Strangers in the Dark

A faint consciousness descended on Jean slowly, and she could hear someone moving around somewhere, or maybe it was just the physical presence in her mind. Faint mumble escaped her lips;

"Five more minutes mommy, I had the weirdest dream, just five more minutes and I promise I'll get up."

A smooth, smoky voice that sparked a strange familiarity in her sleep-soaked mind answered her, its tone raising the small hairs on the back of her neck.

"I ain't y'mother, chere. Dis ain't no dream, and dat wound on y'thigh ain't gon' wait 'nother five minutes."

Her green eyes snapped open at the voice as she sat up suddenly and a wave pain that suddenly ran through her also confirmed it wasn't a dream. She stifled a cry as her hand went to her hip and her eyes landed on him. She clutched at the blanket over her bringing it her about her chest, with almost a completely scared and trapped expression. Looking around realizing besides being in utterly foreign place, she was in someone else's bed, and in a black T-shirt. What had happened to her uniform? Where was she? Who was this man?

"W-who-where? Oh, shit, this hurts!"

In this light, she got a better look at him. He was young, looking barely a year older than she was, and his handsome features only added to his sleek look. His soft, unrule auburn hair hung in his eyes, eyes that betrayed not only mystery, but age. His eyes were that of a child who had seen too much, and "Old soul" her mom had called them. His fingers reached out and softly combed her blook-soaked hair out of her face. It was a comforting gesture that once again raised the small hairs on the back of her neck.

"I know, chere," Jean watched him wide-eyed just looking at him silently, "if y'want me t'take care o' it, ya gon' have t'move de covers so I can bandage it properly."

Watching him almost uncomfortably, her eyes not leaving him and yet she seem to being looking for almost any means of escape from- from a nameless guy who's house she was in. Who's bed she was in. A hand went to her temple silently, the pounding pain still there inside her head. It was growing worse and worse, too.

The night was slowly coming back to her, everything after the blackout rolled past her mind in what seemed like only 5 seconds.

"No-no....", almost absently she dropped the blanket her hands on her head. "No, It couldn't be. W-What happened? Oh-no, this isn't good."

She stopped almost suddenly letting her hands fall to her at her sides, silencing herself. A bit confused and worried by the small scene he was still sitting next to her on the bed. Almost wary expression, sizing him up and wondering if she can trust him at all, she pulls the covers down to where the bullet grazed her thigh. The man's eyes studied her silently for a moment, then he shook his head.

"Ah, forgive me, chere. In all dis excitement, I never introduced m'self. De name's Remy" he smiles his most charming smile as he held out his hand for hers, "And yours would be....?"

She looked at his hand barely a few seconds, almost expecting something to happen and still trembling faintly places her small pale hand in his. She seemed to be recovering from her shock pretty fast. "I-I'm Jean. It's still fuzzy; What happened to my uniform? Last i remember it was soaked with--"

"Blood, chere . . . " suavely, he took her hand to his lips, "Oui, I know. Y'uniform's in de sink, bein' rinsed out. Forgive de lack of clothes, Jean. Didn't think much o' my stuff would fit y'petite body."

He released her hand, helping her to sit up on the bed. He moved the silk covers down, exposing her slim legs. Jean tried hard to hold back a blush as she realized exactly how much leg was exposed. A cheer skirt was one thing, but all she had on was this boys t-shirt literally. She was glad for the fact that it sparked no reaction out of the man.

"I know you ain't know me, chere, but I gon' need ya t'trust me." His eyes read sincere as he began to gently clean the wound and bandage it.

(Trust, riiiiight) Jean thought. (Guess it would be a necessary thing considering where his hands are right now)

She gulped down another heated blush, fighting the torment of emotions and anxiety within her. With everything that had happened tonight, both her mind and body had felt 'violated'. And now here she was, in this strange man's bed, with not much to cover her, and him with his hands so close to...... she ached for the slightest provocation to deck this guy. Jean desperately needed an outlet for the bottled up storm of emotions within. Yet he gave her none. His eyes never wandered from the wound on her upper thigh, his expression serious. Even his touch was soft, soothing, helping to ease the stinging pain brought on by the disinfectant. Could she trust this boy? Even when current circumstances forced her too?