Runaway

05 || Sleeping Beauty

Josie

For as long as I've been alive, I've had an eye for art.

Marie and Michael use to say it was a useless habit but Daniel would tell me how they only said those things because they lacked the ability to make or see art.

And like a moth drawn to a flame, I spent the last thirty minutes examining each piece of art in what I now knew to be the foyer of this home.

They were all encased in glass frames and I stared at the pieces in wonder, studying them to the best of my abilities.

Although I had listened to Sammy when he told me not to move or touch anything, I would be lying if I said I didn't peek.

It was hard not to when there was a beautifully arched doorway that led into what I presumed to be a living space staring back at me.

I had taken a few steps forward, glancing around the space and peeking my head into the area. It was large, spacious with expensive looking furniture that I hadn't ever seen.

It was a living space but a large and extremely neat one at that.

The floors in here were dark wood and there were various art pieces hung up on the walls but what drew me in was the back wall that spanned the entire space.

The wall made of glass.

They were floor to ceiling windows-the ceiling spanning heights I didn't even know a structure could have. But what took my breath away was what lied beyond the glass wall.

A magnificent view of the world below and beyond. It was like I was on top of the world, looking down on all the mighty and amazing things New York had to offer.

And like a siren, it drew me in. I wanted to draw it. I needed to paint it.

If only I could get a better view-

No.

I instantly stop myself mid step, remembering Sammy's words. I was to stay in my spot.

But it's as if the horrid thoughts have a mind of their own and they slowly start take over, feeding me horrible ideas and forcing my feet forward.

He said you couldn't touch. He didn't say anything about looking.

My feet take me forward, closer into the large space that is a living room- by the looks of it, multiple living rooms. One on either side of me.

And when I pause to look around me and properly take in my surroundings, I notice a large, curved staircase that leads up to a second level off to the side.

There's also many large light fixtures hanging from the ceiling in an oddly complex way, making me wonder how someone is able to change the light bulbs when they need to be changed.

And when my gaze travels to my right, towards the living space with a large U-shaped couch, I pause, all traces of thoughts escape me as another form of wonder takes over.

And before I know it, my feet are taking me towards the laying figure of what I presume to be a man, laying along the length of the oversized couch.

I tilt my head down and scan his body.

They're drawings in black ink. Intricate and beautifully crafted.

I had half a mind to consider the possibility that my exhausted mind was playing tricks on me for I knew this wasn't normal. I've never seen a human like this.

I take a closer look and the first thing I notice are the scars. Faint, little markings littered across the skin of his chiseled face, tainting the angelically rugged features that laid beneath.

His eyes are shut, but the crease between his dark brows tells me he's far from a state of peace and his dark, silkily raven colored hair fans across his forehead.

His face is clean of any ink and even though his eyes are closed, he's extremely handsome. Far more handsome than any man I'd ever seen.

He's handsome as sin.

He's got a strong muscular arm folded behind his head, multiple rings lining his large fingers and I examine them along with the inked drawing on his hand that's formed into a fist.

As odd as it sounds, I can't seem to look away.

Clad in only a pair of black sweatpants, he's got a thick silver chain around his neck resting atop the smooth tan skin of his upper body. I take a closer look and realize he's got another necklace tucked beneath the chain but its hard to see because I'm distracted by the ink that coats his entire upper body.

His body is an entire work of art and I instantly find myself itching to draw the markings. The beautiful dark inked markings - no drawings, sketches - littered all across the tan skin of his upper body, some even trailing down and disappearing past the band of his sweatpants.

They're captivating intricate designs in what appear to be black ink. I had heard of them, seen a glimpse of a small one on Daniel one time but I was never sure.

He had told me they called them a tattoo.

These were tattoos.

I wanted to draw them, trace them, memorize them. And I find myself doing what I usually did when I saw a remarkably beautiful piece of art.

I get a closer look.

The soft, plush carpet tickles the skin of my knees as I get down to get a closer look at the art work.

Whoever this man was, he was far more fascinating than anything I had ever laid eyes on in my entire eighteen years of living. "Beautiful," I whisper to myself as my gaze moves to focus on on the one on his chest. Above his heart.

There's a small dark figure one resembling a little boy. He's got his head hung and a rope thrown around his neck, while the large, dark figure above him pulls the rope up, lifting the little boy off the ground by the rope tied around his neck.

The boy's faceless and the shadowed figure is nothing but a smudge of dark smoke.

It's as if my body has a mind of its own, my hand reaches out to ghost over the space above his heart but I stop, blinking myself out of my daze.

What am I doing?

I instantly get up to my feet and take a step back, horrified.

