I groggily regained consciousness, unsure of how much time had passed. But as I awoke, a wave of delightful sensations washed over me, akin to the euphoria of a heavenly massage and a steaming, luxurious shower. I attempted to find a comfortable position, only to be interrupted by an obnoxious noise that refused to let me settle. Letting out a tired sigh, I slowly pried my eyes open.
My gaze wandered aimlessly around the room until it landed on a mysterious figure leaning against the wall, gazing outside and unleashing a barrage of curses. Who on earth could that be? Did I get so drunk that I invited a complete stranger into my room?
Suddenly, it hit me like a thunderbolt. It was him, the very person who had attempted to end my life. With wide eyes, I quickly sat up, clutching the bedside lamp ready to bash his skull, but then something caught my attention. There was a damp towel on my forehead and a warm blanket carefully draped over me. The arrangement was precise, yet it was clear that the person responsible was seething with anger.
Unaware of my awakening, he continued to mutter profanities, clearly furious about something. Utterly perplexed, I found myself questioning why he would try to kill me one moment and then aid me in treating my illness the next. My brow furrowed in confusion, my throbbing head pleading with me to stop thinking and just ask him directly.
"You can stay here until they leave," I heard myself say, astonished by my own words.
Wait, what? Instead of screaming for help, I was inviting him to stay in my room? Surely, I must be out of my mind. No sensible woman would willingly accommodate a dangerous stranger until the police departed. This was the perfect opportunity to save myself. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I felt an odd sense of comfort and tranquility.
Had he perhaps administered something to me? That seemed to be the only logical explanation for my peculiar behavior. He turned his gaze towards me, piercing me with a cold, penetrating glare that seemed to suggest he could discern my thoughts.
Releasing a weary sigh, I sluggishly slid off the bed, realizing that conversing with this enigmatic man would prove to be a daunting task. He seemed unapproachable, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a baseball cap in the still dimly lit room.
"Thank you for assisting me, despite the fact that you also attempted to end my life!" I exclaimed, my voice filled with a mix of gratitude, anger and bewilderment. "What were you thinking, breaking into my room, strangling me, and then coming to my aid? I fail to comprehend your motives. But let me warn you, I have no money to offer you. None!"
Silence hung heavily in the air as he moved away from the window, leaning against my desk. As anticipated, the silent treatment began, threatening to drive me to the brink of insanity.
"Perhaps sitting would be more comfortable for you. That desk isn't sturdy enough to bear your weight," I remarked, hoping for a response.
Still, there was no reply.
With another sigh, I continued, "Why do you want me dead? Why did you change your mind and help me instead?"
He simply continued to stare at me, as if my words were beyond his comprehension.
Once more, a sigh escaped my lips as I scanned my desk, desperately searching for my beloved chocolate bars. I needed their comforting presence to help soothe my frayed nerves. Turning back towards him, my eyes narrowed, suspecting that he had devoured them all. Slowly, I began to approach him, attempting to exude an intimidating aura.
But it seemed my efforts were in vain.
Now, let me set the scene. I stand tall, towering above most men, with a figure that combines a slender, lean physique with enticing curves. It's important for people to understand that you can be both skinny and curvy.
My eyes continued their quest, scanning the surroundings in search of my chocolate. Suddenly, I gasped and shot him a venomous glare as I spotted my coveted bars sitting inside the wastebasket.
"And why, pray tell, are my chocolate bars in there?" I questioned, my voice laced with frustration.
Silence.
"Why won't you say anything?" I inquired, growing increasingly agitated. I ran my hand through my disheveled hair, lost in thought.
Perhaps he doesn't understand English. Upon closer examination, he doesn't strike me as an American. Though I couldn't clearly see his face, his prominent jawline, reminiscent of the likes of Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, indicated that English might not be his native tongue. But wait, silly me! Henry Cavill is British.
"Do you understand English?" I asked, trying to determine his linguistic capabilities.
"Well, unfortunately, I'm not fluent in any other language," I fibbed, not to brag, but I am skilled in six languages.
Still, the response was nothing but silence.
Maybe he's deaf.
Ah, that could be the reason!
A wicked grin spread across my face as I resorted to using sign language to communicate with him.
And finally, he snapped.
"Are you trying to provoke me, girl?" he retorted.
"Aaha!" I shrieked with triumph. "So you can talk," I said, grinning like a madwoman. Finally, I had broken through his stoic facade.
