Strange & Beautiful

Stars dotted the shattered shards of glass that littered my room, the tiny remnants of my window reflecting the night sky. Moonlight trickled in through the jagged, gaping hole in what was once my window, casting a soft bluish glow on the reflective surface of the glass littered across the floor. The cold September air blew in the room, chilling my skin, but it was the deep crimson which dotted the white carpet and the bloodied, tattered man staring me down that had me trembling. His coal black eyes held me captive, forbidding me to move the slightest inch. My knees felt weak and ready to buckle, warning that they would drop me to the floor any minute. My heart pounded violently in my chest, and I could feel each pulse fluctuate throughout my entire body. I watched the blood dribble down the length of his left forearm and drip in a continuous succession of droplets from the tips of his bronze fingertips to the small puddle gathering below. A scream was building in the back of my throat, and when he shifted the tiniest bit, I opened my mouth to let it out.

He made his move then, and in a flash he was across the room. In a matter of seconds, he had thrown me onto my bed, climbed on top of me, pinned my wrists above my head, and covered my mouth with his hand, my scream coming out muffled and sounding more like a whimper. Panic quickly settled in, every rational thought pointing to 'rape', and I began struggling under him, writhing about and trying to free any limb to hit, kick, or punch him off of me. His weight only pushed me harder into the bed as he straddled my stomach and I quickly found it difficult to move at all. He leaned in close, and in the most threatening voice I had ever heard, he growled in my face, “Don't make a sound, or I swear I'll rip your throat out.”

Left with no other option, I nodded, tears springing to my eyes. His dark eyes glared down at me for a second, seeming to be considering whether I was being honest or not, before he removed himself from me and stalked over to the window. I let my eyes follow his every movement, but refused to move from the bed, afraid of angering the man who had threatened my life. He cautiously approached the empty window frame, avoiding the inevitable crunch of the broken glass scattered around his feet, and peered over the edge. The man glanced out over the yard, up both sides of the street, and the houses across the road from us. Seeming satisfied with what he had seen (or perhaps what he hadn't seen), he turned around. My body stiffened, bracing myself for the horrors this man was about to do to me. I winced with every step he took toward the bed, my body left trembling in terror when he sat himself on the edge of the mattress.

He eyed me curiously. “What's your name, girl?” he asked after a moment.

I drew in a shaky breath, trying to speak around the lump in my throat, “Bailey.”

“Bailey what?” he demanded.

“Anderson...”

The man pushed himself off of the bed and bowed respectively. “Bailey Anderson, my name is Theodore William Hoffman,” he began, speaking formally. I frowned, unprepared for this sudden turn in events, and slowly sat up. He continued, unfazed by the fact that his mood had completely shifted, “Due to a certain set of unfortunate events, I am, how you would say, on the run, and require a place to seek refuge in. It would be with utmost joy and appreciation if you would allow me to stay in your humble abode until further notice.” He lifted his head slightly to award me with a charming smile.

I peered at him, perplexed. “You... What?” I stuttered, thoroughly bewildered.

The so-called Theodore stood up straight, that charming, friendly smile still plastered on his face. “You would really be helping me out. Especially since I'm injured and all,” he elaborated, gesturing to his bleeding arm. A look of realization crossed over his face and he stared at me, his eyes widened slightly. “Unless...” I raised a brow at him. “Unless you want me to go out in the cold and freeze to death,” he gasped, staring at me with an obviously fake shocked expression.

I furrowed my brow, frowning at this strange man. “And if I do?” I inquired, regretting it as the words tumbled out of my mouth.

Theodore stared at me for a moment, considering this, and I began to fidget uncomfortably under his intense gaze. There was a dull throb in my head, almost as if something was prodding around inside. I reached up to absentmindedly rub my temples to soothe the ache, but when my fingertips touched the skin, the pain subsided. My hand fell back down to my side and I peered up at the man, almost jumping at the wicked grin that had spread across his lips. In the blink of an eye, he was back on the bed, pinning me back down to the comforter. I squeaked in surprise, my brain trying its best to try and catch up with these quick movements. My mind slowly registered that he had me pinned once again, and after it had settled in, I began to struggle. Of course, he was stronger and easily ceased my wild thrashing about. An amused chuckle rippled out from deep within his chest and he bent down, his cold lips brushing against my earlobe.

