Villains on My Mind

Chapter 2

By the time we reach the fifth floor, I start regretting my outburst. Just a little. My building isn't the prettiest one on the block after all. It's quite hideous actually, if I'm being completely honest. But it's New York City, so that's what I get when I can't afford to pay more than $2000 a month for a studio. (And even this is a steal, trust me. I only got it because I've made a small name for myself in local politics growing up in Brooklyn.) But it's like I said to the man walking me up now, it does the job. I only sleep here.

I walk up to the end of the hallway, stopping at my door. I turn around to look at him and note that he looks ridiculously big in the narrow and crooked hallway. And very out of place. I also notice he's observing me, intently.

"Have you calmed down?"

I swallow my temper. I will not embarrass myself in front of him any more than I already have. So instead, I just turn around to open my door.

"Why is there a number on all the other doors, except for yours?" The man behind me asks.

"Oh," Well this is awkward. "Crazy ex."

He doesn't say anything and I'm thankful for it, I'd rather not take that trip down memory lane. And as I feel his hot gaze wandering on my back, I think I'm not ready for the intimidating man with the mysterious eyes in my hallway to leave, just yet. So, I push my creaking door open all the way and walk into my kitchen.

I'm a little ashamed suddenly about the state my apartment is in. I feel like he's the type of person whose apartment doesn't have a single speck of dust in it. My school books are splayed out everywhere, on every surface there is -- which isn't a lot by the way -- along with papers and notes and dirty coffee mugs. The place doesn't have a lot of storage space, alright?

He trails me inside. Yet again, crowding the space by just standing there. I guess he's forced to live in nicer buildings, he wouldn't fit in half of the old apartments in New York City.

"You study politics?" His eyes travel over my kitchen.

Then they land on me. I wonder what conclusions he made.

"Political science. " I correct.

He nods to himself, seeming as if he approves. He slides his fingers on top of the books, opening a couple and quickly eyeing the pages as he hastily flips them. Gazing some of the notes. Like a detective.

He gets closer.

My gut tightens.

"You're not even vaguely concerned that you opened your door just like that, to a stranger?" He asks, narrowing his raven black eyes at me.

I stare at him. Tall and looming over me. This is the first time I'm able to see him in a better light, and I find myself thinking about his lips on mine. Would they feel as soft against mine as they look? He cocks his eyebrow, and I realize I hadn't answered his question.

I tip my chin up, defiantly. "Well, I guess I just figured if you wanted to murder me, you already would've."

He moves so quickly that it forces a gasp out of my lungs. The energy surrounding him is still undeniably... daunting, and now that energy has engulfed me. He emits an air of authority, and his height alone is already doing half the job. Right now, I was starting to feel more and more like a mouse and him like a hawk.

A hawk whose claws I wanted to feel on my skin.

"Are you not afraid of me?" My heart pounds harder. Maybe I am being reckless. But there is still a haze that tastes like cucumber margaritas over my judgment, and I realize I feel alive for first time in a long time.

"I didn't know that I should," I answer frankly. The air is thick between us. And I can't believe the pull I feel for him. It's been a while since I've felt anything for a guy, and the last time I did, well. It didn't end so well. Right now, the only thing that scares me is the strong, electric tug swirling in my chest.

He takes a menacing step toward me and closes the little safety I had managed to keep between us. His chest is only inches away from my nose and my heart is pounding so wildly in my chest, that I'm afraid he can hear it. I feel his leather covered fingers snaking into my hair, slowly grabbing a fistful and I shiver at how good it feels, trying little to hide it. He tugs my hair, tilting my head back. My breathing is getting shallower. He studies my face with his intense midnight eyes, taking me in.

"That's the first time I've heard that in a long time." His dark eyes flare up and his voice rumbles low on his chest. Excuse me? 

A slow feeling of alarm starts to take root. His free hand moves so that my jaw is cupped firmly in his gloved palm, and his eyes drill so deeply into mine that I can feel my knees starting to give in. He strokes the side of my mouth with the pad of his covered thumb, and his hungry eyes move onto my lips. He moves his hand down onto my shoulder to shove me backward roughly. I thump against the wall. A little yelp slips from me.

I look up at him with a racing heart.

"Scared now?" He has a wicked look in his darkened eyes.

Throat tight, I tilt my chin up as a way of answering to him. He presses his gloved hand above my heart, and there is no doubt in my mind that he can feel my racing heart. And I feel an inexplicit pull to him, so strong it would scare me if it wasn't 3 AM and I didn't feel lonely.

Suddenly, his expression changes. He drops his hand from my chest and I feel a pang of fear. Lord help me.

He takes a step back, his motion rough and angry, toward the door that I realize was left open. He straightens his back, and I can almost see the air darken around him. "I have to leave." He states with a hardened voice that startles me, evaporating the fogginess in which lust has surrounded my mind in.

He turns to go and disappears out of the doorway as fast as he came in. I finally get my legs to obey and run out, only to see him stalking fast toward the stairs, looking like a giant in the tiny hallway with faded out green paint and a flowing cape covering the man's back. I watch him disappear behind a corner but just before he does, he shoots his head toward me and glances at me. All I can do is stare back dumbfounded. And then he's gone.

Silence.

Did it even happen? The only evidence I hold is the wildly beating heart in my chest. I stagger back into my apartment, slowly closing the door and leaning against it. I realize I don't even know his name. I knock the side of my head. Stupid! You could've gotten yourself killed!

As the lust has left -- and the cucumber margaritas -- I realize my friends were right. I do have a type.

I'm well acquainted with villains in my bed. And he is absolutely a villain.