I wasn't suppose to be touching. I wasn't even supposed to be looking and not at an unconscious man of all things. It was a complete breach of privacy.

I turn on my heels and go to take a step away but in an instant my world is turned upside down- quite literally.

It all happens so quickly and all I can do is scream out in shock before my pitch rises into a pained cry.

In an instant my cheek is pressed to the plush carpet of the ground and my arm is bent behind my back at a painful angle, where a tight steel like grip around my wrist holds it in place.

The air escapes my lungs and I don't dare to speak much less move when I feel a weight drop at my back.

The smell of smoke, mixed with some sort of cologne and something else wafts through my senses and it doesn't take a genius to gather that it's another person.

A much larger person.

And the moment I feel his hot breath tickle the side of my neck, I knew I had possibly just made a terrible mistake.

And my thoughts are confirmed the moment his low terrifyingly calm voice sounds in my ear. "I'm gonna give you ten seconds to tell me who the f**k you are, before I shove the barrel of my gun into the back of your throat and shoot."

His chillingly hard voice instantly sends my whole body into a state of panic and when I register his words my body tenses up.

Gun.

I knew that one. I'd once tended to a man who was shot in the hip. I'd watch Doctor Stevens do everything he could to try and save the man.

He failed.

I couldn't move, breathe much less talk. It was as though his intimidatingly dominant voice had the power to paralyze me.

And for the life of me I couldn't will my mouth to open and force out the words, all I could do was shake in complete fear.

It's only when the man twists my arm, that a cry of pain escapes my lips and I force my mouth to speak. But all I could manage was a weak, soft cry. "S-Sammy." My voice shook and cracked, but I couldn't be bothered to care.

I was scared for my life.

"What about Sammy?" He grits, his lips so close to my ear that the deep rumble sends a shiver down my spine.

He instinctively tightens his hold. "He..He told me to wait here. Please! I don't mean any harm." I plead, my voice half muffled by the amount of fluff in my mouth from the carpet.

In the blink of an eye the man has me up and against the wall. Only this time my back hits the glass behind me with a thud, sending pain shooting up my spine. But I can't be bothered to care for I'm too preoccupied trying to process what's happening when his hand moves up and he wraps it around my throat.

"Speak."

And then I feel it against my temple. The cool metal painfully pushing down against the sensitive spot on the side of my head, and with one quick side glance, I make out the black object that I recognize to be a gun.

With a trembling lower lip, I close my eyes as the stranger's cool voice sounds again. "I haven't done anything yet. If you're gonna barge into my home then at least have the decency to look me in the eye."

My body has a mind of its own and I instantly find myself snapping my eyes open to connect with the man in front of me.

Long gone is the destubed sleeping figure looking close to harmless and in place of it is empty grey eyes. Eyes that mimic the sky before a terrifying thunderstorm, one that would have everyone taking cover and running far away.

Only now, I'm trapped by those same terrifying irises that promise nothing but danger. And when he raises a brow, tilting his head to the side, I can't look away. "Now, you gonna elaborate? Or am I gonna have to blow your pretty little brains out?"

My brain momentarily blanks and I forget the danger I'm in and allow for a faint blush to paint my cheeks as I pick up on the compliment.

That was the second time I was complimented in the span of one day.

I didn't get those very often, much less from men other than Father Kade.

But here I was, where the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on just called me - Josiphina Dumont pretty.

The sound of a click sounds from next to my ear and it draws my attention back to the present and I will my shaky voice to speak. "Sammy-he told me to stay here until he returned." I breath, swallowing thickly as I watch the man's eyes narrow and his prominent jaw ticks in what I assume to be annoyance.

The true danger I'm in mixed with the pure exhaustion of my body willing to give out any minute makes my lips tremble and my knees buckle. "Please, don't hurt me." My voice is just above a whisper and I look up into his cold eyes, hoping to find some sort of warmth or understanding but I don't.

In fact I don't see anything resembling emotions, telling me he's unpredictable.

His eyes inspect my fear stricken face and he eventually lowers the gun, using his hand wrapped around my throat to pull my body off the wall and push it towards the couch. "Sit your ass down."

I do as I'm told, taking a deep breath once I feel my throat loosen from his suffocating grip. I drop down onto the soft couch, my body sinking into it and although I was extremely exhausted I couldn't bring myself to relax.

Not when the terrifying man was staring at me like he thrived off of my fear. "Move and I won't hesitate to shoot. Touch anything and I'll know." He says gruffly before turning around, giving me a good view of his muscular back covered in even more tattoos.

I swallow thickly as I blink and take a moment to trail his figure and not just the inked markings.

