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I dropped by the store on my way home to get some groceries I'm missing.
It has darkened as I stayed in traffic for a little more than I intended. I drop the five plastics I had single handedly carried all the way from my parking lot to the door.
I punch in the code and as the door opens, I kick the two plastics inside with my feet as i carry the others. I'm so fucking drained, I need a hot bath. The door closes itself after I enter and the click sound follows after it locks. It is needed for me to have a highly guarded home due to my field of work. I made countless enemies that are always ready to pounce any chance they're given. Though I'm a private investigator, I involve myself in other risky, police related issues.
The darkness of the night illuminates my equally dark furniture, leaving me in a bottomless pit in my own home. I reach my hand for the light switch a flick it. No light shines upon me and I try again.
Still pure darkness.
I reach for my phone in my handbag, what the fuck is going on?
This has never taken place before, why now? I turn on my flashlight and maybe I could possibly try to call authority because I don't own a generator or solar panels.
I look around my living seeing everything in place, until—
"Hello, sweetheart." I shine my flashlight against the long, muscular figure slumped on my sofa with his thighs spread.
"Zade, what the hell are doing here?" I say, frustration dripping off my tone like a melting ice cream. He simply shrugs, pushing himself off the couch to approach me. "I wanted to see you." He says slowly, his deep voice lingering. "How did you get in?" Panic floods my body. My passcode changes every week and only I'm notified about the changes.
He takes the plastics from off the floor and walks to the kitchen like he'd been there a thousand times. "Your security system needs a little work, baby." He says from the kitchen. He then returns, takes the rest to the same location. "You want help packing these?" He yells from afar. "Get out of my fucking house, Zade. I don't need you for anything."
It is still pitch black, which makes me wonder how he could locate the kitchen, or better yet, the cabinets. Everything in my penthouse is hidden.
"Why are my lights off?" I grit, knowing damn well he had something to do with it. "I made a tiny mistake while entering," he says, "it's gonna be back up in a minute." He finishes, not even a second after he finishes his statement, the chandelier lights up.
In my tired state, I shuffle my way to the kitchen, resisting all that's within me telling me to whip out the dagger attached to my waist and shove it so far up his ass.
"Zade g—" I cut myself off with a gasp. "What the fuc..." His whole self is drenched in crimson liquid, from his cheek to his dark slacks that damped in blood. His bloody hands leave trails of blood on my clean countertop and the plastics he was so helpfully carrying for me. "What the fuck is this, Zade?!" I yell, rushing to stop him from touching anything else. "It's not my blood, my love, calm down." He says as if he was responding to a calm woman. I was everything but.
"I don't care who's blood it is, though it would be good if it was yours but you are getting everything bloody!" I lose all control, raising my voice as I grab his dress shirt that has torns all over and yank him back, away from my furniture.
I mistakenly tear his shirt even more, seeing the tan skin on his back peak through the hole. A big hole. "Oh, I'm sorry..." I breathe, trying not to crawl in a ball and cry. "If you wanted me naked, you could've just asked, baby." He shook his head, starting to unbutton his shirt.
God, no.
"Don't, don't remove your shirt." I state, pointing my finger at him. He stills halfway. "If you say so." He shrugs, he then begins moving towards the sink. Where he washes his hands and gets rid of all the germs. "What did you do, Zade?" I question, my voice heavy with suspicion.
He taps the tap closed, "Nothing you should stress your pretty brain about." He dismisses.
Now I'm even more curious.
"Why are you here? In my house."
"Stop with your investigation, and let me have a moment of peace." He sighs, somehow annoyed. The nerve he has. "Mind you, you are in my house. Using my water and you are telling to leave you alone. Get out of my— know what? I'm done with this. Have a good fucking night 'cause I'm over this shit." I turn on my heel and leave him in the kitchen, making my way up the stairs hoping to get a good sleep with the help of pills.
. . .
You sleep pretty.
I stare at the neat, scribbled cursive handwriting on a piece of paper, staring right back at me. Of cause I woke up to a spotless clean house, the dishes from all those nights ago washed and neatly packed in the right order.
But the sticky note attached to my fridge threw me off.
He had watched me sleep as he organized my shit for me.
How fucking creepy. I scrunch thr note up and leave for the office, preparing myself for another headache from an unsolved case whilst I think of how I had someone in my penthouse watching me sleep under the influence of sleeping pills and completely defenceless.
