Drake The Notorious Killer.

Stalker

What strikes out to me most and first is that he has heterochromia. One eye grey and the other, blue with green. Fuck he's tall. At least a foot or ¾ of a foot taller than me. I'm like 162cm which is like 5ft 4? He's like over 6 ft with the door frame cutting off the top of his head. Bruh. Okay, definitely more than a foot.

He's muscular. His black shirt, ridden with blood marks and stains shining metallic under the moon's light. His midnight hair is styled into a long spiky quiff. Some locks fall over his forehead and eyes. His nose strong and sharp with faint cut lines most probably from fights.

Surprisingly, he's not old. Maybe around 23? Only 2 years older than I. For a minute, we just look at each other. He cocks his head to the side as if in wonder. I'm not that much of a looker. Sure I may be pretty, but not that pretty.

I have dyed maroon red shoulder length hair that's wavy, hazel green eyes, plumpish light pink lips, tan complexion, a straight nose and slightly arched dark brown eyebrows.

He looks back up to my face with a warm smile. It's hard to picture him killing people.

"Are you going to let me in?" His Irish voice sends shivers down my spine. It's husky, deep and gets my heart beating fast. Fuck. Please don't tell me I'm starting to like like him. I don't even know the guy. It must be from fear and adrenaline. Yes. That must be it.

"I-uh" I stumble over words. I clear my throat trying to regain composure. He smiles at that. Fucking cockalorum. "Why should I?"

"Because. I can help you."

"How?"

"I can bandage your torso for you."

"Pass." Fuck no was I letting him see my scars. Wait. No. Why do I care what he thinks? More importantly, why was that my first reason? Why not 'He might kill me', or 'He's a criminal'? Idiot brain.

"Just let me in..." He says with a shiver, suddenly somehow looking small and feeble despite his large size, as he looks against the cold wind, ruffling his eyelashes and hair. Maybe from the cold. I shiver, a non existent touch hovering the skin of my cheek. Fuck. Why am I doing this? My fingers go to the door handle and unlock it. Then pull it open. He steps in, posture straight and suddenly not so weak. Fuck. What did I do? I cross my arms over my chest. That feels better. Way better. He observes the place.

"Pretty shitty apartment. You could afford better, but you don't. Why?" I should be careful around him. He could be manipulative. He wants to know me. In and out. That's how they all are. I shut my mouth, ignoring his question. He catches my gaze, his saturated eye burning into my soul, and my mouth opens to answer.

"Because. Most hours I'm behind my desk at work so what's the point in spending money on something you won't use a heap?" It rushes out of my lips before I can hold them back. Why am I speaking so casually to him?

"Good point." He looks around oncemore, breaking his gaze, before turning to me. "Bandages?" I walk past him to the bathroom and open up the first aid kit. I take out some bandages and turn around on my heel to hand them to him. He stands right in front of me. I'm between him and the bench top. I gaze up at him. His eyes flicker to my lips. I try to ignore it but it eats at my brain. It's impossible to not notice.

His hands lift me up. Surprisingly, they're gentle.

"W-what are you doing?" I breathe out shakily, eyes on his torso, trailing my eyes up before clearing my throat, looking in his eyes. "What are you doing?" I try again, holding his gaze, grinding my teeth together to hold my composure. There's something about him in general I don't trust, putting aside the obvious. He cocks his head to me, his one eye brightening, the other darkening, as if challenging me in some way or perhaps also in wonder.