Chapter 27 #2
Really, Cindel? That’s the first thing you say to the deranged stalker that’s broken into your home again!
He looks from me to his feet and slowly sits up, bringing his large boots to the floor instead of my comforter.
His movements are exaggerated, like a cartoon character unsure if the next frame is going to lead him to something unpleasant.
I can’t see his mouth; my hearing aids aren’t on.
What if he’s speaking to me? I can’t hear anything, but I know he can hear me.
I clutched my towel, feeling oddly exposed, caught off guard. Even though this man has seen a lot more of me than in this moment, I’m not a fan of surprises. Also, I did those things with him, back when I convinced myself he was Eamon. Now, I know better.
He remains fixed in place on my bed. Studying me, probably waiting to see how this scenario plays out.
He’s once again letting me decide. The bedroom door ajar; I briefly wonder if I am fast enough to make it out.
Should I find something to defend myself?
He’s never hurt me before… I survey the room, realizing subtle changes around me.
A full glass of water on my nightstand and…
did he change my sheets? I can’t help but shake my head at the gall of this man.
He has to be a psychopath. Why else would someone they don’t even know go through such great lengths to care for a stranger?
Peeking out to the living room, I find long shadows stretching along the space.
Could Andrea be walking through the front door at any moment?
The shadowy figure watches my every move. Finally, I pipe up, “Who are you?!” If he said anything, I wouldn’t know. I can’t see his mouth.
He raises off the bed, crossing the room so swiftly, I don’t have time to think let alone respond before he reaches me.
Without my shoes, he’s even bigger. He has to crane his neck down just to see my face, when he’s this close.
His gloved hand extends, revealing the little purple starred tech within his palm.
Peering up to his covered face, I arm my lungs with air before letting out a choppy breath.
If I do what he wants, maybe he’ll leave before Andrea comes home.
Reluctantly, I took the offered gadget and nestled it into my right ear. I startle and step back just as he reaches for something. He must take notice of my reaction, because he moves more slowly, as if to tell me not to worry.
The masked stranger pulls a phone from his pocket, then begins pressing its screen. I wish my winter gloves worked on my touch screen devices. I try to peek at the screen, but he quickly hides his phone away into his pocket once again.
Drums kick-off, followed by a catchy guitar solo that could only be one song. “Two Princes” by Spin Doctors.
Motionless, he regards me as I listen to the newest message within.
It seems like all his song choices hold some kind of meaning.
We’re both still, standing mere feet apart in my room, just taking in the other.
When the song concludes, the lyrics are still playing on repeat in my head.
I know this song like the back of my hand, so I didn't need to hear it a second time.
Memories of my brother and I, jumping around our playroom with the boombox blasting, dancing our hearts out to artists like Spin Doctors, Beastie Boys, and Reel Big Fish. He’s always had impeccable taste in music. After the explosion, we didn’t really dance anymore.
I wish I could see the man’s eyes who stood before me. Even his gaze could tell me so much. His intentions. His truth. I’m at a loss of words.
Nervously I fidget, switching hands to hold my towel closer to my body, when I accidentally drop the whole thing! The towel falls to the floor around my feet. I soundlessly gasp as he steps forward, bending down before my naked body.
Why didn’t I mind him touching me in the women’s bathroom at The Black Sheep?
Maybe it’s because I’m feeling unwell or is it due to the fact that I have no idea who he is?
I feel exposed and unsure of myself. Uncertain of my ability to make good decisions as of late.
Especially when it comes to this strange man.
He stands to his full height with my white towel in hand, wrapping his arms around me to secure my towel in place, all without actually touching me.
“Thank you,” I say on a shaky breath. I can feel the reverberation through my chest.
He nods before moving toward the doorway, freeing up space for me to move about in my room. I opt to sit on the bed. My thoughts waning enough for me to feel the illness still present in my body.
“You’re not Eamon?” It comes out more as a question than a statement.
He shakes his head from side to side.
I knew it! If I weren’t already sitting, I’m confident my knees would buckle. I study the floor while asking the next question; my throat vibrates as I enunciate each word. “Are you here to hurt me?” Slowly, I drag my attention up his massive body, to his covered eyes.