But his vooice!!!
"And who the hell are you calling a girl?" I shot back, my gaze filled with daggers of annoyance.
As usual, he ignored me and sauntered over to the window, furrowing his brows as he observed the increased police presence on the street.
What on earth was happening? And why hadn't the lights returned, forcing the cops to leave so he could make his escape? I shook my head, my mischievous side taking control.
Wariness flickered in his eyes as he glanced at me, undoubtedly feeling driven to the edge of his sanity.
Once again, I sighed, then leaned down to pick up a chocolate bar from the waste bin. With an intentional flair, I tore open the wrapper and began to munch on it as loudly as possible, relishing in the audacity of my actions.
As I noticed him clenching his fist, I realized that my mischievousness may not have been the best idea. But hey, I was growing bored anyway.
Another dramatic sigh escaped my lips, hoping to break the suffocating silence.
"Would you please stop making noise and shut up, or I'll shut you up myself," he warned in a low, menacing tone.
Raising my hand in surrender, I slowly distanced myself from him, realizing it was probably for the best.
Two hours had passed, and the combination of silence and awkwardness was slowly killing me. I had never been this quiet in my entire life, and I loathed it.
"Can I please ask a question?" I inquired, attempting to sound polite, like an innocent child.
"No!" he curtly replied.
Sighing once more, I met his cold glare and nervously swallowed.
After a while, he unexpectedly answered a question I didn't think he would address.
"I didn't try to kill you. I was merely attempting to render you unconscious, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. It was as if I had lost control over my own actions."
Did he take me for a fool? How was I supposed to believe such a dubious explanation?
I looked down at my hands, giving out an humbling posture, and cautiously posed the question I was dying to ask.
"I... I couldn't defend myself. It was as if my body was completely unaware of the danger, which is scientifically impossible not while you had your hand around my neck in a death grip. Did you do something to me?"
"Yes," he responded.
Well, that was an unexpectedly honest answer!
"What did you do?" I pressed further, my curiosity growing.
"You're asking too many questions," he grumbled.
"Sorry! I promise, this will be the last one," I assured him.
He mimicked my sigh and replied, "It's called Lockdernaline."
I scoffed, not buying it. "Lockdernaline? Give me a break! Do you think I'm an idiot?"
He's look totally says he think I am.
"That's made up stuff that only exists in movies. Names like 'Lockdernaline" only appears in movies when stupid directors don't know what to name fictional stuff in movies." I rambled on.
"Then can you explain what happened to you?" he challenged.
I fell silent, deep in thought.
"No, I can't. You tricked my body into believing everything was okay. How did you get hold of such a substance? Are you some kind of secret agent? Do you plan to kidnap me and use me to create deadly bio weapons?"
"No. I.....Quiet!" he snapped.
I merely raised an eyebrow and resumed eating the chocolates on my bed.
He stood up and walked toward the window, observing the ongoing activity outside.
"You know, there's a back door you could have used," I nonchalantly stated, as if it were common knowledge.
He turned and slowly approached me, each step calculated, intensifying my nervousness.
He clenched and unclenched his fist repeatedly, a clear sign of his mounting anger.
"You knew this all along, and you're telling me now?" he seethed.
I gulped, my throat suddenly dry.
"I... I forgot," I stammered, attempting to defend myself truthfully.
In my defense, I genuinely had forgotten.
"Trust me, I would do anything to get rid of you. Besides, you broke into my place. You should have known there was a back door. Didn't you do your research before coming here? And why are you even here in the first place? How did I forget to ask such an important question for the past two hours?" I rambled, my frustration evident.
He abruptly stopped walking and uttered a calm yet commanding phrase, "Show me."
"Show you what?" I retorted angrily.
"The door," he replied with an eerie sense of composure. I quickly nodded in response.
"Sure, follow me," I said, hastily leading him downstairs.
"She must have gone to bed by now. No need to worry," I whispered quietly when I noticed him scanning the surroundings.
"As if I would worry about an old woman," he muttered under his breath.
I cautiously opened the door as quietly as possible, just in case my grandma happened to come downstairs and tease me about hiding a man in my bedroom.
But wait! I had never mentioned that she was an old woman.
"How..." I began to ask, but he had already vanished. I peered down the street, seeing nothing. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air.
"Ungrateful pest!" I muttered, annoyed at his sudden disappearance and the lingering mystery that surrounded him.