The car was still there, she thought. She wondered whether she had fallen asleep for a while and whether time had passed for so long.
Damn that man! He had the urge to foil her attempt, and now he held her coat hostage. Probably he wanted to have sex with her, but she wouldn't give in to that. Her coat was nothing compared to her pride, she assured herself, and nothing will make her substitute the former for the latter.
She hugged her knees closer and tried to trick herself that she was back in her warm bed and tried to sleep.
"You can't sleep here."
The voice made her make-believe bedroom drain away and this dank smelly pipe replacing it. She looked up and out. It was he. He was holding an umbrella that was wide enough to cover two people of his size. "I can sleep anywhere I want," she replied harshly. "And you can keep my coat. I don't need it."
"You'll need more than a coat to survive this rain," he said, shifting the umbrella to his left hand. Extending his right hand he said, "Come."
"Go away," she angrily muttered, turning her back to him.
"I am not going away unless you agree to go into my car."
"Suits you," she said, pretending to fall asleep. But she knew he was standing there, staring down at her. That thought created gooseflesh on her skin, and she gathered herself closer.
"You see," he said, intruding her thoughts. "You're getting cold. You'll need warmth."
"And you can provide it," she said, thick with sarcasm.
"Look." She heard a wet rustle behind and gauged that he knelt down behind her. "I am not a pervert. I don't pick up girls and have sex in my car with them, if that's what you are thinking." He chuckled, a surprising sound amidst the torrential rain.
When she asked him what was funny, he replied, "I have better things to do in my car than having sex."
She couldn't help but smile at this remark. But she didn't lower her defences, and neither did she turn to him.
When his voice urged her to follow him, she turned to face him. "Why are you insisting?"
"Why are you resisting?" he asked in return. "I don't see why people these days are so untrusting."
"It happens that we live in an age where you can't even trust your own parents, so forgive my biased perception," she replied. Her tone didn't sound like she was apologising. So was her expression.
Now, under the darkened light of rainy day, she could see him quite clearly. He had this open expression, someone who was ready to try everything. But hovering over it all was a hesitation, a... fear.
His eyes, almost black when she ran into him, now were blue-grey. They were thoughtful, soulful eyes. His wet blond hair was short and neat. An indication of his status was his scent. His aftershave smelt in the rain something exotic, woodsy and exotic. To put it crudely, he smelt of money.
But she knew all too well that even the most handsome of men were terrible men… murderers, perverts… madmen.
"I am not a serial murderer, either," he said, smiling down at her. "Look, you can trust me. I don't eat people, kill people, or mutilate them for pleasure. I don't have to."
She stared at the face, trying to search a hint of malice, of madness… of anything.
She could only find honesty.
Warren led her to his car under the umbrella in a hurry. The weather was getting worse by the minute.
At last she agreed. When they both were in the car, only slightly wet, Warren gave her the coat and told her to put it on. "Do you want something to eat?" he asked her.
She shook her head, abashed, but he ignored it and reached to the back seat. Later she was eating his second strudel and the second coke was in the other hand while Warren drove. Not back home to the mansion, but toward the city.
She was quiet, but whenever he spoke of a subject that piqued her interest she would start talking, and her knowledge were rather deep for someone who had lived in the streets for all her life. In the back of his mind, Warren began to wonder.
Beating around the bush was his second best ability. "What does someone your age trying to shoplift snacks? Not to mention that would be enough to feed an army."
"I was hungry," she replied slowly.
Warren whistled. "That must have been some hunger."
"Laugh all you want," she said, finishing the strudel and belched loudly. Warren lifted an eyebrow at this. "Women can belch too," she protested when she saw his expression. "Why can't we do you men do?"
"I wasn't complaining," he replied good-humouredly.
She sank into her seat with a huff. Silence fell between them before Warren decided to prod further. "Where do you want to go?"
"New Jersey."
"Your family's back there?" Warren noticed her head shook in negation.
