James Ryder POV
I took a swig from the bottle in my hand. I was lying on the couch with my eyes trained on the ceiling. The black hole inside of me was growing and the only thing helping me right now is my good ol' whiskey. I don't like the silence in my home and I also don't like the noise in my head. It's giving me a headache or maybe it's because I'm getting drunk... again.
The front door opened and I knew who it was already. It was either him or my driver, George. The only people who have access to my house.
"You've done it again, Jim! All praise from the director and producer. They even sent a nice birthday pre—" I turned my eyes towards my manager, Martin. He had a huge box in his hands with a disapproving look on his face. "Jim, it's seven in the morning."
"I'm celebrating my birthday. Cheers!" I raised the bottle in the air and gulped down the whiskey.
"You can't keep doing this, Jim." he reprimanded me. "I swear you're gonna end up dead with a bottle in your hand."
"Wouldn't that be a dream." I mumbled to myself. Good thing, Martin didn't hear a thing or else I'm gonna get a scolding. He always hate it whenever I talk about my death.
"Get your butt off the couch and come open this."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. I sluggishly sat up on the couch and Martin dropped the box on the coffee table. He gestured for me to start unwrapping. I grabbed the wrapper and rip it off. Martin winced on how I aggressively unwrap the box.
"Take it easy, Jim. You might ruin the gift." he told me.
"The thing is in the box. It won't get ruined." I replied and opened it. Inside the box is the latest Phonograph. I took it out and examined it. It was painted in black and gold and on the side was my name carved on it. "Well, this is nice."
"It is." Martin agreed. "Make sure to thank them."
"I will—"
I was cut off by loud coughing from outside. Martin and I stood still and stared at each other. I could hear the splashes of water coming from the pool. What the hell?
"I don't think that was George," Martin said.
"Neither do I." I frowned and stormed towards the back door. Martin followed hurriedly behind me. As I opened the door, I stared in shock while Martin started panicking. Just in time, George came behind us and cussed.
"Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Oh, my god!" he panicked and clutched his dark hair. "What is that?! Who is that?!"
I cautiously walked towards it. There was a thin stick by the bushes and I went to get it. As I neared the body, it was a girl lying face down. She wasn't moving. I poked her shoulder with my stick.
"Stop poking her like that with a stick! She's not some animal on the road, damn it!" Martin scolded at me. His eyes wandered down and he gasped. "Oh, god! She's bleeding, Jim! Can you see she's bleeding?! Oh, god!"
"Would you calm down, Martin. The girl's breathing so she's fine... I think," I said to him. I could see she was breathing. The bleeding on her leg looked bad. I wonder how she injured herself? George remained behind us. His eyes widened when he saw the bleeding girl.
"I can't calm down, Jim! There's a girl bleeding to death beside your pool!" he locked his eyes on George. "How did she even get here? George! Did you let her in?"
He frantically shook his head. "No, sir! I have no idea how sge got in. I was out front washin' the car when I heard loud coughin'. I thought it was Mr. James."
"Well, it wasn't me." I deadpanned. He was probably referring to the time when he found me drinking one night and I drank the whiskey in one swig that caused a coughing fit. My eyebrows furrowed when I observed her clothing. "What the hell is she wearing?"
Martin took a closer look. "Looks like some sweater and pants...? Hold on! Why are we standing here like idiots wondering what she's wearing?! We have to check on her. Let's carry her inside and—"
"We're not bringing her inside," I said gruffly. "We have no clue who she is. For all we know, she could be some crazy person."
"But we can't just leave her like this! Where's your sense of—"
Martin was cut off when the girl moved. We gasped and moved away. I mentally rolled my eyes how we looked like idiots at that moment. The girl tried to push herself up but failed. I felt pity for her but just a pinch.
"She's alive! Oh, thank god she's alive!" Martin guffawed.
"Of course, she's alive. I told you she was breathing." I scoffed and rolled my eyes. She was trying to get up again. "Hey, lady! Can you get up?"
"I don't think she can Mr. James. Maybe she needs support..." George trailed off when he saw me scowling.
I looked at the struggling girl. I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. This was a waste of time. I sighed and moved to her. "Alright, let's get you up lady."
I gently gripped her forearm. The girl slowly stood up with the help of my support on her. I held her waist and she finally stood on her shaking legs. She glanced up to me and our eyes locked. This girl has the most beautiful shade of brown eyes. I studied the details on her face. From her button nose to her kissable heart shaped lips. If I'm being honest, she's even more beautiful than Lucy.
Both of us stared at each other for a long time. It wasn't filled with awkward silence but with a sense of comfort. I can't explain why. There was a wet strand of hair blocking her eye. I softly tucked it behind her ear. I could feel their eyes on us but I didn't care. I was enjoying holding this beauty. "Hey, pretty lady."
She blinked her eyes multiple times. I find it adorable when she slightly tilted her head to the side. "You look like James Ryder." I chuckled but hid it with a cough. I didn't want her to think I was making fun of her even though I was.
"Well, maybe it's because I am James Ryder." I smirked.
Her pretty lips turned into a frown. "Very funny." Her voice soft and sweet. She slowly took a step back and I reluctantly let her go. Her eyes wandered everywhere and they landed on George and Martin. "W-Who are you? W-Where am I? H-How did I get here?" She wrapped her arms around herself protectively.
"We should be asking you that, pretty lady. Since, you are the one swimming in my pool and you're in my home." I replied.
"I wasn't swimming! I was— Ow!" she winced. The girl raised her leg a bit. She must've put pressure on her injured leg. I took a step forward but she only stepped away.
She's the one who trespassed but why does she act like we're in the wrong here?
Martin stepped in. "Okay, Miss. How about we go check that leg of yours first and then we'll get to the interrogation? Your leg looks pretty bad and I promise no funny business. How's that sound?"
She thought about it for a while and hesitantly agreed. Martin asked George to help the girl out while he asked me to get clothes and a towel for her. We walked back inside the house and I sighed. He completely forgot what I just said a while ago. Her innocent brown eyes locked with my green eyes once more.
Okay, she didn't look crazy. So, maybe it's alright for her to be inside my house. Also, I don't think she'll do much with an injured leg. I thought to myself.
I went to my bedroom and searched for clothes for her to wear. I grabbed the smallest shirt I have and my boxer shorts. Grabbing a towel from my drawer, I walked towards the living room. George let her sit on the chair while he bandaged her knee. She thanked me when I handed her the towel and clothes. I simply nodded at her. Martin was standing by the wall; observing her.
"There!" George grinned. "All patched up, Miss."
She smiled at him. "Thank you..."
"My name's George Harris, Miss."
"Thank you so much, George. And you call me Grace."
I was slightly irritated by their interaction. "Alright, so since you're all patched up, mind telling us why the hell you were in my pool? And how did you even get inside my property?"
She shrunk down by my tone and clutched the towel tightly. I felt guilty for scaring her like that. I calmed myself down and lowered my tone. "Sorry. Will you please tell us how you got here?"
The girl opened her mouth and her eyes trailed behind me. Her eyebrows furrowed and she pointed at something. "W-What's that on your calendar?"
My eyes swept on the damn thing looking what was wrong with it. I didn't see anything.
"What are you talking about? I don't see anything wrong with it." I frowned.
"Why is it showing 1955?"
Now, we share the same confused expression. "Because it is 1955."