's other hand was wrapped around mine, his fingers intertwined with mine. I squeezed back, letting him know that it was okay… but okay for what? Dr. Michaels didn't question how it happened, and I guessed that this was not the first time something like this happened.

When all was over, he patted gently on Brock's back with a warm smile to which Brock returned a blank look. He stood up, and without even sparing me a glance he left. Evan excused himself from me and Dr. Michaels, going into my bathroom to clean up what remained of the shattered glass. I looked awkwardly at the light brown haired man, not knowing what to say. He finished packing up his bag, looking over at me, and then at the bathroom. "Dr. Stratus told me about your condition, Randy."

"Oh," was all I could say.

"Don't be upset over her. She is a very good friend of mine and she knows that for years I've been serving this family. She only shared the details with me in case if she wasn't available at a time, I'd be able to help," Dr. Michaels gave a crooked smile.

"Did you-"

"No, I didn't. If Trish only shared it with me, it means that the matter is utterly confidential. I wanted to get your permission….to inform about this to everyone in this house about your coma condition in case something happened in the future," he lightly shrugged.

"You sound so sure that something will happen," a scowl took over my expression and he raised his hands in defense.

"I'm not…. But I'm not saying it won't happen either," his voice sounded curt. "Knowing Stephen for years, I know how he reacts to things. Specially around a barely-familiar person like you. If things get out of hands…"

"He won't do anything like that to me," I whispered, backing away. "He won't hurt me," it was as if I was trying to convince myself. Just like Brock had done an hour ago.

"You must realize that not only physical contact will harm your memory, Randy," Dr. Michaels warned. "Emotions, feelings can cause damage too…. Only severe than physical ones." I gulped, letting myself fall into a sitting position in the bed.

The emotional stress I'd have to deal with when the time finally comes for me to leave…..

I thanked God for making Evan r-appear in the bedroom. His gaze shifted to me and Dr. Michaels back and forth for a few seconds, and I feared he might have heard something. Then he excused himself again, leaving the room.

"I should probably go…." I heard Dr. Michaels say and a second later I heard the sound of his footfall fading down the hall. Curling into a ball in my bed, I closed my eyes. The kitten jumped into the bed, and the mattress slightly dipped as it padded over to me. I pulled it closer, pushing it against the curve of my elbow, making a small bed for it. Soft, light green eyes stared back at me, as it settled against my arm, balling into a comfortable fur ball.

That second I realized how much I missed Stephen. I wished he was here with me, so I could wash all the pain away from my mind and just be with him. he always created a way for me to escape the reality. And the only way to escape the reality for me now was sleep. Which also, I didn't get because he wasn't here. And instead, it was Brock.

And I didn't like it.

XXXXX

"There's a party…."

"Randy," Hunter growled, just as I opened my mouth. I knew he didn't like parties, any kind of parties, but the thought of teasing him… "Just stop."

"Whaaaat?" I whined. "It's not a bad thing," I grinned. "It's over at the Farrelly's house. I want you to come."

"But I don't want to," he growled again, and then softened his expression at the sad look on my face. "Look…" he sighed. "I'm not going to fit with those rich, stuck-up, people…"

"Then how do you think I'm holding up with them?" I raised an eyebrow as he hesitantly shrugged. "They're not that bad, Hunter," I finished wiping the glasses and placed them on the shelves, turning wound and leaning against the counter, while Hunter sat in the stool that was provided for me. His big ass was taking all of it. "Plus, I'll be there."

He snorted.

"What?" I glowered.

"Nothing," he made an innocent face. "Does this mean I'd have to wear a suit?"

"What do you think?" I gave him the 'duh' tone. His face scrunched up into an expression of disgust and frustration.

"Okay, you made it clear. I don't want to come," he stated, standing up from the stool and walking over to his office. Glancing at the visitors' area, and deciding that no one will show up for a drink for a few minutes, I strutted behind him.

"But, Hunterrrrrrrr," whining, I hurried to block his way. "I'm alone at the party… I have no one… And Stephen will be with his aunts and uncles and grandpas and everyone…" I pouted, sagging my shoulders.

