The Loyal Alone

Chapter Ten

I didn't realize my first night here, just how loud the stairs are when you walk up them, each creaking with a perplexing moan somewhere in between agony and an off-note symphony. There seemed to be a pattern to them, it was hard to ignore. This house was definitely old.

I crept quietly up the stairs and through the hall way to my room feeling the cold wall as I flicked on the light.

I should have smelled him, before I saw him. But my mind skipped over all the smells here. Each one was unfamiliar and new, and even those that were familiar weren't easy to place. Regardless, as I closed my door, there he was, emerging from the bathroom. The man with the black neck beard. I could smell him now that he was in front of me, and I didn't like what was there, testosterone, excitement. Was that anger? He looked like a man needing to dominate a fight, and I didn't want to be in the same room with him. He didn't move from the door way. Instead he leaned against the frame and starred at me with a dark intent in his eyes.

The soft momentum I closed the hall door with led it to a small shuddering 'click' as it closed, and I was in this room with another man, this is the exact scenario I've been taught to avoid my whole life. I reach behind me to grasp the door knobs, but as I do, he just shakes his head.

"Don't do that," he mumbles. "We will just have to chase you."

"We?" I ask.

He doesn't answer. Instead he moves towards me. "How about we take a seat?" He doesn't wait for me to say anything, he grabs my arm and swings me over toward the boxes of clothes. "Sit," he says, pointing to one with the lid on.

"Help me," I whisper looking towards the door behind him, unknowing of how it will help, perhaps someone will hear me? I pictured seeing Cole opening the door at that exact moment. That doesn't make sense. I clear my throat, "Help me," I say a little louder, slowly stumbling away from the boxes, towards the door. No one opens it. My fear nearly paralyzes me, I can barely move.

He catches me by the arm and swings me back toward the boxes and ends it with a hard shove so that I am now sitting. He leans in close and sniffs. First, he sniffs my hair, from the top of my head down. I can feel the hair of his beard tangling with my soft curls. Then he runs his nose along my jaw line and down my neck, stopping at my shoulders and he just stays there a moment before leaning away, but is still too close to me. I freeze. If I fight, there is a chance that someone will come to help, my problem is, I don't know if they will help me, or him. I breathe deeply.

"I'm sorry about my father," I whisper. "He was injured and drugged, he was in unknown territory, that's got to be why he ran. Got to be. He was scared and I'm sorry we had to follow him." I gulp. He's still starring, unmoving, he is inches away from me. "I- Uh- I appreciate you helping us look for him? I'm sorry about what happened to Lowell, I- I-"

He says nothing, just waits, just stares.

"What do you want from me?" I'm still whispering, but my voice is trying to screech, it comes out as a high panicky whistle as air escapes my lungs in a question.

"Shut. Up. Bitch." He leans in closer, he knows his proximity is bothering me, is he trying to use that? He leans in closer, almost to kiss me and I turn my face away, but he has his hand on my chin now and he pulls my face towards him and kisses me. I do not fight him.

My first kiss.

It's not at all romantic in anyway. The way his lips press against mine make me think he has no lips at all, just meat pressing hard against meat. His beard scratching at my skin in an abrasive way. This isn't romantic. Instead it's terrifying. This isn't what I'd thought of when I'd think of kissing- not that I'd think about it often- rather, in those few moments when I felt normal enough and safe enough, I'd sometimes dream of warm soft lips on my forehead before I go to sleep. Or perhaps a quick chaste peck on my hand. Something passionate, filled with love.