CHAPTER SEVEN
My fingers curl a little, scritching at his scalp. Toro lets out a huff, his massive frame seeming a lot smaller as he desperately laps up… whatever this is. Eventually he stops forcing it, and I come to find that I am actually petting this grown man’s head.
He seems content to just stay like this, but when the floorboard above groans with motion he goes still. Toro jerks his head away, attention snapping to the staircase before slowly turning back to me.
There’s something unreadable about the way he looks at me, but it seems like he’s thinking really hard. He reaches out quickly, but slows down as his digits wrap around my forearm. Toro’s grip is firm, but it’s not rough.
“What…?” My tone is hushed, body still not quite sure if I wanna freak out or just give up entirely. He remains wordless, just pulling me up off my feet. I feel weightless, and that’s only partly because he begins dragging me towards the staircase as if I’m a ragdoll.
I guess I’m not moving fast enough for his liking, because when we reach the bottom step he kneels down to grab my legs and scoop me up.
I gasp, my heart beating fast enough to explode.
He carries me all the way up, and I sort of get the vibe he’s trying to be stealthy all things considered.
Toro slips into the hallway and begins heading towards the back of the house.
His footsteps are just as loud as they were before, though, so I’m not sure how effective this whole stealth thing is.
The boots he wears track mud from outside across the floor, which is already dirty.
I try to ignore the bits of crimson and smears that look a little too similar to blood, finding myself grateful that we’re facing away from the door.
Although the fear is still ever present, the shock has faded just a little. But every time I close my eyes it replays in my head—the way the ax slammed down into Levi’s skull. It was horrible, it is horrible.
Toro smells like death in the most literal sense possible. Death and something forest-y, maybe a gardening shop that’s about to go under. But his grip is oddly tender, holding me as if dropping me will make me shatter into a million pieces. At this rate? I might.
Toro shoulders a door open, nestled away at the back of the house in its own little corner. Maroon wallpaper greets us on the other side, with the same old wooden flooring that’s just slightly cleaner. He sets me down with a grunt, shutting the door behind him.
It’s his room.
His bed is a mattress held up by a simple wooden frame, with a bedside table sat next to it. A beat up old CD player and radio combo rests on top of the table, with a photo of what appears to be Mr. Tavera and a woman sat up against it.
He touches my shoulder, giving it a few taps which earns a yelp out of me. I whip around to see him standing near the door with body language that reads somewhere between nervous and shy. A thick finger points to me, then the door, before he shakes his head and lets his curls bounce around.
“I…” I need to speak. Need to use words. “I can’t… leave?”
Toro nods, smiling a little at me. He’s happy I understood, it seems. I’m definitely not, though. Am I being held hostage? There’s a million different ways this could go, and none of them seem all that great for me.
“...Why?” I vocalize my frustrations, voice clipped as though I’m not talking to a man who could crush me in under a minute. He doesn’t respond, just eyeing me before stepping closer. I instinctively step back, to which he takes another step.
“I don’t understand what you want from me.
” The admission hangs in the air, and after a moment of silence he closes the gap between us.
His hand splays itself across my chest, and I’m sure he can feel how fast my heart is beating.
Toro stays that way, bending down to rub his cheek across the top of my head.
Desperation carries every motion he makes. As if we’re on some imaginary timer in his head, and I think I sort of understand. I’ve been doing my best to ignore it, but people died. My friends are dead. Guilt gnaws away at me, and this weird hug thing Toro is doing isn’t helping me at all.
He pulls away, maybe due to the lack of reciprocation or maybe he was just done. He brings his hands to his chest, nervously playing with his fingers. We’re at some sort of standstill. He… helped me? Saved me? I’m not sure what to call it just yet, but I’m alive.
That has to mean something, doesn’t it?
My gaze wanders to the window, which is pulled open halfway.
It’s so dark outside now, the sky is clear of clouds and it would be beautiful if I wasn’t trapped on a murder farm.
Toro seems to notice, though, and moves to close it.
There’s warning in the look he gives me, and it definitely puts a stop to that idea.
I scan the room around me, taking everything in. A wardrobe. A desk with no chair, and a shag rug peeking out from underneath the bed. It’s a very understated space, but it’s his. I’m in his room.
Toro sits down on his bed, the old frame creaking underneath his weight. He pats the spot next to him, and my mind immediately wanders to the worst possible scenario. I sit, feeling as though I could pass out at any moment. Once I’m sat he gets up, gathering my legs to set them on the bed.
He pulls the surprisingly thick blanket over me, leaning against the side of the bed while sitting on his knees. He’s tucking me in, as evident by the way his rough hand moves to awkwardly stroke my hair. He’s gentle, but clumsy. Treating me as though I’m some kind of human teddy bear.
The mountain of a man seems content, head settling against the mattress as he uses his hands as a sort of pillow. It’s an oddly sweet gesture, letting me sleep in his bed while he curls up next to it like some kind of guard dog.
But what the actual hell does it mean?