The Boy With The Nose Ring

Chapter 2 || put the knife down!

It was a foggy, murky kind of night by the time I was walking home at 4:30pm. The sky was a dull despite it being the middle of May. I powered on, longing for some green tea.

A piano prelude I had to learn for my music class was playing loudly in my ears, but quite frankly I wasn't in the mood for it, so I yanked my earphones out and listened to the stillness of the night.

Only it wasn't still. There were footsteps.

It's nothing! I told myself, although the events of the day had shaken me into paranoia and I was pretty adamant someone was following me.

The footsteps were heavy, as if the person in question was wearing boots; they weren't too close to be obvious, but they weren't too far away that they would lose me easily.

Fear ran its icy finger down my spine.

I crossed my arms and sped up the pace, keeping my head low and feeling my heart beat so fast within my chest I was sure my rib cage was about to give in.

I was almost running by now, only two streets away from my house. Out of the blue, thunder grumbled and shook the sky and the heavens opened, drenching me in three seconds flat. I raised my arms over my head in a vain attempt to keep my loose hair dry and picked up the pace, hoping both to escape the stalker and get home as quick as possible.

Finally I could see my bungalow at the end of the road and I raced towards it, rain streaking like tears down my pallid face. I could hear the footsteps pounding after me and for the first time in a year I wished for my mum, for the warmth of her embrace and the sparkle in her eyes. I dashed forwards, the rain hitting the floor at such a pace that it was too loud to even think; I fumbled with my key and yanked open my front door, slamming it behind me.

The silence was eerie.

Every light in the house was off; it was too early for my sister to be back from university. The darkness engulfed me, and with my hair drooping like rats tails and my uniform soaked through, I almost began to cry.

Almost.

I peeled my blazer and jumper off, hitting every light switch I could find as I padded into the kitchen, leaving patches of wet in my wake.

I switched the kettle on and was about to blast some music to cover the absence of a homely atmosphere and the palpable fear rolling off me in waves when there was a knock at the door.

I yelped and, on instinct, ducked under the kitchen counter, where I counted to sixty. Slowly. My heart raced for the second time in ten minutes.

The knocking continued, getting harsher and angrier with every passing minute. At last I realised it wasn't going away; I grabbed a knife for protection and crept to the door, yanking it open with a wild battle-cry.

The figure at my door was cloaked in black, overwhelmingly tall and, much to my relief, was not holding a lethal weapon. He jumped back in alarm when he laid eyes on me.

"Jesus Christ woman put the knife down!" he shouted, his hands up to signal peace.

"Who are you and what are you doing on my door step?" I questioned. I dropped the knife to my side but still held it with a tight grip. Better safe than sorry, right? 

He tugged his hood from his head nonchalantly to reveal his face.

"Derek?" I gasped incredulously.

"Ah, so you know my name." He remarked. Now I was sure I wasn't on the brink of death, I scrutinised him: his voice was deep and velvety, flowing like liquid even in the current situation. A smirk was etched on his face. His golden eyes sparkled in the moonlight, his chocolate brown hair dishevelled somewhat sexily on his head. Sharp cheekbones, a silver nose ring and bushy eyebrows contrasted the floridness of his cheeks.