Dangerous

Chapter Six

A/N: hi again

Xx

As I folded my hands over my stomach and tried to calm my laboured breathing, Frank sat himself back on the coffee table. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he finally looked at me. His brown eyes were damn near as black as his hair, "Why in the hell have you got nine cats?"

"Hey!" I grinned widely. Sarcastically, "You can look at me!"

He ignored me, "Why-"

"Fifteen." I corrected his assumption lazily. Some'a my furry little roommates liked new people. Others didn't, so they hid, "And two puppies."

"Fif- never mind," he snorted, "Why?"

"Why not?" I shrugged back at him with a wince, "I like cats, and I do enjoy dogs when they don't attempt to rip off my damn face."

He sat up, laughing airily, "Looks to me like a dog should be the least'a your problems, kid." I raised an eyebrow at him and he explained, "Since y'run around at night gettin' beat up, 'n all," he gestured to... all of me, "Are they why you do that?"

"For money 't feed 'em ' such?" I asked, turning my attention to the ceiling, "Yeah and no. Money is a bonus, really, but otherwise I mainly do my... job... because there's far too many fuckin' people out there who need to be put six feet under."

He let out a dry, humourless laugh and went silent for a minute. In the silence, I kind of thought I hit some kind of nerve on the guy. Was he going to kick me out, now? I wouldn't blame him. I actually liked what I did as a living. I knew I was neck deep in the blood of... everyone, and the fact didn't bother me one bit.

It should.

But it doesn't.

Never has.

Never will.

Frank's hesitant, gravelly voice broke me from my reverie, "Was there something that...-"

"Triggered my sociopathic tendencies?" my voice had a bit of an edge when I cut him off. This was starting to sound a lot like my old therapy sessions back in Arizona, and I didn't like it one bit, "My therapist kept insisting that I was an animal abuser, since she was so thoroughly convinced I was. When she wouldn't drop the fuckin' subject I dropped her, instead."

Again, I was kinda worried about the impression I was making on him. I mean, I'd really like to jump this man's bones and if he figured out I was -- more or less -- mentally unhinged, I don't know how far I'd get. But, what's said is said and I can't exactly deny my allegations that I'd... attacked my therapist.

He only humphed, eyes wandering as he thought of what to change the subject to. Y'know? Change it off the final mental rubber band of mine that finally snapped. I think his eyes found the my left ankle tattoo. Or my right ankle tattoo... he was looking in the direction of the end of the couch that my feet were towards, alright! Gimme a break, I did just almost die, y'know...

Either way, he started askin' about my ink, "So, you really like your cats, don't you."

"What makes y'ask?" I sassed, "The fact I've got fifteen'a the lil' blighters?"

"The... the tattoo," he motioned towards his own right side as he made a half confused, half slightly-irritated expression, "Why?"

"Y'sure ask a lotta questions, don'chya," with a gasp of... well, I don't want to admit it was pain, but let's face it; it was a gasp of pain -- I propped myself up on my elbows and shifted to hike up the hem of the shirt I was wearing, just enough so I could see the tattoo he was inquiring about, "This'n's the one you were lookin' to get explained, I'm assuming," it was a cat's paw print inside a heart, complete with the quote, "No Heaven will not ever be Heaven be; unless my cats are there to welcome me. I sighed sadly at it. I got it after my cat Billy passed away. Despite me referring to all of my pets as 'my baby', Billy honestly was my baby.

I refuse to cry in front of this attractive, really kind stranger, "Yeah... I love 'em all to bits. And I miss 'em. Haven't seen 'em since... yesterday evenin'. So yeah, love 'em all a lot. 'm an animal person..." I trailed off, noticing I was rambling.

"I noticed," he stood, headed out of my line of vision, towards the kitchen, looked like, "You hungry?"

Starving, "No, 'm good."

He came back with a glass of water and handed it to me, "Drink it."

"What'd'y put 'n it?" I eyed it suspiciously, glancing up at him with one raised eyebrow.

Hey, I said he was attractive and nice. That don't mean I gotta trust him.

"Water," he crossed his arms, "Now drink it. You haven't had anything in at least twenty-four hours," he walked away again.

Damn he's good. I wanted to guzzle the water, trust me, I did. But instead I opted for gentle sipping, "Toss me a can'a chicken noodle soup," I called over to him.

"Thought you said you weren't hungry," he quipped, already returning with a fork and a can.

I liked this guy. He didn't question why I ate soup straight from the can.

Frank sat back down on his coffee table, again, offering up the open can of chicken noodle soup, "You take that, eat it slowly. Don't want you upchuckin' on my flooring," and he stood up, "After that, you get some rest."

What is he, my father?

I grit my teeth at the mere mental-mention of that man. But one look at Frank and my bubbling anger subsided again, mellowing me out as I took a forkful of noodles and shoved it into my face.

Who the hell was this dude? There was only one other person who had that effect on me!

"Where are you going?" I finally noticed he had his normal-jacket back on. Not the black one I was bleeding all over earlier this morning, though. The dark one he'd worn out to my apartment this morning.

The dark one he had on the first time I met him three weeks ago.

"Out," this man was so talkative, my gosh.

"Alrighty," I wasn't one to pry into business that wasn't my own, "I'll stay here. Hold down the Alamo for ya'."

He didn't question it, just went to the door, "'member what I told you," he reminded me again, "Eat and drink slowly, then freakin' rest." and he walked out, closing the door behind him.

I heard it lock.

But the thing I was wondering more about was the way he was talking. He said freakin' rest in such an exasperated tone that it was almost like he knew I wouldn't usually sit on a couch.

Or like he knew I usually didn't follow orders from people -- am I really that easy to figure out?

I sat and debated with myself over this topic until I finished my soup and water. And given that I was ordered to eat and drink slowly, it took me about fifteen minutes to get it all down, and with only a minimally upset stomach! Yay!

Then I fluffed the pillows behind me and was out like a Goddamn light the second my head hit the pillows.

Xx

So, apparently I misinterpreted how long the thing was

This is less than 1500 words long and the previous chapter was close to 4000 I could'a did a better job evening them out

My bad