“Although it wasn't part of the plan, I can easily do that, you know,” he whispered darkly in my ear, sending chills down my spine. I froze, not quite sure what he was referring to, when the dull ache returned in my head and a memory of the possibility of rape was forcefully pulled into focus. It was gone as soon as it had come, and I could feel my very core begin to shake. Sensing that I understood, he added, “You don't want that, do you Bailey?” I shook my head quickly, anxious to rid the possibility from both of our minds. He muttered a satisfied 'good' and pulled back slightly.

I stared up at him with pleading eyes. “But...” I quickly racked my brain for an excuse. “Where would you even stay? It'd be pretty hard to hide you in the guest bedroom,” I blurted out, mentally cursing myself for the lame excuse.

Theodore scowled down at me. “I'm not stupid, Bailey,” he growled.

“Well, I'm pretty sure my dad wouldn't be too happy to find out his daughter was smuggling a grown man in his house,” I offered, appalled by the awful excuses tumbling out of my mouth.

“He's never gonna find out, silly. That's why it's called 'hiding'. Where is your dad anyway?” he asked randomly.

I frowned. “At dinner, why?”

He raised his brow. “Without you?”

I shrugged the best I could in his grasp. “It's him and his girlfriend's anniversary.”

He hummed in understanding and thought. “What about the basement?”

I shook my head. “My dad is always running down there. He's got office stuff filed away in the basement.”

Theodore pursed his lips. “Attic?”

Instinctively my eyes drifted to my closet. I caught myself and quickly snapped my attention back to his face. “Don't have one,” I lied. He had noticed, though, and was already turning his head to stare at my closet doors. He glanced back at me momentarily, a curious glint in his eye, and got up off the bed. Slowly, he strode over to the bi fold doors, coming to a stop when he was standing directly in front of them. He eyed the wooden sliding doors from the floor to the ceiling before grasping the two handles and pulling the doors apart, creating an opening to the closet space beyond them. I bit my lip and shut my eyes, knowing that now I had no choice but to let this deranged man stay in my attic. I could imagine him glancing around the relatively large closet space, searching for any sign that an attic was inside. He'd be confused when it would appear to be just an ordinary closet, that is until he would lift his gaze to the ceiling. There, he'd notice the square in the ceiling which lead to the floor above my bedroom, and then he'd know as well as I did that he had gained access to my attic.

I cracked open an eye to peek across the room at him. What I didn't expect was that he was inches away from my face, hovering over me with his eyes staring intently at my face. I noticed with a sense of shock that his eyes had changed from coal black to deep amber. My body instinctively tensed, unsure of what he was doing or what he was about to do. I stared at my reflection in his eyes, waiting for him to move. Very slowly, Theodore leaned in closer, angling his head to get better access to...to...what? My heart nearly skipped a beat as the previous thought of being raped crossed my mind again, and I screwed my eyes tightly shut, bracing myself for what was to come.

Something wet ran up my cheek and I flinched at the touch. My eyes snapped open and I realized that he was licking my face. Jerking myself backwards, I pressed my back firmly against the headboard. Theodore crawled after me, but I placed a hand on his chest, giving a single, hard shove. His golden eyes landed on my hand, as did mine, and dread quickly washed over me as I spotted the bloody fingerprints painted across the skin on my wrist. Before I even had a chance to retract my hand, he had seized my forearm and brought my wrist up to his mouth. His lips parted and his tongue had just connected with my skin when I wrenched it out of his grasp and held it protectively against my chest.

“Thanks, but I think I know how to wash it off,” I reasoned, shooting him a look that clearly stated 'back off'.

His eyes, reverting back to their original color, narrowed and with inhuman speed grasped my hand again, retorting, “Yes, but this is my blood. Therefore, I have the right to put it back in my body.” As if to prove his point, he brought my wrist yet again to his mouth and ran his tongue along the skin, erasing any last indication that there was any blood on it in the first place. An involuntary shiver ran through my body at the odd sensation, my skin unsure of how to react to the cold temperature of his hand combined with the heat of his tongue gliding over my wrist.

