The storm and the darkness, combined with the fog, make her look like a sinister specter silently waiting for something. She looks up, her blue eyes are framed by long eyelashes bearing little raindrops. The darkness of this night pales in contrast to the color of her long black hair.
Shit.
My stomach twists. An adrenaline rush follows. A big knot inside my throat makes it difficult to swallow.
There’s no doubt about it, it’s her.
It is fucking her.
Not a word escapes my mouth, for two reasons— one, I don’t know what to say; two, I don’t fucking know what to say. I think I’ve lost my ability to speak the minute I laid eyes on her.
More saliva goes down my throat.
She’s here to kill you, Bruno. And I’m ready.
“Do you wanna come in, or would you rather stand under the rain?” Finally, I say something. It sounds condescending, but I really mean it.
“I’d like to come in, if that’s okay.” Her sweet and respectful tone seals off the hole in my chest in a second.
“Please, come in.” I open the door fully to let her through before she changes her mind. “If you’re here, that means you have made a decision.” As always, my prisoner, my captive, my hostage does as she’s told and enters my house. I close the door and put the handgun on my waist, behind my back.
“Can I ask for a towel? I’m drenched, and I don’t want to mess up your furniture…” I did not see that coming. Is she for real? After all, I’ve done to her —I mean, I really fucked her life up—, she’s worried about my furniture? Fuck that.
“Sure, I’ll be back in a minute.” I rush to the bathroom, I literally run like an asshole to get a towel. While I’m there, I look at my reflection in the mirror. This might be the last time I see it. I made a promise to her: that I wouldn’t fight back, that it would be my last gift for her.
I go back and hand her the towel. She grabs it and quickly wraps herself with it, squeezing her body with the cloth. She looks so delicate, soaking wet and cold. I’m fighting the desire to warm her with my body because I know that would be a terrible idea. I point towards the couch and make way for the light switches, but she stops me.
“You don’t need to do that.” Great, she doesn’t want to see my eyes go out.
“At least let me start the fireplace, otherwise you’ll freeze.” She gets comfy in the couch and I lit the fire for the second time since I’ve moved here. After a few moments, the big fireplace fills the room with warm air and paints the walls with a mix of red and orange tones. The sparks jump all over me.
When I turn around, I see her buried deep into the couch, her hair on the outside of the cocoon she made with the towel, her hands crossed against her chest, in an attempt to warm up.
I sit in front of her, only to notice that she can’t look me in the eye. She’s tense, Okay, who wouldn’t be? A lightning strike followed by its thunder makes her jump in her seat.
“Can I get you something to drink? Water, tea, coffee…” I offer; she studies me for a long time. There’s a surprised expression on her face that’s impossible to hide; soon after, she looks down again and just nods. “One coffee, coming up.”
As soon as I enter the kitchen, I turn on the coffee machine and open my laptop to check the surveillance cameras. Yeah, what did you expect? A guy like me not having security measures on his own house? Come on. I go full stalker mode on her and start observing as much as I can, as I’ve been doing for over a month— from the shadows, hiding, tasting her with my eyes, making excuses for myself to justify the stalking, like I have to analyze her every move to avoid being caught off guard.
Yeah, right.
She’s looking around from where she’s sitting. Her eyes are all over the place, but her body doesn’t even flinch, and then a question hits me— Does she like my house? Wait, what? She must be thinking that this is how the house of a psycho looks like. She’s not wrong there. Besides, who cares. I’ll be dead in a moment, anyway.
She’s rubbing her palms together and twisting her fingers while doing it; she’s inflicting pain upon herself to keep her mind in check. Pain is something she’s familiar with, but at least now she’s in control of it. That must be making her feel safe, up to an extent of course. She sighs loudly and finally relaxes her body a bit.
That’s it, don’t be afraid, I will never put my hands on you again.
Minutes go by and it still troubles me that I haven’t seen any weapons on her. That intrigues me, deeply. I mean, how the fuck is she gonna do it?
The coffee machine beeps, letting me know that the coffee’s ready and at the same time forcing me to come back to the real world.
Chapter Eleven
Let it be.
Sarah
I never thought I’d be here. I mean, yeah, I pictured myself being here a thousand times in different situations, with lots of questions and some hypothesis. Some of those situations ended alright; some others, well— let’s just say I’d rather remember the ‘okay’ ones. The point here is that not even in my wildest dreams I could see myself doing this, let alone being welcomed the way he welcomed me. The house is not what I imagined, either; I figured it would look like a dungeon or something worse, like a Russian Gulag.
