Mark opened the door to his house and gestured for the brunette to enter first.
"Welcome to my very, very humble abode."
She smiled and walked into the pitch-black gulf before her. Following her, Mark analyzed the surroundings outside his house then closed the door. He had a guest tonight, it was only common sense that he took extra caution.
He took the lead as they walked into the abysmally dark room with suppressed steps.
An intimate whisper flowed into his ear.
"Is your house always like this?"
He whispered back.
"Pretty much. Sorry if it is making you unsettled."
They continued to silently traverse the destitute place. Their bond seemed to part the somber air, granting them a bubble of warmth amidst the melancholic house. It was pristine, thoroughly cleaned, as if a passionate hand had swept the dust and filth away, leaving nothing but a sanitary emptiness.
The living room opened up to them, with the couch, the coffee table, and Mark's mother idling about. In the distance was the kitchen- equally devoid of dirt.
Luckily, there were no bottles or signs of drugs, which means that the local homebody would be grumpy at most.
Mark exhaled in relief.
"Is that your mother?"
He nodded.
"She seems to be asleep. Please, try not to wake her up."
Nodding, the brunette held his hand and they continued to the stairway. Yet before Mark could even put his foot on the steps, his mother stirred on the couch.
Shuddering, Mark put his foot on the first stair and tugged at the brunette, but the figure that was just lying on the couch had already risen.
"Mark... is there two of you now?"
He stopped.
At this point, it was better to respond than leave her in silence. Though either option would annoy her, this one would bring less harm.
"No, I am still a single person. You should go back to sleep."
Stretching his mind, a brief silence ensued before a mature yawn broke it.
"Wait. Then who did you bring into our house? Not one of your drugged-up alcoholic gang 'friends', right?"
His efforts at pacifying became ineffective as the frequency of her words surged along with the volume of her voice.
"This... This is Camille."
Beside him, the brunette shifted.
"Hello."
Then his mother froze. Whether she was in shock or disbelief, the woman had no care for the awkwardness that crept up with her lack of response.
Mark used this time to instill more solitude and calm into her mind.
Finally, she yawned and lay back on the couch.
"Don't be too loud, or else I'll have you do it outside."
Veins bulging, Mark turned away and brought Camille upstairs. They stopped at the top where three doors surrounded them.
To the left was his room, to the right was his parents', at least, before it was abandoned.
He opened the door to his parents' room.
"Nobody is using this room, so you can stay here."
The brunette turned to him, and though he couldn't see it, there was probably a smirk on her face.
"You sure you don't want me to keep you company?"
Sighing, he pushed her into the room and went into his own.
Before entering his bed, he neatly organized the bills that had been piling up on his desk, then pulled a book from his shelf and read for a bit until his mind wandered. He then took off his shoes and slept.
...
The sun rose as surely as it ever would. Light peeked through Mark's wide window as he woke up.
Yawning, he put back on his shoes.
Recently, the habit of keeping necessary things close had taken hold of him, especially his guns. They rarely left the proximity of a few feet from his body.
"Open up!"
A fist collided against the front door to his house, sending a restless pounding throughout the house.
'Goddamn it. I should have stayed at the warehouse.'
Anton was back. That, or some other pest from the army. He should have expected it after having been seen the previous day.
"Coming! Coming! Would it kill you to be less of an ass?"
His mother was already awake and moving, irritation moving her more than her usual energy would permit.
The door opened.
"Is your son here?"
Upstairs, Mark drew his gun.
"He's upstairs. Now go take him and don't bother me again!"
Sighing, he aimed his firearm.
'Damned ingrate. You can't even see that I'm the only reason you're still alive. Once I'm gone, who the hell will feed your sorry self? Certainly not your wretched sister.'
Maybe betrayal ran through his blood.
The man below wasted no time. Steps dreadfully echoed through the abode.
At that moment, the door to his parent's room opened and the brunette stepped out.
"Hello, Anton. It's been quite some time, don't you think so too?"
Shots echoed through the house and glass shattered on the floor.
"Get out of the way."
Another crash scattered shards of glass both within and outside the house.
Mark braced himself dearly as he fell from his room, onto the hard concrete street.
Landing into a graceless roll, he ignored the shock coursing through his body and the protesting cries of his muscles, running without hesitation.
Blood dripped from his face, where pieces of glass bit deeply into his skin. Most disappointingly, his clothes were an absolute mess- torn by his damned window.
He could hear hurried steps running down the stairwell and through the house, and saw a few wretches on the streets looking at him weirdly.
They all were rendered as useless noise. Fighting against the strain imposed on his body, he treated it as ruthlessly as a corpse and broke into a sprint, running from Anton who was a few meters from him.
"Stop before I fucking shoot!"
Mark disregarded the threat, as he already had experienced his fair share of being chased while people shot at him. While it was dreadfully risky, he could survive.
Besides, it was too late.
Turning into a narrow alley, he entered the urban maze of the backstreets.
Before he did though, he stole a glance at his pestilent pursuer.
He lifted his arm and raised his middle finger.