Dark Romanticism

VIII

Picture of Dreanna's boyfriend to the right or up top :)

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VIII

I groaned. Why did my head hurt so bad? Shouldn’t everything feel good when you’re dead? I am dead, aren’t I?

God? 

There was no response. Well, shit. 

Look, God. I know we aren’t exactly on speaking terms since I moved out of my parents house, but I never stopped believing in you. I just didn’t believe in my parents; ya know? Really, you’re my number one guy! I mean, I’m not a virgin, but—

A low chuckle sounded through my ears. Oh. My. God. I am dead. Another chuckle, louder this time came and I felt my body shaking. What...?

My body was jolted awake. I was lying in a bed, looking up at a white ceiling. 

“You’re awake.”

I let out a small yelp and sat up in the bed to meet the eyes of Dreanna’s boyfriend. 

“How...? Where am I?” I asked and scooted as far from him as possible. 

His face, which had been smiling slightly when I woke up, now transformed into a frown. “It was her. She hurt you.”

“Dreanna?” I asked. 

“She told her your name?”

“Yeah, why?” I asked. 

He looked lost in thought, “Nothing.”

“So, where am I?” I asked this stranger. A stranger who had beautiful hair and eyes. And those cheekbones...yum. What the hell am I thinking? What is it about him? 

“You’re at my place. Sorry, but you were bleeding and passed out. I thought it’d be best if I took care of you,” he told me. 

“You could have just taken me to the hospital?” I raised a brow at him and he smiled at me. 

“I guess I was not thinking. My apologies.”

“That’s okay, I guess. Where’s your girlfriend anyway?” I asked. 

“My what?” he asked. 

“Dreanna?”

He nodded slowly and licked his lips, “She’s not my girlfriend.” He glanced at my forehead, “You’re bleeding.” His eyes grew wide and he sighed. 

“What did she do to me?” I asked and a flash of teeth came to me. “What did you do to her?” Growling and claws.

“She bit you and you hurt your head,” he said and scooted closer to me to hand me a towel. 

I glanced around the room. The walls were painted a deep red and all that sat in it was a single dresser, a lamp, a bookshelf, and this bed that I’m sitting on. I looked down at my hands. My sleeves had blood on them and my hands were scuffed with dirt. I was filthy. 

“Can I take a shower?” I asked. 

His eyes sparkled with amusement and I blushed. Why was he looking at me like that? 

“Of course. The door is right there and there are towels under the sink. If you need anything, just call for me,” he said. 

I nodded and hurried to the bathroom. 

What the hell is going on? Why do I feel so calm? I got attacked tonight by some girl bit me and knocked me unconscious. Then a guy who says he’s not her boyfriend rescues me, takes me to his place, and bandages me up. I shouldn’t be taking a shower—I should be running. For some reason though, I can’t bring myself to panic. Maybe it’s that stranger’s green eyes or maybe the hot water cascading down my back, but I felt...calm. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Yes?” I called out. 

“I have some sweats you can wear and a t-shirt,” he called. 

“Oh, thanks.” 

There was no response. I hurried up and scrubbed myself clean then shut off the water and walked to the mirror. My eyes looked wild and my long, brown hair framed my face in wet locks. I tilted my head to the side and winced. On my neck, sore and bruised, were teeth marks. I couldn’t believe it. She actually bit me. My hand, unbidden, reached up and traced the harsh marks. I sighed and reached for a towel under the sink. I wrapped it around myself and opened the door to the bathroom. 

The black haired man was sitting on his bed, shirtless and slumped over. He straightened up and met me with tired eyes. I greedily assessed his torso. Every muscle in his abdomen was defined to perfection. 

Embarrassed at my brazen observation, I looked up to meet his eyes only to discover that he, too, seemed lost in his own world. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and but down very hard. I almost moaned. 

What is it about this man that is so sexy and comforting? Hell, I don’t even know his name. 

I coughed, “Um, those clothes?”

Both of his green eyes looked up into mine and I almost melted. Holy shit. “On the dresser.” His voice was low and soft and his eyes never left me as I grabbed the clothes then ran back into his bathroom. 

As I slid on his shirt I heard a crash in the next room. I quickly put on the sweatpants and walked back into his room. 

He was standing over a broken vase and was breathing hard. 

“Are you okay?” I asked. 

He didn’t say anything, but instead grabbed his coat and pulled it on. “I’ll take you home,” he said.

“Oh, okay,” I agreed and banished the sad feelings that gave me. “Actually, can you take me to my friends?”

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