My eyes wandered down the length of his arm. “Your arm is bleeding,” I stated stupidly, unsure of what else to say. As if to humor me, Theodore glanced down at his arm as if he hadn't already known that.

“Seems as though it is,” he replied nonchalantly, dropping my now cleaned wrist.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “I could, uh, find the first-aid kit, if you wanted,” I offered, starting to climb off the bed. He nodded in approval and allowed me to leave the room.

Once I had stepped through the door frame, I sprinted to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. With my back pressed against the wooden door, I slid down to the floor, clutching my head in my hands. Oh, God, I thought. OhGodohGodohGod. My body began to shake and I shut my eyes, trying to calm myself. I took in deep, even breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth. After a few moments of this, the shaking died down to a mild tremble. I pushed myself back up on my feet and leaned against the sink. My eyes slid over to the door, and after a thoughtful second, I twisted the lock. I turned to face the mirror and stared into the wide eyes of my reflection. “Okay,” I breathed, speaking to the frightened girl in the mirror. “There's a man in your room. A grown man, maybe even an old man. Definitely a crazy man. Yeah, definitely crazy.” I let out a big breath. “And he wants to live in your attic. Okay, you can do this Bailey. Yeah, you can do this.” My reflection stared back at me unconvincingly. “Oh, God, I can't do this!” I cried, dropping my head in my hands. I turned around and leaned back against the counter, running my hands through my hair. I drew in deep, even breaths, trying to calm myself. “Okay. Okay okay okay,” I whispered to myself before turning back around to face the mirror again. “Alright, you're just gonna patch up his arm and tell him that he can't stay here. This is your house, and he has no right to just invite himself to crash in your attic.” The determined expression my reflection wore seemed to agree with me. “Besides,” I told my face, “he asked for your permission. You're allowed to decline.” With a determined nod, I opened one of the cabinet doors and began to search for bandages.

I returned with an armful of first-aid equipment to an empty room. A frown settled over my face as I struggled to hold the various band-aids, bandages, and wraps. My eyes roamed around the room, searching for the man who had thrown himself through my window as I dumped my arms' contents on my bed. The thought that he might have changed his mind and left occurred to me, and for a brief moment I was overwhelmed with joy and relief, that is until I heard rustling coming from my closet. Assuming he was checking out the attic, I began sorting through the various bandages, choosing which ones I thought I would need. There was some shuffling behind me, and faintly I made out the words 'oh man'. I shrugged it off and continued keeping my hands busy.

“Aren't you a little young to have stuff like this?”

My hands froze, confused by the statement considering I didn't have anything to provoke it. I peeked over my shoulder to ask what he meant. Theodore was standing in the doorway of my closet, an amused smirk on his face, and he was holding up an article of clothing. My eyes examined the red fabric covered in black lace, and after a moment of scrutiny, I realized with horror that he was holding up one of my bras. My face flared up and I dove for the undergarment, snatching it out of his unworthy hands. “Gimme that!” I squeaked, cheeks ablaze in embarrassment. A triumphant smirk sat smugly on his face as he stared down at me.

“Honestly, I think the bow is overdoing it,” he stated, crossing his arms.

My hands clutched the bra tighter against my chest. “This is off limits, including everything else in my closet. Understand?” I tried my best to glare at him, but I'm sure I looked ridiculous with my face matching the color of a ripe tomato.

Theodore shrugged and reached for something in his pocket. “Good thing these were in my pocket, then,” he said, pulling out the matching pair of panties in their black laced glory, silk red bow adorning the hem. My eyes widened and I went to wrench them out of his hand, but he lifted them above his head and out of my reach. “Nuh-uh, I don't think so. I'll give them back once you get my arm patched up,” he said, grinning down at me. I huffed in annoyance and stalked over to my bed, motioning for him to follow me. He plopped himself on the edge of my bed, staring at the various bandages curiously. I frowned, realizing that I might need a washcloth to clean up some of the blood, so I told Theodore that I would be right back and returned to the bathroom. I found an old plastic bucket we used to use when I would get sick and placed it in the tub. I turned on the water and let the bucket fill while I searched for a washcloth.

