Filthy Cloaks / H.S.

Chapter Two.

"Fuck, sorry!" A male voice, specifically Irish, peered through the chilly air, and that was when a hand came into view, reaching out and prompting me to hold onto for support off my ass.

I hovered my hand over his proportionally larger hand and with a precautious hesitation to even touch him, I decided against it and held his hand anyway, given that my once dampened clothes had just become, in an instant, completely soaked.

His grip held mine, and I was pulled up off the ground with his help and strength. The first thing I did was check that the book was safe and dry in the plastic bag, which was visibly evident through the clear material.

"Sorry, again. I didn't see you there. You came out of nowhere," The man had a remorseful and penitent expression, and that was when I actually considered his features.

He had immature fluffs of dirty blonde that, in truth, looked unbrushed yet noticeably soft-ish. Again, just like I had seen with the man smoking near that building, he had piercing blue ocean eyes, the irises remarkable and complementary with his pale silk skin. With one glance, I could tell something about him was cheeky.

"It's alright," I huffed with my hands smoothing down the wet wrinkles that had formed on my plaid flannel and my white top. "It's my fault, I was the one running."

"Why were you running in the first place?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

I pulled my eyebrows together in confusion before taking glances around my surroundings in disbelief. "Did you not hear the screams? I think someone's in danger."

The man furrowed his eyebrows and slightly tilted his head to the side before he added, "Nope, I didn't hear anyone screaming, but I'm sure it's just some cat screeching. These parts of the city are usually surrounded by stray cats anyway."

"No, no, it was definitely someone in pain. Someone's hurt and in need of serious help," I assured, determined that it wasn't some kind of animal. I could tell the difference between human noises as opposed to animal noises, and this one was too petrifying to be anything else.

"Well," The man shrugged his shoulders, "You sure it isn't some kind of a night crawler?" He half-joked, a lopsided smile revealing.

That was when something uneasy spurred in my stomach. Something about this man had revealed itself clearly through that smirk, especially having just heard that there was a possibility that someone was severely hurt. My heart thumped hard, which I'm sure he could hear if the raindrops weren't masking the sound.

Also, the fact that he was an Irish young adult in New York seemed very very sketchy to me.

On that account, when I realized that there was some awkward silence following his remark, I forced a short laugh while turning away and continuing to walk passed him. When I was fully out of his view, I widened my eyes in an alarmed manner, just as I did when I saw that other man leaning against that brick building before this moment.

I've barely spent 15 minutes in this part of the city yet I've already seen two strange and intimidating men.

I had managed to take a deep breath, stretching the lung in my chest to rid myself of the way my skin crawled as I finally made my way out of his sight. It took a while but I put my focus back on finding that person, who supposedly was screaming.