I can’t even begin to understand her psyche or dictate how she should act based on her experiences, but knowing that she was hurt years ago makes me sick to my stomach. Realizing she was mere yards away from my home last night when she was hurt again is what forces me to my knees in my bathroom.Chapter 15Kaci
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I grunt as I slowly turn over in bed.
The pain all over my body has only doubled in the last twenty-four hours. It reminds me of that bunk scene in Full Metal Jacket as I wonder if someone snuck in last night and beat the shit out of me with a bar of soap in a sock.
I stiffen, blood running cold when I hear the rattle of a plastic bag and realize it was that very same sound which woke me up. I’m nearing heart attack territory when the door snaps shut with force, but my back is facing the intruder, and I’m too scared to turn around.
I locked the door last night. I know for a fact I did because I felt creeped out lying in bed, too sore to move, but too awake to go to sleep while staring at the unlocked deadbolt. On my last trip to the bathroom, I made a point to flip the lock into place.
“If you stay in bed all fucking day, you’ll never get better.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes as I wait for him to attack. More plastic rattles, but when I realize the sounds are coming from the other side of the room and not getting closer, I chance a glance over my shoulder just in time to see a tall guy with sandy blonde hair shrug out of a leather vest before swinging it over the back of the single chair in my make-shift dining room.
It’s not just any damn leather vest, I realize as the demented eyes of a raven stare back at me.
He isn’t facing me, but I know immediately who has invaded my space just by instinct. If I close my eyes and concentrate long enough, I’m certain I could conjure his heady scent from my murky memories.
“Sit up,” he grunts. “I brought you soup.”
Piercing blue eyes catch me staring in his direction, and if that isn’t enough to keep me frozen in place, he turns and flashes me a devious grin.
“A-are you here to h-hurt me?” I stammer.
“Soup first.”
I’m certain I hear sarcasm in his voice, but at the end of the day, this guy just broke into my house, and I seriously doubt soup is all he has in mind.
“Sit up,” he urges as he walks across the room with a bowl in his hands.
My stomach grumbles with the aroma of what I’m sure is chicken noodle, but I’m reminded of my injuries when my tongue slips out to wet my lips to dab at the scabbing.
“I’m not hungry.” My stomach growls in protest, and I’d beg it to do it on repeat when his face softens, his smile transforming from sinister to something resembling compassion.
“I can feed you if you’re too sore.”
He closes the distance, sitting on the edge of my bed. I attempt to tug the blankets closer to my chin, but his weight keeps me from hitching them up higher. I regret climbing into bed last night with only a tank top and panties.
“Feed me?” I cough. “H-how did you get in here?”
“Door wasn’t locked.” He shrugs as if I’m crazy before dipping his head and blowing on the soup.
My eyes, fixated on his mouth, water unexplainably. I don’t cry in front of people. Normally his threatening presence would thrill me, but I came too close to the end the other night, and as much as I hate to admit it, dying here in this shitty studio apartment is the last thing I want.
“The door was locked,” I finally manage.
“You keep the key under the mat.” He shrugs, shoulders lifting a fraction of an inch, obviously unconcerned. “Sit up so you can eat.”
“Why are you here?”
“I brought chicken noodle,” he says, ignoring me as he pulls the spoon out of the soup showcasing an egg noodle and a chunk of carrot. “The jambalaya looked great too, but I didn’t think you’d be up for something spicy.”
Are we in the twilight zone? Am I dreaming? It’s like we’re having two separate conversations.
“I also brought a chai tea latte, but the fucking lid came off outside, and I dropped the fucker on the ground.”
“I don’t drink chai tea lattes,” I mumble absently.
Only now does his focus turn to me. “You used to.”
Cold chills sweep over my arms at his words. “How do you know that?”
“Sit up.”
Ignored again.
Short, panting breaths escape my lips when I don’t move, and in turn, he places the bowl of soup on my bedside table before turning back in my direction. As if time stands still, I contemplate fight or flight, knowing deep down neither would end with me victorious over this man. Even if I were fully healed and functioning at a hundred percent, I have no doubt this man could overtake me without breaking a sweat.