When I stepped back inside my room, I froze. Theodore glanced up and gave a small wave. I blinked and forced my legs to carry me towards his shirtless form. I placed the bucket full of warm water on the ground and stared at Theodore. I had never actually been this close to a shirtless guy, let alone a shirtless guy in my room, and I suddenly felt very much like a virgin staring at this half naked man sitting on my bed. It struck me that I've never really looked at a boy's skin before, never noticed how tightly it was wrapped around the muscles on their arms, how it stretched across their chests and highlighted the soft outline of their abs, or the small trail of hair that made a path from their bellybutton and disappeared beneath the hem of their jeans.

A soft mumble rang in my ears, the familiar chime of my name bringing my attention to the man who had uttered it. I blushed, embarrassed that I had let my eyes roam his bare chest. An amused smirk played on his lips and he said, “You got a little drool.” He pointed to the corner of his mouth to show where. I brought my hand up to my mouth and touched the corner of my lips. He chuckled softly and I frowned, realizing that he was teasing me. I rolled my eyes. “Ha ha, very funny. Sit on the floor, I don't want any water dripping on my bed,” I ordered, walking over to my vanity for a hair tie. After I had tied my hair back, I sat down on the floor in front of him.

“You didn't really need to undress yourself, you know,” I said as I plucked the washcloth from the water and wrung it out. I brought it up to his arm and began wiping off the trails of blood.

He watched my hands work. “Yeah, but I didn't want to get my shirt dirty.”

I peered up at him. “There's blood on it.”

He shrugged and said, “I didn't want it to get wet.” I raised my eyebrows. His eyes met mine and he furrowed his brow. “What? Would you want to spend the rest of the night in a wet shirt?”

“You don't like wet T-shirts?” I asked jokingly.

“Only if they're white,” he replied.

I rolled my eyes and dipped the cloth in the water. My eyes sought out the source of all the blood, and instantly felt my stomach churn. A large, jagged gash sat proudly on his upper arm, glaring at me. The more I looked at it, the more it looked like a giant, gaping hole, and it only made me feel even more likely to vomit. I tried my best to ignore the horrid injury and continued dabbing it with the damp cloth. The water in the bucket gradually gained a pinkish tint as I continued to rinse the bloody washcloth in it, making me twice as sick to my stomach. Eventually his arm was cleaned enough that I could set the washcloth down and begin dressing his arm. I reached for the bandages and began wrapping his arm. I glanced up to steal a quick peek at him. His hair was dark and long, falling in thin, wavy layers down to the nape of his neck. He had high cheekbones, full, pink lips, and a square jaw. Dark stubble covered his chin and jaw line, as well as above his upper lip. His eyelashes were really long, framing his dark eyes...

...which were staring back at me.

Heat rushed to my face and I quickly averted my gaze, concentrating on the bandage I was wrapping around his arm. I could feel his eyes still on me, as well as his amused smile. "It'll probably scar," I mumbled, pulling away from him and gathering the unused bandages. I stood up to return them to the bathroom, but stopped in the doorway. Turning around, I watched him pick up his tattered shirt. "Hey," I called out to him. He looked up, paused in the act of putting on the shirt again. "Don't put that on. I'll give you one of my dad's old shirts to wear."

He raised a brow. "Why?"

"I'm not gonna make you wear that dirty, torn up thing."

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked.

"Throw it out," I replied, and walked out of the room.

Raiding my father's room felt very strange, not because I had never done it before, but because I was stealing one of his shirts for another man. I've never been allowed to be alone with a boy, let alone have one in the house, and now there is a half naked man who may very well be twice my age sitting in my bedroom, and he has already raided my underwear drawer. My face heated up at that thought, and I quickly searched through the dresser for a T-shirt. This is so wrong, I realized. He can't stay here, not one night, not ever. I grabbed a simple white one and dashed out of my dad's room, heading down the hall back towards my own bedroom. Upon entering I threw the shirt at the man's face, which he managed to catch, and took in a deep breath.

