The next morning, the persistent rain outside continues its rhythmic dance against the windows. I glance at my phone, noting the missed calls and texts from Dr. Smith. Concern tugs at the edges of my thoughts, prompting me to return his call.
"Hello, Uncle," I say, my tone casual.
"Victoria! Finally, I've been trying to reach you all night. Is everything okay?" his voice carries a mix of relief and worry.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have left my phone on silent. I made it home alright last night. The storm was quite intense, so I decided to stay in," I reply, deliberately omitting the events that unfolded within the walls of my home.
There's a brief pause on the other end of the line. "I'm glad to hear you're safe. I was worried when I couldn't reach you. The weather was really something last night."
"Yes, it was. I appreciate your concern, uncle. I'll be back at the hospital later today," I assure him.
"Good to hear. Take care, Victoria. Let me know if you need anything," he says before we exchange goodbyes, and I end the call.
As I set the phone down, a sense of relief washes over me. The decision to keep Christian's presence a secret from Dr. Smith weighs on my conscience, but for now, it feels like the right choice. The rain outside continues to cascade, concealing the unusual events that unfolded in the quiet hours of the night.
I'm about to step around to open the window and allow fresh air to enter, when a shadow rises behind me. Before I can react, I'm slammed into the wall, air escaping my lungs with a loud oomph.
Something solid and painful is pressed into my windpipe.
No. No, no, no.
My lungs are filled with water. Heart rate increased to a painful thumping, threatening to crash through my ribs and fall to the floor.
I squeeze my eyes shut with a force that shoots stars into my vision.
"Who are you? The truth this time. Who was on the fucking phone?"
The deep voice floats around my ears, forcing its way into my brain and breaking the surface of the water, sending ripples of fear through my body.
Fuck, I should have called the cops instantly.
I open my mouth to answer but the sound dies in my throat before it has the chance to fall past my lips. I swallow hard, trying to calm the raging storm in my mind.
"I asked you a question," Ice drips from his emotionless voice, the exact opposite of the warm air that fans the side of my cheek, causing a small flinch to rattle through my shaking body. "I expect an answer."
"Who are you?" He repeats his question in English, a threat lingering behind the steel of his tone.
I force my laboured breathing to calm slightly. Slowly cracking open my eyes, I have to blink a few times to clear my vision.
I swallow.
"V-Victoria. Victoria Forbes."
The arm positioned at my throat eases a bit, enough to let oxygen reach my lungs, but not loosening to the point where I can move.
Standing there, caged in by his massive body, I contemplate whether it would have been wiser to keep him somewhere else; a place where he wouldn't have the chance to murder me with the flick of a wrist. A hospital perhaps. Or a prison.
His lips curve into a taunting smile.
I don't react.
"Who are you working for?" He asks.
His question catches me off guard and it takes my mind a second to conjure up an answer.
"N-no one." I'm not entirely sure what he means but I can clearly see the guarded expression on his features, the way he keeps all traces of emotion from entering his stony gaze; he is suspicious, and doesn't trust me. "I'm not working for anyone. I told you, I found you on the road."
I take a deep breath, making sure that my next words are spoken with confidence. "If I were against you, you'd already be dead." I shoot a quick glance at his face, though it is still indifferent. "I found you about twelve hours ago, you were losing blood quickly and it was too dangerous to drive long distance, otherwise I would have brought you to a hospital, but I brought you here. I saved your life."
My heart is hammering in my chest and I thank whoever is listening for allowing my voice to stay monotonous.
Our eyes meet as a tense silence stretches out into the room. The almost black colour of his eyes giving nothing away. His gaze is calculating and I shift under the intense stare, suddenly feeling that the room is getting a little too hot. It's not helping that the man pressed against me seems to be made of pure, solid muscle, rippling with every movement and stretching the thin fabric of my fathers old shirt as if it might tear apart at any moment.
"Y-you're kinda in my personal space here." I manage to wheeze out between shallow breaths. The deeper I breathe, the closer we move.
I see the moment his resolve melts away, causing him to step back and finally allowing me to breathe freely. Gulping down the much needed oxygen, my shoulders sag a little from their hunched position.
"Thanks.."
I allowed the word to hang between us for a second, giving the large man a chance to introduce himself. He, however, simply grunts in obvious disinterest and starts limping towards the bed; though I notice that he is refraining from turning his back completely towards me.
I jump slightly when a hiss escapes his lips, his features contorting with pain.
"Goodness, you're hurt," I exclaim, hurrying to his side in a flash. "Here, let me help you."
With one arm around his torso, while the other fluffs the cushions for him, I gently ease him down so his back is resting against the headboard.
"Wait here, I'll get you something for the pain."
He doesn't answer and, just for a split second, the malice in my heart threatens to rise, the part of myself that I try so hard to suppress; in short, the part that would love to let him suffer because he's acting like a pompous jerk. But I know that letting him hurt would be just as bad as harming him with my own hands, and I never, ever, want to hurt another human being.
