Scars and Songs // Editing

chapter iii.

Stretching her body, and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, thoroughly, she woke up to see a brown textured high-ceiling. An expensive-looking chandelier hung from it, hooked merely by a chain.

Aubrey got up abruptly and took account of her surroundings. This surely isn't my room. She thought as panic set in. The walls were a darker shade of brown oak while on to her right was a panoramic window with blinds blocking all the obscure light coming from the outside.

"It isn't night yet, but how is that possible?" She muttered to herself, frowning. "Wasn't I at the party with Lucas and Amelia?"

She continued to have a stock of the room as her father had trained her to ever be aware of her surroundings, no matter what the situation, to be alert if things went awry.

To her left, there were two sofas with a coffee table in the center.

"Quaint little room as it may be, I have to find a way out."

Throwing the covers off, she realized that the feel of the clothes on her was not her own. Proven true on looking down, she saw that she was only wearing a shirt, flimsy one at that. Then, she noticed what she must have missed before. Her clothes were carefully folded and kept on the side table in a neat pile. Before she could rummage her brain for answers, she heard footsteps outside, and it was not long before the doorknob began to turn.

Her father's training kicked in, and hastily, Aubrey picked up the only object she could find to use as a weapon – a candleholder. As the door opened, she defensively held the makeshift weapon in front of her, taking a fighting stance.

"You!" Aubrey screeched in shock, "why is it that wherever there is trouble, there are you?"

The guy from the woods, the one with green eyes, her stalker, smiled goofily, "slow down, beautiful, you'll get all your answers, but let's get something inside that body of yours first. I am sure you're famished."

As if on cue, her stomach grumbled to the aroma of food that the guy was carrying, embarrassing her.

"Your stomach seems to agree, so shall we?" He said, placing the tray on the bed. Aubrey, cautiously, without lowering her guard or the candleholder, went near the bed but did not sit.

"How do I know it is not poisoned?" She gestured to the delicious looking bacon strips and fried eggs, her mouth-watering.

"Oh come on, if I had to kill you, one, I wouldn't have dressed you up in my favorite to bloody it up later," he grinned shamelessly, "two, I wouldn't have washed and folded your clothes and three, I would have done it in your sleep. Easier and a lot less noisy."

Exhaling ruefully, Aubrey agreed, sitting down on the bed, she placed the candleholder aside.

"You sure have a lot of ideas of how to conveniently get away with murdering someone," she said, picking up a strip and having a bite.

Whether it was her hunger or the fact that the bacon was perfectly cooked, precisely how she liked it, an involuntary moan escaped her mouth. She hadn't even realized her eyes had closed on their own accord to relish the scrumptiousness, not until she opened them to look at the guy smirking at her.

Abruptly, she decided it was time to shift his attention, "well, how did I," she cleared her throat, "end up here, mister stalker?"

"Isn't it too soon for nicknames in our relationship, Sunshine?" He so deftly dodged the question that Aubrey, blushing furiously, forgot about what she had asked, in the first place.

Remembering, she asked, "is answering a question straight-forwardly too arduous a task for you?"

"Where's the fun in that?" he replied, grinning again.