Intruders | A Short Story

I N T R U D E R S

I know there is someone in my apartment. I mean, that's the only reason why I'm awake this time of the night. My eyes just flew open and true enough; I heard the faintest sound of footsteps by the living room.

I get up from my bed slowly, eyeing the doorway that reveals the dark hallway. Quietly, I open the drawer of my night stand and take out my gun. Holding it with two hands and a finger on the trigger, I walk over to the side of my doorway—a blind spot from the hallway—hoping to surprise my intruder.

The light footsteps come closer. I hear him slightly pushing open every door he passes. My bedroom is at the end of this hall, and I don't even have a door. Come on, I live alone here. Who needs it?

His shadow forms on the wall, so I look down to anticipate his foot. When it finally came to view, I cock the gun directly to his head and he froze. The only light in the room is the moonlight from the translucent windows so I can't make up who he is. I see a little of his face from the side but it's all shadowy and dark. But damn, this guy is tall as hell. I just reach his shoulder.

He wears a simple shirt and black cargo pants with combat boots. If he is a thief, he doesn't have any gloves on and a backpack.

It made me want to ask who he is, but instead I say nothing. Not even something clever or badass. There is only anticipation, and he was anticipating if I can pull the trigger at all or is it just for show.

Slowly, his head turn a little to get me in his line of sight. And there, in the shadows, I notice the corner of his lips pull up for a smirk with a strong exhale from the nose. He's mocking me—daring me, even. Who the hell is this guy? He thinks that I can't do it, huh? We'll see about that...

I squeeze the handle, ready to pull the trigger when he suddenly slapped my hand with his to disarm me with smooth speed. The gun drops and slides back near the foot of the night stand. I kick him on his abdomen and he stumbles back, holding the edge of the doorway to make sure he doesn't go down completely.

I ran for the gun but as soon as I touched the handle, his arms are already wrapped around my waist. He pulls me up effortlessly and I thrash in his hold. He slams me down on to my bed and climbs on top of me to lock me in place.

With my hands above my head and my legs apart, the only weapon I could use is my head—literally. So as painful as it is, I my head collides with his and he's stunned. When I finally got my chance, I kicked his knee and he collapsed on top of me. Hurriedly pushing him aside, I run to the window looking for something I can hit him with.

The lamp.

I grab the lamp stand and turn around, ready to hit him. He was on his feet already, grabbing the other end and yanking it away from my hands. He throws the lamp back and he pushed his body on me, a hand over my mouth.

"Elisa," he says panting. "Elisa, it's me."

With him facing the window, the moonlight illuminates his face vividly. I recognize him now. I know who he is. But I don't want to see him—not anymore.

My breathing calms as I raise my hand in truce. He removes his hand from my mouth and he took a step back. We share a moment of silence as we both try to catch our breath.

It was still dark but I see his eyes on me. And just like before, I don't know what's on his mind. I never knew what's going on inside his mind and his face never reveals anything. That's one thing that didn't change about him, I guess.

But he looks thinner than I last saw him. A few stubbles here and there on his face and his hair are all over the place, longer than its supposed maintained length. With his profession, he should look clean and smart and formal without standing out too much.