My mother taught me better than that.
Shaking those thoughts from my mind, I quickly hurry to retrieve the small bottle of medicine from the bathroom. It is in a cabinet above the sink; locked for my own safety. I tend to be in a different state of mind after waking from a nightmare.
Filling a glass with water, I take two pills from the container and put it back in it's designated space.
Walking over to the window, I pull up the blinds, allowing the soft gleam of light to fill the room, chasing away the darkness and forcing a silent sigh from my lips.
"Here, take these. They're strong so two should be enough for now." I hold out the glass and medicine for him to take.
The man eyes them suspiciously, that ever calculating emptiness once again present in his black orbs. "I don't need anything from you." His voice is almost angry-- almost. "I was perfectly fine before you showed up."
A strange fire shoots through my veins and I raise an eyebrow at him. "You were fine? If I remember correctly, you collapsed half dead in front of my car, practically begging me to save your ass."
He is about to open his mouth to counter my, may I go as far as to say, perfect argument, when we're interrupted by the shrill sound of the front doorbell. The sound cuts through the tension hovering thickly in the air and I sigh, raising one finger and dashing from the room.
I would have loved to hear his argument.
"Didn't we fucking have this conversation already?" I huff and make my way to answer the door.
I open the door, shooting the mailman an irritated look. He hands me a stack of envelopes and packages, completely oblivious to the internal turmoil I'm dealing with. I mumble a forced "thanks" and quickly close the door, my frustration still simmering.
Returning to the room, I find him sitting on the couch, looking slightly more composed. I toss the mail onto a nearby table, giving him a pointed look.
"Alright, spill it," I demand, crossing my arms.
He takes a deep breath, looking genuinely apologetic. "Look, I know I may have seemed fine when we first met, but I wasn't. I've been dealing with some health issues, and it caught up with me that day. I didn't collapse to manipulate you or anything."
I raise an eyebrow, still skeptical but willing to hear him out. "Health issues? You collapsed like a sack of potatoes, and you want me to believe it was just health issues? I narrow my eyes at him, not entirely convinced by his explanation. "Health issues or not, you conveniently forgot to mention the gunshot wound. What's that about?"
He winces, clearly uncomfortable with the question. "Okay, that's a bit more complicated. I'm involved in some... let's call it a messy situation."
I roll my eyes, "Fantastic. So, not only do you have mysterious health issues, but you're also dodging bullets. Care to elaborate?""I didn't want to involve you, but I appreciate you saving me."
He hesitates, glancing around the room as if making sure no one else is listening. "I'm in a bit of trouble with the wrong people. Got caught up in something I shouldn't have"
I scoff, "And what does this have to do with collapsing in front of my car? Were you running from someone? Should I be expecting armed men to show up at my door?"
He shakes his head, "No, no, it's not like that. I wasn't running from anyone that day."
I cross my arms again, growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of clear answers. "You're not making this easy for me to believe, you know that? I'm tempted to call the cops right now."
He raises his hands defensively, "Please, don't. I can't involve the police in this. I'm begging you to trust me, just a little bit."
I'm about to reply when his eyes suddenly glaze over, and he slumps sideways on the couch, unconscious. I stare at him in disbelief.
"Are you kidding me?" I mutter to myself. "You pass out mid-conversation? This is ridiculous."
I grab my phone, contemplating calling the police, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Instead, I decide to search his pockets for any identification or clues. I find a wallet and carefully flip it open, discovering a name that matches what he told me earlier. There's no telling if it's real, but for now, I'll play along.
I sigh, realizing that I've gotten myself into something way more complicated than I bargained for. I grab a nearby chair and sit down, waiting for him to regain consciousness. It seems like I'll have to get more answers before deciding whether to involve the authorities.
....
The soft hum of the kettle is interrupted by the creak of the floor, announcing Christian's presence.
He enters the room, his tall figure framed by the doorway. The weariness from his injuries is evident in the lines of his face, and an air of grumpiness accompanies him.
"Morning," I greet, offering a small smile as I pour the hot water into the teapot.
Christian merely grunts in response, his eyes scanning the room until they settle on a familiar object – his phone.
"Where's my phone?" he asks, his tone terse.
I turn to face him, a hint of surprise in my expression. "Your phone? I didn't realize you had one."
He scowls, the grumpiness escalating. "Yeah, I have one. Where is it?"
I gesture toward the living room. "I didn't see it. Maybe you left it out there?"
He mutters a curt thanks before heading in the direction of the living room, his movements reflecting the discomfort from his injuries. I follow him, curious about the sudden urgency to retrieve his phone.
In the living room, Christian scans the area, his eyes finally landing on the phone resting on the coffee table. He snatches it up with a grumble, his focus solely on the device.
