SLITHER ᴀɴɢᴇʟ

SIX

SLITHER
CHAPTER VI

🌗

Suddenly the lights came on and my mouth fell open. Crouched on the ground with the knife pierced through his shoulder was... Roman. His face held an expression of pure agony.

I was frozen.

What have I done?

Roman grunted in pain as he pulled the knife out of his flesh and threw it aside.

"Is this..how you..say hello where you..come from?" He said it slowly, clenching his jaw and biting his teeth hard. Even in pain, he had an attitude.

He was losing blood and the liquid stained his white shirt, increasing the area of stain every second.

"You could have knocked" was what I managed to say when I finally recovered from my frozen state.

Way to go Eva. Twelve years of education and you still don't know about an apology.

"You were screaming your head off." He winced as his hand pressed to the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. " You could have been murdered. The last thing I thought of was knocking, Angel."

He stressed the last word. Calling me Angel. I had made it clear to him that I didn't want him calling me that. But I have to admit, I did enjoy it the teeniest tiny bit. Oh who am I kidding? It made me feel special.

I lifted myself off the bed and walked over to Roman. He looked so weak and in pain. It hurted me to see him like that, it was like I could almost feel his pain. We may not get along too much but I'm still human, I could empathize.

Our eyes locked but I couldn't read the emotions in his, they were hardly of pain anyway. I slowly​ took his hand in mine exposing the wound, ignoring the sparks I felt and examined it. It was a deep cut but strangely the pool of blood beside him was small compared to the size of the wound. Also, the bleeding had already stopped and blood was clotting.

Weird.

I said nothing about it though. I got some cotton wool from my first aid box and some water from the faucet. I ought to clean up this mess. I mentally thanked my mum for teaching me this kind of stuff, tending to all kinds of wounds. She even thought me how to deal with a bullet wound, she was a firm believer in expecting the unexpected.

I asked him to sit on the bed, and offered him my hand but he hardly looked as if he was in pain.

"Take off you t-shirt." I instructed with the cotton ready in my hand.

He cocked his head to the left and looked up t me."you want me that bad, Angel?"

How even does he manage to be so cocky? Even when he could be bleeding to his death? I was considering nominating him for the Cockiness Awards,  if that even was a thing.

"Just take it off." I was getting impatient but I couldn't be rude. After all I'd thrown a knife at him.

He obeyed me and pulled his red tshirt over his head in one swift movement revealing a full set of well defined abs and a perfectly lean upper body that screamed sex god. But not before he gave me one of his famous smirks. 

His eyes clung on to my every movement as I slowly cleaned his wound.

He didn't wince on contact, maybe he was really good at hiding pain. Finally, having removed all the dried blood around the wound, I noticed that he was healing really fast. A thin layer of new skin had formed over his wound.

How can he heal so fast? Was it even possible?

I stared at his shoulder in disbelief. Not just that, how did I actually hit him. From what I remember,I had crappy aim. So how did I hit him. In the dark?

"You screamed." Roman's voice brought me out of the trance.

"Huh?..."

"You were screaming, Angel." He said cooley. "What happened?"

Oh. How was I supposed to explain that I saw a snake outside my window and heard it calling the name Alice without sounding off in the head? Now that I thought about it, it all seemed ridiculous. Who the hell was even Alice? Clark had called me Alice at first. But I pushed that thought aside and just thought of it as a coincidence. I was probably just really tired that I'd imagined the whole thing. And let's not forget the fact that I miss my home. And the major headache I was sporting from work.

"Bad dream." I lied.

"You threw a knife at me." Roman raised his eyebrow not buying my lie. Well, I guess I wasn't as good as I thought to be in the art of lying.

"I was on edge. I thought I was alone." I explained hoping that he would buy it, but I couldn't look him in the eyes. So I pretended to be consumed in putting away the cotton and disinfectant. After all, it was a very interesting thing to do. Please note my sarcasm.

I really didn't want to talk about it even though there was a voice somewhere deep in my head screaming at me to tell him what happened. How could I though?

He looked deep into my eyes calculating something. But it felt like he was looking into me, like he knew just what I was hiding. Or maybe he was just trying to intimidate me into confession.

I mustered up all my courage and looked at him back. The lighting was dim and cast a light shadow on his face, the outline of his long eyelashes were in his cheeks. His Forest Green eyes seemed a shade darker as he stared into my blue eyes. 

"Good night, Angel." He said before he broke eye contact.

"Night. " It came out as a whisper.

He stood up grabbing his shirt and exited my room closing the door behind him, leaving me and my questions alone,  enclosed by the four walls of my room.

I stared at the door through which he had exited. I don't know what but there was a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something wasn't right.

I took one last look at my window which was perfectly normal and finally decided I should sleep. I had a day shift at Charlie's tomorrow and I didn't want to yawn at customers and scare them way mistaking me for a hungry gorilla, thinking that I would eat them.

"Good night, mum." I whispered to my locker and shut my eyes for the second time that night.

Thankfully, I was undisturbed in my slumber.

hєч guчѕ,

ѕσrrч ít'ѕ α ѕhσrt chαptєr вut ít'ѕ ѕtíll ѕσmєthíng ríght? thíѕ wαѕ σrígínαllч pαrt σf thє prєvíσuѕ chαptєr вut í chαngєd ít вєcαuѕє... чσu knσw... ít'ѕ cσσl tσ lєαvє α clíffhαngєr.... 😃😁

αnчwαч í hσpє чσu guчѕ líkєd ít. tєll mє whαt чσu thínk... gívє mє fєєdвαck... єvєn íf ít'ѕ crítícíѕm., í'm σpєn tσ ít.

🅥🅞🅣🅔. 🅒🅞🅜🅜🅔🅝🅣. 🅐🅝🅓 🅢🅗🅐🅡🅔

꒒ꂦᐯꍟ,
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