"You can't stay here. This is my house, and you can't just barge in, break my window, and ask to crash for the night in my attic. I don't know who you are, where you came from, or who you're running from, and that's some pretty important stuff to know before letting someone hide in your house. For all I know, you could be a serial killer, or a rapist, or maybe you robbed a gas station - "

"Because clearly that's the worst of the three," he added sarcastically.

" - and I don't want that sort of negative influence in my house. I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to leave. You can keep my dad's shirt, but that's all. So, please get out of my house," I ended, sounding very unsure of myself. I stared down at him with the most sense of authority a sixteen year old girl can muster.

He gazed up at me for a long time, no emotion displayed on his face. Slowly, he pushed himself off the floor, T-shirt still in hand, and although his face still held no emotion, his voice had a dangerous hint to it. "Do you have any idea what I am?" he asked, although I'm sure he wasn't really looking for an answer. He continued, taking slow strides toward me, "I'm a being from Hell, a creature of the night. I lurk in the shadows and alleyways and prey on naive little girls like yourself, and you know why?" He was standing directly in front of me, and he leaned in close to my face, his dark eyes glowering menacingly at me. "Because I can," he growled at me, and took a step back. "Therefore, I am staying here, whether you like it or not."

I was at a loss for words. He turned his back to me and pulled the shirt over his head, stretching the fabric tight across his torso. I told him no. I said he couldn't stay here, not tonight, not ever, and he ignored me. My hands curled into fists at my sides. How dare he? This is my house, my rules, and he has the nerve to decide on his own whether he stayed or not? He has no right! He asked for my permission, so what I say goes. I gritted my teeth and strode toward him.

"Hey," I growled and yanked on his arm, spinning him around to face me. His eyes were wide in surprise, clearly not expecting this conversation to continue. "You can't just tell me what you are and aren't going to do, alright? This is my house, not yours, so you can't just invite yourself in here. I choose who stays here and who doesn't, and you are on the list of who doesn't. Besides, you asked for my permission, so you can't just go deciding things on your own, no matter what I say," I retaliated, glaring up at him.

He stared back at me almost quizzically, his head tilted slightly, causing his bangs to slide down into his dark eyes. It soon became uncomfortable and I slowly lost my determined stance, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. I opened my mouth to ask why he was staring at me when my back was slammed against the wall. The sudden pain rippling down my spine caused me to bring in a sharp intake of breath, surprised at how fast I had hit my bedroom wall when merely a second ago I was standing in the middle of the room. My brain didn't have much time to register what had happened before Theodore pressed his mouth roughly over my own, his soft lips moving hungrily against mine. Eyes wide, I began to struggle beneath him, although it was difficult as his body was pressed firmly into me, pinning me to the wall behind me. I tried the best I could to push him away, however it did nothing, and he wouldn't budge. The sharp sting of his teeth nibbling my bottom lip elicited a gasp from me, presenting him the opportunity to slither his tongue past my parted lips. I squealed into his mouth and began to writhe under him again, but to no avail. His tongue explored my mouth, violating it, before seeking out my own tongue. I shivered at the sensation, having no experience with this. It felt weird, slimy, and wet, and for some reason it felt good, yet it disgusted me at the same time. No, this wasn't right. I don't know this man, he's forcing himself on me, and I'm scared. I didn't like this, in fact, I hated it. With my eyes screwed shut, I stood as rigid and unmoving as I could, praying that it would be over soon.

And just like that, he pulled away, leaving me gasping for air, and stood up straight. My arm raised to act as a barrier, shielding my mouth from him, and I stared up at him in horror. He leered down at me with a satisfied grin and an amused gleam in his eyes. Slowly he dragged his tongue across his lips, sending a terrified shiver down my still aching spine. "I like you," he said with a small laugh. "This is going to be fun." He then walked over to my bed, plucked one of my pillows from it, and headed towards my closet. Before climbing into the attic, he peered over his shoulder at me. "Goodnight, Bailey," he called tauntingly, and then disappeared inside my attic, leaving me alone to deal with the shattered remains of my bedroom window scattered about my bloodstained carpet.