Game Of Love(Romance edition)

Chapter 1 - Awakening the devil

I'm crawling, my palm and knees scraping against the gravelly asphalt, my hand stretching to reach for a phone that may be the only thing that can restore life to the one I want, I turn around...A burning car....a crying child....the dark smoke arising as black as night....the tears...the pain...the cries of the ambulance a few meters away and then it all goes blank.

My eyes pop open and I gasp for air, the sunlight playing about my face temporarily blinding me.

I adjust to a sitting position on the wooden frame of the bed and cup my face in my palms, trying to calm down my rapidly beating heart.

A headache hits me, getting me to look to the side of my bed at my workstation, calling it a desk makes it sound so academic.

A calendar right above it, the previous date slashed with only a red mark as compared to the many others that have both red and black slashes.

Well, that explains it, forgot to take it last night, I mentally curse as I get off the bed and walk to the bathroom door.

Walking in, I am greeted by a tired-looking me wearing nothing but boxers in the mirror, deep bags under my eyelids exposing my poor sleeping pattern, and my hair tossed around in every given direction, far messier than I normally have it.

The only thing that did surprise me was that my body still looked fit...ish even though I haven't had a good workout in a long while.

"Still have the golden body," I mutter to myself as I prepare to take a shower but with this uneasy feeling that I had something to do or maybe somewhere to be.

I shrug it off undressing and take a long cold bath to shock my dormant senses to life.

I make a note to clean up the room with rows of books with had tumbled over and papers scattered on the white marble slit floor to make it look like it was designed to look like papers with designs were on the floor.

I go to the bathroom to examine myself again. "At least the bags seemed to have filled," my hair is just plastered to my face still damp from the bath.

I exit my room, the blue door with a silver nod with different graffiti paintings all over it, 'Bryan' spelled in large white letters popping out with a black outline.

I walk down the corridor passing by the other bedrooms with plane beige-colored doors and a golden door nobs. I turn to the right ready to make my descent.

I run down the stairs in my black leather jacket, plane ash shirt, black sweats, and blue and black sneakers as I approach the hall.

My eyes skim the wooden rails that decorate one side of the staircase, it's intricate design carved in it, as the other is non-existent, the steps attached to the wall and the view of the front door on my left.

A gap between the door and the stairs serving as a pathway to the last room in the house with a door leading to the basement under the staircase I am presently descending.

I move behind the long couch, a wall divided into three portions by two doors, with a miniature wardrobe that lay in the middle of the doors with a drawing atop of it, one for the dining room on the left and the other to the kitchen on the right.

I make for the right door and habit draws me to the fridge. I open it disappointed at the near blank stare in the fridge only an apple left....great no food.

Feeling too lazy to go shopping, "I'll just head out." I hiss suddenly remembering the most annoying thing. My ride's not here.

I take the apple and wash it as I make my way to the hall to go the Garage, a mechanic' store with my motorcycle just a few blocks away.