The Girl With Tattoos • Original Version

The Girl With Tattoos (27)

Waking up today was one of the hardest things I've done in a while. My eyes seemed glued shut by some invisible force and my mind was on auto-Imma make you fucking depressed-drive. My throat was dry and sore, a headache brewing around my temples.

I felt like shit.

Groaning, I sat up, only to groan even louder when my brain had a pulse. I tried to peer through the blinding brightness from above my head-

Wait, wait a fucking second. My eyes shot open and I squinted through the light.

Why the fuck is my ceiling light on?

Silently but swiftly leaving my bed, my heart had a faster pulse than cars on the main road. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins and excitement ringing in my ears. I pulled open my draw to get my gun but when my hand entered the dark storage compartment, I felt nothing but paper and pills.

The excitement left my body and fell to the floor as anger quickly replaced it. Whoever was here stole my gun and was now armed and dangerous.

Shit.

My feet hit the wooden floors, making absolutely no sound. Opening the door to my closet, I was ready to defend myself if needed but when my eyes landed on nothing but clothing, I searched the coat I used to hide my extra weapons. My fingers wrapped around my favorite knife engraved with words Chase used to say. The smooth handle calmed me slightly but did nothing to settle my restless heart. I turned around to see my door slightly open, which was another sign someone had been inside my room. Every night I close the door, make sure my gun was placed in the right spot and all lights were off and all of those things were wrong. It was like whoever had broken into my house knew exactly what I did to be safe.

All of these circumstances made me think about Milo. What if one of his little goons was responsible for this? Could I even be able to take them or is this the last stop?

Had I finally been found?

I gulped and unsheathed my beautiful knife and held it, ready to throw the sharp object across a room or stab someone straight through the heart.

I stepped forward to leave and scope out the area but I quickly denied it and grabbed my phone, rushing to the bathroom. There I dialed 911 and quickly told them about how someone was in my house. 

"Ma'am, would you happen to have a weapon and something sharp enough to cause injury in your proximity?" She asked, her voice serious and calm. 

"Yes, I have knife but the intruder stole my gun from my nightstand so he has the upper hand."

"Did you say gun?"

"Yes, why?"

"And from your nightstand?" What was this all about?

"Yes, why are you asking?"

"Why would this person steal your gun while you're sleeping but not kill you? It was obviously a golden opportunity to wipe you out and have full range of the house without any disturbances."

"Oh," that was a question I hadn't thought about. "I don't know, ask the dude when you guys catch him."

The sound of sirens in the distance told me to leave my enclosed room and leave, to help the little police men sweep my house but right when the door flung open without a squeak, someone stood near my bed dressed in all black, a mask covering his features, his eyes directly on my figure. It was obviously a dude with his broad shoulders and a noticeable bulge his dark joggers flashed.

My right hand flew up on instinct and I flung my knife straight at his head but he quickly ducked around it and looked at the wall behind him where the knife had gone deep inside. I was hoping it made landfall in the idiots skull and kill him, not my newly painted walls. 

He stepped closer and I watched his mouth inch up in a half smile causing a wave of coldness to go straight down my spine.

"What a wonderful throw you own there little miss Gracelyn but how 'bout he skip all of this and go straight to the fun stuff."