"Well, who is?"
"Look, mister," she said, sounding slightly annoyed. "I appreciate all this, I do." She turned to him, her face weary yet serious. "But it doesn't mean you can be Oprah all of a sudden. I don't want people snooping around. Checking me up. Asking me what you've asked just now."
Warren kept his hands still on the wheel while his mind worked its way through her words. The way she said those things, she was definitely not a street bum. Everything confirmed his suspicions about her.
He pulled over. They were half a mile from the train station and she suddenly realised they had stopped. The engine was still on, though, and Warren flicked on the light. It was still raining cats and dogs and space garbage outside. In the silence he stared at her that she began to fidget uneasily.
"Why are we stopping?"
"I want answers."
"I won't give any."
"What happened?"
"Let me out." She pulled at the knob but it wouldn't budge.
"You are not getting out unless you give me answers."
"Let me out, mister." Her voice was becoming strained. So was her expression.
"Answer me first."
Instead she threw herself upon him and tried to rain punches on his face, on his chest, on anywhere that she thought would hurt the most, on anywhere that was uncovered. Her high-pitched scream filled the car.
Warren let her hit him anywhere she wanted, but when her small fists fell dangerously close to between his legs he quickly restrained them. "Answer me, dammit." His eyes were blue-green slits. "What happened?"
Her fists in his hands were still firm, still willing to fight, would have rained more punches on him were he to let her. He loosened his fists. Her fists slowly opened, became half-opened palms, then they came up to cover her face. Her shoulders shook, as Warren heard sobs coming from her.
Finally she broke down and cried.
Warren's emotions fell into a swirl that was becoming increasingly chaotic. Slowly he gathered her close to his chest and hugged her. When her hands came to lock around his neck he hugged her tighter and dropped kisses on her head while she cried.
________________________________
I can't stop typing! This story was so engrossing to create and I'm discovering new facets of Warren that I never thought possible. Thanks to those who review the story(Sioned especially!). Your words make me want to do the best!
Damn that man! He had the urge to foil her attempt, and now he held her coat hostage. Probably he wanted to have sex with her, but she wouldn't give in to that. Her coat was nothing compared to her pride, she assured herself, and nothing will make her substitute the former for the latter.
She hugged her knees closer and tried to trick herself that she was back in her warm bed and tried to sleep.
"You can't sleep here."
The voice made her make-believe bedroom drain away and this dank smelly pipe replacing it. She looked up and out. It was he. He was holding an umbrella that was wide enough to cover two people of his size. "I can sleep anywhere I want," she replied harshly. "And you can keep my coat. I don't need it."
"You'll need more than a coat to survive this rain," he said, shifting the umbrella to his left hand. Extending his right hand he said, "Come."
"Go away," she angrily muttered, turning her back to him.
"I am not going away unless you agree to go into my car."
"Suits you," she said, pretending to fall asleep. But she knew he was standing there, staring down at her. That thought created gooseflesh on her skin, and she gathered herself closer.
"You see," he said, intruding her thoughts. "You're getting cold. You'll need warmth."
"And you can provide it," she said, thick with sarcasm.
"Look." She heard a wet rustle behind and gauged that he knelt down behind her. "I am not a pervert. I don't pick up girls and have sex in my car with them, if that's what you are thinking." He chuckled, a surprising sound amidst the torrential rain.
When she asked him what was funny, he replied, "I have better things to do in my car than having sex."
She couldn't help but smile at this remark. But she didn't lower her defences, and neither did she turn to him.
When his voice urged her to follow him, she turned to face him. "Why are you insisting?"
"Why are you resisting?" he asked in return. "I don't see why people these days are so untrusting."
"It happens that we live in an age where you can't even trust your own parents, so forgive my biased perception," she replied. Her tone didn't sound like she was apologising. So was her expression.
