He Was A Dog When I Left, I Swear!

He Was A Dog When I Left, I Swear! - Chapter 2

There was a satisfying crack which told me I had broken his nose, which was the least of his worries considering he was naked and lying on top of me. He grunted and I took my chance to kick him the groin. The intruder rolled off of me and I leapt to my feet, shaking. I ran towards my bedroom, with every intention of blocking my door and waiting until someone came home to save me, but the man was fast and recovered from the blow quickly. He grabbed and put me over his shoulder, so that all I could see was his bum.

"Put me down, you bastard!" I screamed, trying to kick and hit my way out of his grasp. He held on regardless and kicked open the door of my room, flinging me down on my bed. Oh shit. Of course it would be me who encountered the robber who was deranged and had cannibalistic tendencies. I tried to scramble across, but he took hold of me, blood running down his face and dripping onto my coat.

"Don't kill me!" I groaned, "I only came home to dye my frigging hair!" At this, the intruder snorted and covered my mouth with his hand. I bit down on it hard but it seemed to have no effect on him. I was going to die. I was going to die and I had forgotten to take the rubbish out. My mum was going to kill me. See the irony in that?

"Blue, just stop screaming, please?" he asked, his face softening. I shook my head violently, making it crack from all the movement. How the hell did he know my name? Oh fuck, he was a deranged, cannibalistic stalker/robber. Jesus, where do I pick up these goons?

"I'm going to explain this, honest I am," he said, glancing out of the window. "But you're going to have to promise not to run away, okay?" What were my options? I could disagree and run off screaming, but I was guessing that this guy would hunt me down pretty fast. Or I could let him say his piece and not die a horrible, lonely and somewhat miserable death. Yeah, the latter sounded better.

"Fine," I said. It came out a little bit muffled but he must have got the message because he slowly withdrew his hand from my mouth, freezing in case I was going to go back on my word. I was thinking about it, I seriously was, but then I decided that I didn't want to be dug up three weeks later in some manky ditch.

The man gave me the smallest of smiles which I most certainly didn't return; he was still on top of me, in case he hadn't realised. And yes; he was still very much in the buff.

"Are you going to get off any time soon?" I asked, nervously licking my lips, "Only, I can't really feel my legs anymore."

The man hastily moved, getting to his feet and staring down at me. Blushing profusely, I handed him a pillow to cover his, em, appendage.

"You probably want to know what's going on, huh?"

No shit, Sherlock.

I nodded numbly.

"Who are you?" I hissed unkindly. The man sort of shrank away from the sound of my voice, like he was scared of me. Me? Scary? Yeah, so I liked to think but in reality, I was about as scary as a Jammy Dodger.

"I already said, didn't I?" he muttered. "I'm Bruno."

"See, that means nothing to me, matey!" I exploded. "Are you one of my brother's friends because I swear..." My voice faded out when I noticed the scar running down the side of his face. It was faint and I hadn't seen in while he was in the bathroom or the hall, but it was there nevertheless; shining faintly silver in the light from my window. He caught me looking and a faint flush crept across his cheeks.

"I don't know anyone called Bruno," I mumbled eventually. "Bruno" bit his lip and took a step forward. I jumped and nearly fell off of the bed, the sudden movement scaring the Bejesus out of me. He faltered, hurt flashing across his face. Was he seriously surprised that I was scared? Not that I would ever admit that to him; it would take a while for me to physically beg for my life.