okay so a few people asked for chapter 2 just for some closure, which is okay because this one doesn't end with a cliffhanger, so this is where it ends(muahahaha) have fun!
***
A gasp escapes my lips. Holy crap! The beat of my heart trips over itself and I almost let go of my grip on the towel, but the subconsciously modest part of me holds on. The gears in my head start running, and begins swarming with thoughts, questions and red alarms buzzing from one end to the other of my skull.
My father's orotund voice speaks over the chaos, like how it would with his cadets:
You have to be ready. You can never let your guard down baby, the bastard could attack any time.
He's prepared Kohen and I for situations like these for such a long time now, never have I thought I'd actually have to put them to use. I drag a breath through pursed lips.
1. All ears, Sergeant; listen.
I try to quell the tempest in my head and tune in. It gets less cloudy, and the sounds of the room gradually seep in.
Amongst the stillness evolves quiet snores and haphazard grunts. He's sleeping. The bees start racing faster in my skull; numbers growing by the millisecond as I learn more about this stranger.
2. What do you see, honey?
My eyes search and are drawn to the twinkling metal against the white linen. It's grip looks tight and firm, his thick wrist filling most of the boundary and seem to dig into his skin slightly. But only one wrist is held by the restraint. He can still strike. The inner sergeant in me and her nimbleness begin formulating a game plan. I carefully walk towards my original destination on the right of the room.
3. Soft as Stuart, Rhea.
I use my free hand to mindfully open the cabinet hanging above the sink, and my eyes frisk for the arms needed to carry out the plot I devised mere seconds ago. I scour through the spare toothbrushes and rolls of toilet paper, before finding the penknife. Sidling myself behind the glass door of the shower, I grab the long body brush that's hooked on the wall and return to the main room.
I slowly creep up to the ominous corpse; my heels high in the air as the itchy carpet beneath sifts between my toes. His body partially cleansed only by the weak glow of the lamp, in an elongated oval across his body; leaving the rest of him to blend with the dark.
Now at the edge of the bed, the faint scent of bergamot and vodka filter the air around his body. Odd. I observe him. His body is sprawled in a sort of starfish position, except for his free arm that lays slackly on his hip bone. And now only do I realize how young he is.
Typical white tee, black jeans ripped at the knees and boots. He has to be 21, at most. His chest shallowly rises and falls in step, and I can faintly see the blurred ink vined beneath the thin cloth covering his abdomen; only making an opaque appearance a little above his collar. The arm latched to the column seems to be tattooed as well, figures I can't quite make out dancing on his bicep. But other than that, I can't really see much of his face with his head turned to the side.
Curiosity killed the cat; my subconscious knows better.
4. Give the sucker your best shot!
I firmly hold and raise the body brush, slamming it against his stomach; slicing a soft whip into the quiet air.
His body jolts and crunches in the middle, the focal point of the pain I caused.