He crosses his arms, as if offended by my inquiry, shaking his head deliberately no.
“Are you royalty or something? Is that why you don’t talk? Do I know you?”
He’s not answering anything else. Did I ask too many questions? Did I say the wrong thing? I push myself to stand. Closing the space between us, so tired of constantly being in the dark.
“Please... I need answers.”
Just one more step closer and I would be pressed against his chest.
His head tilts downward, so close to him that he can only view me by putting his chin on his chest. As I study this immovable mysterious man, the grip on my towel instinctively tightens, causing my hand to tingle and ache.
After long moments of us silently facing off in a weird ying yang of dark versus light, he tilts his head to the side. Nothing more.
This is beyond frustration. “I don’t understand.” I nearly cried.
He steps around me, going to my vanity, and returns with something in his hand.
Standing just behind me now, he pushes my hair back behind my ear and gently removes the earbud.
Clearly, no more songs will be played. Tenderly, he begins brushing the ends of my hair, gradually working his way up, to remove tangles from my still damp strands.
I hadn’t had a chance to finish, being caught off guard when I saw him in my bed.
He’s so close. My fight or flight slowly ebbs away, and in its place, contentment is causing my eyes to become heavy.
The brush running over my scalp and the fact that this man has only brought me pleasure, every time we’re together.
Heat radiates off him like a furnace on a winter’s day. He smells masculine. Also, a little like black licorice, which really has a bad rap, in my opinion. It’s such a sweet and intoxicating odor.
My eyes fly back open when the brushing stops. With gloved hands, he places one of the hearing aid cases behind my ear; then carefully wraps the tube around, positioning the inner receiver just inside my ear.
Aside from my parents or doctors showing me when I was little, no one has ever done this for me. Never so intimately. Not like this.
Delicately, he does the same thing to my other ear.
It’s odd how much I crave this stranger’s touch, more than he probably even realizes, but knowing now he’s not Eamon, feels like I’ve somehow wronged everyone involved.
Does my stalker know Eamon? Has he watched me go on dates with him?
Is this enigmatic man some bar patron who has slowly become obsessed with me?
The absence of his touch causes me to groan.
I continue standing in the center of my bedroom, now hearing his footsteps leave only to return just as quickly, with a robe from the bathroom.
He drapes it over my shoulders, guiding my arms through.
Swiftly, he tugs the towel away and pulls the garment closed with the tie in the middle.
My face feels hot. Am I running another fever? How is he able to withdraw such intense feelings from me? Despite all the things I’ve let this man do to me, I’m still reluctant… fascinated… eager. Am I bothered he hasn’t touched me or impressed he’s trying to care for me?
He takes me by the hand and escorts me to the couch, as if I’m a visitor in my own home. I may be able to hear now that my hearing aids are on, but he has yet to speak to me.
Placing a blanket over my shoulders, he leaves the room.
What would Andrea say if she walked in right now? She already seemed to have a distaste for Eamon; how would she react when she found me shacked up with a random masked stranger?
He returns promptly with a glass of water and a box of flu and cold tablets. Placing down the glass in front of me, he shakes the box and proceeds to the kitchen. It’s unsettling how effortlessly he moves through the space, finding everything he needs with ease.
Well… he’s been here before, but how long has he been watching me? Does he have cameras in here?
He stops what he’s doing, pulling me from my thoughts, and points to the box of medicine and then to me.
Bossy. I hold up the blister pack of pills, exaggerating each motion, as I unpackage, wave the pill at him, and swallow the set. Not because he told me to, but because it has been multiple hours since I last took a dose.
He fetches the leftover pastina soup from the fridge and proceeds to ladle a portion in a bowl before microwaving. Cementing the fact, he is the one who made the soup. He’s clearly taking care of me. It seems like the more interactions I have with this man, the gentler he becomes.
That or it’s a textbook case of Stockholm Syndrome and I need to resume seeing my therapist at once. Is it wrong that I don’t have regrets about the things we’ve done together?
The microwave stops humming, and he carries the piping hot bowl over to my seated position, placing it on the coffee table before me. He extends a spoon, indicating he wants me to eat. Apparently, this man has superpowers to command his will.