Open Doors

prologue

"What are you doing?" she nearly gasps in a mixture of horror and shock.

His shoulders raise then drop as he strides toward her at a certain deadly rhythm. His steps are slow – a vast contrast from her heartbeat and breathing pattern – and she finds herself cowering backward until her back is pressed tightly against the brick wall behind her bed. The dim rays of moonlight cause his shadow to be painted on her bedsheets when his proximity to her increases and the weak light allows her to watch his lips form a wicked smile. "Oh, nothing much," he says, grinning while observing the terrified beauty in her bed. "What about you, sweetheart?" he teases, his tone patronizing and dastardly.

If she wasn't hyperventilating and practically having a heart attack, she could reach her arm out and close the diminishing gap between them. He could as well and they're both well aware. Her throat is dry and her lungs feel as though they're collapsing. Even if she could somehow scrape up enough fortitude to look him in the eyes or reply, she wouldn't.

His lips pull together and transition into a manufactured frown. He notices her heaving chest and bites back a smile, aware he's causing her fear. "What's wrong, darling?" he wonders, leaning down and grasping her chin so it rests in his palm and his fingers curve upward, cupping her cheek. She attempts to remove herself from his firm grasp but her opposition to his belligerent actions only forces him to use more of his physical power, tightening his grip so she winces. Jaw pains in the morning are the least of her worries; for all she knows, she might not see the light of the sun or feel the warmth of its rays ever again. "Mm," he hums, his eyebrows tugging together and raising, "cat's got your tongue?" Her wide, horrified eyes flicker from a black ring around his bottom lip to his tongue when it pokes out, licking his lips before returning back to its original location.

And she's positive if he can't hear her heart thumping against her ribs, he can feel her rapid pulse against his slender digits which are exploring her neck before securing themselves a place next to his other hand, his thumbs guiding her chin up, his fingers tangled in her dishevelled curls. She lifts a hand, shaking with fright, and uses all her might to rid his presence.

He feels as though she's getting confident so he tightens his clutch around her throat before he jerks her to the right so she's laying on her side like she's his ragdoll. Keeping one hand around her throat he shoves her till she lays on her stomach, on the verge of tears because she literally cannot breathe and a stranger is in her bed with her. Within three seconds his knees are parallel to her hips and his lips are at her ear. He wraps a few strands of her hair around his fingers, yanking his hand back so her head complies and she gasps for air. "This is a warning," he growls, his tone low and cautious, "lock your doors or I'll have to stop by tomorrow for another friendly visit."

so how much does this suck? bc personally i think it's pretty bad oops