Now, under the darkened light of rainy day, she could see him quite clearly. He had this open expression, someone who was ready to try everything. But hovering over it all was a hesitation, a... fear.
His eyes, almost black when she ran into him, now were blue-grey. They were thoughtful, soulful eyes. His wet blond hair was short and neat. An indication of his status was his scent. His aftershave smelt in the rain something exotic, woodsy and exotic. To put it crudely, he smelt of money.
But she knew all too well that even the most handsome of men were terrible men… murderers, perverts… madmen.
"I am not a serial murderer, either," he said, smiling down at her. "Look, you can trust me. I don't eat people, kill people, or mutilate them for pleasure. I don't have to."
She stared at the face, trying to search a hint of malice, of madness… of anything.
She could only find honesty.
Warren led her to his car under the umbrella in a hurry. The weather was getting worse by the minute.
At last she agreed. When they both were in the car, only slightly wet, Warren gave her the coat and told her to put it on. "Do you want something to eat?" he asked her.
She shook her head, abashed, but he ignored it and reached to the back seat. Later she was eating his second strudel and the second coke was in the other hand while Warren drove. Not back home to the mansion, but toward the city.
She was quiet, but whenever he spoke of a subject that piqued her interest she would start talking, and her knowledge were rather deep for someone who had lived in the streets for all her life. In the back of his mind, Warren began to wonder.
Beating around the bush was his second best ability. "What does someone your age trying to shoplift snacks? Not to mention that would be enough to feed an army."
"I was hungry," she replied slowly.
Warren whistled. "That must have been some hunger."
"Laugh all you want," she said, finishing the strudel and belched loudly. Warren lifted an eyebrow at this. "Women can belch too," she protested when she saw his expression. "Why can't we do you men do?"
"I wasn't complaining," he replied good-humouredly.
She sank into her seat with a huff. Silence fell between them before Warren decided to prod further. "Where do you want to go?"
"New Jersey."
"Your family's back there?" Warren noticed her head shook in negation.
"Well, who is?"
"Look, mister," she said, sounding slightly annoyed. "I appreciate all this, I do." She turned to him, her face weary yet serious. "But it doesn't mean you can be Oprah all of a sudden. I don't want people snooping around. Checking me up. Asking me what you've asked just now."
Warren kept his hands still on the wheel while his mind worked its way through her words. The way she said those things, she was definitely not a street bum. Everything confirmed his suspicions about her.
He pulled over. They were half a mile from the train station and she suddenly realised they had stopped. The engine was still on, though, and Warren flicked on the light. It was still raining cats and dogs and space garbage outside. In the silence he stared at her that she began to fidget uneasily.
"Why are we stopping?"
"I want answers."
"I won't give any."
"What happened?"
"Let me out." She pulled at the knob but it wouldn't budge.
"You are not getting out unless you give me answers."
"Let me out, mister." Her voice was becoming strained. So was her expression.
"Answer me first."
Instead she threw herself upon him and tried to rain punches on his face, on his chest, on anywhere that she thought would hurt the most, on anywhere that was uncovered. Her high-pitched scream filled the car.
Warren let her hit him anywhere she wanted, but when her small fists fell dangerously close to between his legs he quickly restrained them. "Answer me, dammit." His eyes were blue-green slits. "What happened?"
Her fists in his hands were still firm, still willing to fight, would have rained more punches on him were he to let her. He loosened his fists. Her fists slowly opened, became half-opened palms, then they came up to cover her face. Her shoulders shook, as Warren heard sobs coming from her.
Finally she broke down and cried.
Warren's emotions fell into a swirl that was becoming increasingly chaotic. Slowly he gathered her close to his chest and hugged her. When her hands came to lock around his neck he hugged her tighter and dropped kisses on her head while she cried.
________________________________
I can't stop typing! This story was so engrossing to create and I'm discovering new facets of Warren that I never thought possible. Thanks to those who review the story(Sioned especially!). Your words make me want to do the best!