Hunter pursed his lips, his hands going to rest on his hips. I widened my eyes, giving the puppy look and batted my lashes. "Stop it…" I pouted more. "Randy, I told you once, just stop it… Randy!" he was close to explode when I gave up teasing the poor man. But I kept the sad look on my face, sauntering towards the door.

"It's okay…. I'll stay alone… I don't need anyone…. Specially not you…."

"Okay, okay! Jeez!" A shit eating grin spread my lips, as Hunter gave up. He has never been able to resist my puppy expression. Never. "A little shit you are, you know?" He growled, when my arms wrapped around his neck and hugged him tightly. I gave a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek to which he grimaced half-haertedly. "You're such a girl…"

"Am not," I insisted, bouncing on my feet excitedly. "I'll give you the address, be there at eight, tomorrow night. Since you're closing the shop for the next three days, make sure you buy a new suit. I want you to look as good as them. If you want, I can come with you."

"No thanks," his eyebrows shot up. "Being the girl you are, you'll waste an entire day to choose me a suit. With only me it'll take about an hour."

I punched his arm. "Jerk…" Then something clicked in my mind, and I started to unzip the hoodie I was wearing.

"What are you doing?" Hunter's wary voice reached me, as I slipped the hoodie off. "Are you like… trying to show me that you're not a girl?"

I froze, then blushed furiously. "Are you nuts?!" I shrieked, my fingers frozen at the hem of my sweater. "I'm trying to show you my tattoos."

"Oh," I shook my head at the lightest tint of re that covered his cheeks. "Sorry."

I took off the sweater, and forced back a shiver when Hunter's hazel eyes glinted as they ran down my chest and stomach. "You're the first one to see them," I reached out to him, and he took my hands, pulling me closer. His gaze ran slowly over the skulls, roses, and birds with angel wings that marred into my skin in my arms, with black ink.

"Those are beautiful," he mumbled, a mesmerized look in his face as he said those words. Then his eyes locked with mine. "They suit you…. How much did you have to pay for them?"

"A lot, but I got a discount. The guy happily cut off a hundred or two when he heard my last name," I smiled bitterly. The things a surname could do… I watched as Hunter's eyes ran over me and darken, the strange glint disappearing. I looked at him puzzled, trying to read his closeted feelings.

"Go on…" he lightly pushed me away. "Throw in that shirt. If someone comes in…." Realization dawned to me. I nodded hastily, throwing on the sweater and the hoodie quickly. Just as I was zipping it up, there was a knock at the door. Sighing in relief at the time the person managed to get here, I turned around to face him.

"You've got a call," John handed me his cell phone. Which meant it was Stephen. I looked at the time. It should be like nine at night in Greece.

"Stephen?"

"Hey…" his voice sounded controlled and strained. "You don't sound like you were sleeping."

My heart skipped a beat. "No, I haven't. I just…couldn't."

"Oh… well…" it sounded awkward. "I, um…. Have to tell you something…."

"What is it?" my heart thudded in my chest, anticipated to hear what he was going to say.

"I'm sorry okay?" His whisper had all my happy thoughts buried deep.

"For what?"

"I won't be able to come for Christmas," he breathed out, his voice heavy. My breathing stopped. And I felt that he was saying the truth. He wasn't teasing me like he did many times, this was serious.

"But…"

"I'm sorry, Love," his apology fell on deaf ears. I handed he phone back to John, who took it, and answered Stephen. Muttering into the phone John walked out of Hunter's office, giving a worried glance to me. Hunter… I had almost forgotten that he was here too. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.

"Are you okay?" He reached out to me.

I stepped back, away from his comforting touch. I couldn't…. Laughing, I stepped towards the door to go to the counter again. "Never been better."

I couldn't stop the tears that flowed out of my eyes. I only asked him for one thing, and he failed to do that. How can I wish him to do more for me?

I made the time fly. And if I made anyone disappointed, I'm sorry. Every scene can't have a happy ending….