"What's the rush? Expecting an important call?" I inquire, attempting to ease the tension in the room.
"None of your business," he mutters.
"Fair enough," I concede, realizing the importance of staying connected, especially given the circumstances. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."
Christian nods, his attention already shifting to the phone. With a subtle acknowledgment, he retreats into the solitude of his digital world.
As I putter around the kitchen, the murmurs of Christian's conversation with the person on the other end of the line slowly escalate into frustrated yells in Italian. I understand the language, having learned it from my father, but the rapid pace and intensity of Christian's speech make it challenging to decipher the exact words.
The storm outside seems to echo the tumult within the room as Christian finishes the call with an exasperated exhale. He walks back into the living room, his expression a mixture of anger and defeat. I glance up, waiting for him to share whatever news has unsettled him.
He looks at me, frustration etched across his features. "I need a place to stay for a while," he says, his voice softening, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments ago.
I raise an eyebrow, absorbing the unexpected request. "Why?"
I narrow my eyes, skeptical of Christian's vague explanation. "You expect me to let you stay without any details? I need to know what's going on. You could be involved in something dangerous, and I won't put myself at risk."
Christian sighs, understanding the gravity of the situation. "My father is a powerful man. Recently, his rivals tried to use me as leverage against him. That's why I need to lay low until things settle."
I cross my arms, still not fully convinced. "So, you're telling me that your father's enemies are after you? That's a bit hard to believe without more context. Why would they come after you?"
He looks at me with a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. "It's a long story, Victoria. I didn't plan on involving you in all this. I just need a safe place to stay for a while. I promise I'll explain everything, but right now, I can't risk putting you in more danger."
"So why lie before?" I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the cryptic response. "I can't believe I'm considering this, but if you don't start explaining soon, I'll have to call the cops. I can't have someone with a mysterious, potentially dangerous past staying in my home."
Christian's jaw tightens, a silent battle waging within him. After a few tense moments, he finally relents. "Fine. I'll tell you what you want to know."
I contemplate his words, my loneliness getting the better of my judgment. The rain outside intensifies, a reflection of the internal struggle within me. "Okay, but remember, you're playing with fire here. If I sense any danger, I won't hesitate to call for help."
He nods in agreement. "I understand, Victoria. Thank you for taking this risk. I'll explain everything, I promise."
I sigh, "I was just gonna go to Walmart to pick up a few things. Come along? Explain during the ride."
As we step out into the torrential rain, I can't shake the feeling that I'm walking into the unknown. The cold droplets drench us, mirroring the uncertainty I feel about the decision I've just made.
In the car, Christian glances at me, gratitude mixed with something I can't quite place. I start the engine, my thoughts swirling with doubt. "Start talking," I urge him, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
He takes a deep breath, crafting a story that conceals the truth. "I was working for an international corporation. They discovered some illegal activities within the company, and I stumbled upon evidence. They found out, and now they're after me."
I raise an eyebrow, skepticism evident in my gaze. "So, you're a whistleblower on the run?"
Christian nods, the lie delivered with practiced ease. "Exactly. I thought I could trust someone within the company, but they betrayed me. Now, I need to stay off the grid until I figure out my next move."
I eye him suspiciously, but the desperation in his eyes convinces me, or perhaps my own yearning for companionship and excitement blinds my judgment. "Fine, but you better not be leading me into trouble. And no funny business in my house."
Christian nods earnestly. "You have my word, Victoria. I appreciate you doing this for me. I'll make sure you don't regret it."
As we drive back to my place, the rain beats against the car like a disapproving drumroll. The storm outside reflects the tempest within, a whirlwind of uncertainty and secrets. Little do I know that the decision to trust Christian's fabricated story will unravel a web of lies, weaving itself into the tapestry of our lives in grave danger.
...
We arrive back at my house, the rain having softened to a gentle patter against the windows. Christian steps inside, his wet clothes clinging to him like a second skin. I grab the things I bought for him at Walmart and hand it over to him along with fresh towels.
"Here you go," I say, handing him the bundle of clothes and a towel. "I hope these fit. They're just some basics."
He nods appreciatively, a genuine smile breaking through the facade of tension. "Thank you, Victoria. I really appreciate it."
I gesture towards the bathroom. "You can use the shower. There are some personal hygiene items in there as well. I'll leave you to it."
As he disappears into the bathroom, I can't help but feel a mix of emotions. The reality of having someone else in my home, especially under these mysterious circumstances, is both unsettling and strangely comforting. I hear the water start in the shower, a temporary reprieve from the storms outside and within.
After a while, Christian emerges, now clad in the dry clothes. He looks more at ease, the weariness from his earlier ordeal starting to dissipate.
"Thanks again for this," he says, running a hand through his damp hair. "I owe you."
I offer a small smile. "Just try not to make a mess, and we'll call it even."
He chuckles, a sound that seems out of place given the gravity of our situation. "Deal."
...