I wasn't familiar with a man's physique but from the way his muscles contracted and his arms naturally bulged, it didn't take a lot to tell that this man was strong. Defiantly strong enough to rip me apart with his bare hands.

I straighten out, my body tensing as I watch him move from the corner of my eye.

He lowers himself down onto the adjacent part of the couch that spans in the shape of a boxed U, grabbing what appears to be his own cellular device from the coffee table.

I follow the ridges of muscles on his arms and shoulders that flex as he leans forward and throws the gun onto the coffee table.

I don't expect the loud thud to sound which is why I jump, only now being able to think clearly, and when I realize what I had just been caught doing, my eyes widen.

Beyond mortified, I clear my throat in attempt to redeem myself. "I never intended to-"

"Shut up." He doesn't even look up from his phone when he cuts me off and I instantly find myself quieting down in fear of, well, him.

I gather he isn't much of a talker either. And it's proven right when he holds the phone to his ear and speaks to the person on the other end without so much as a hello.

He simply holds the device to his ear, his jaw ticking as he starts to speak, his tone deadly yet cool. "Vieni a prendere la tua puttana prima che le metta un proiettile nel cranio e te lo faccia pulire a mani nude." (Italian: Come get your b***h before I put a bullet through her skull and make you clean it up with your bare hands.)

The way in which he speaks is so calm and casual that it has my heart calming at the fact that-although I don't understand what he's saying, he's not upset or hostile.

He listens intently to the person on the other end, his jaw clenching as his eyes narrow.

"Basta finire." He snaps, leaning forward and reaching for the glass of amber liquid on the coffee table. He downs the little amount that's in the glass and leans back.( Italian: just finish up.)

"Oh e Sammy? Porta di nuovo una delle tue puttane a casa mia e non essere in grado di fare il tuo lavoro sarà l'ultima delle tue preoccupazioni." He finishes: (Italian: Oh and Sammy? Bring one of your bitches up to my place again and not being able to do your job will be the least of your worries.)

I briefly wonder what he's saying but I gather he's speaking to Sammy and I breathe out in relief. He's speaking in a dialect that sounds somewhat familiar, but I don't dare to ask him to translate.

He's silent, listening to the person on the other end before he hastily hangs up and tosses his cellular device onto the coffee table.

He doesn't turn towards me and instead leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees before he reaches forward and grabs a little white box from the table. He pulls out a small white stick- one that looks like a straw and I watch curiously as he pulls out a black little object.

A black little object that draws fire - it's a lighter, I knew that much but when he brings the small little flame to the end of the white stick and holds the other end into his mouth, I blink in confusion.

I don't hide the fact that I'm staring because I'm too preoccupied trying to figure out what he's doing and when he leans back into the couch and spreads his legs apart, he finally casts a glance to me.

And when he does, he sighs, exhaling a line of smoke as he speaks. "Jesus." Some smoke escapes through his nose. "You know, bitches with staring problems don't get very far in life."

I blink in a mix of confusion and offense at the fact that if I'm understanding correctly, he's referring to me as a female dog.

How can he sound so casual but be so mean?

I can feel his eyes on me, watching me, scrutinizing me and it's extremely uncomfortable. It's like he's reading me.

I grow fidgety and antsy and it's like the more I grow uncomfortable, the more he stares. Like he wants to make me uncomfortable and it gets so bad that I crack. Needing to divert the attention from me.

"May I ask what that is?" I blurt, looking up towards him.

He's still leaned back on the couch, his eyes lazily studying me and the white stick held between his fingers. I watch him bring it to his lips and suck in, before he breathes out another layer of smoke and I wait patiently for him to reply.

He takes his time to reply.

"No."

As if already anticipating the answer, I nod before slowly reaching into my pocket, grabbing my device, my curiosity getting the better of me and when I think he's not looking, I hastily type the description of what I'm seeing and send it to Google, needing some sort of answer.

But before I can look at the results, my device is snatched right out of my hand. "Hey-" I stop myself and look up to see the man now leaned back in his chair as he sends me a look that instantly has me shutting my mouth.

He glances at my screen and humiliation bubbles up as I see his eyes narrow in what I imagine to be judgment at what I had asked Google.

'What is a white stick you put in your mouth that produces smoke?"

I hastily turn my head away in embarrassment, and even when I feel his gaze on the side of my head, I don't turn to him.

I keep my gaze away from him, trailing my eyes around the room, making out a cutout along the far wall that I presume to belong to a kitchen of sorts and another corridor that leads into another hallway with doors along either side.

Did all this belong to him?

I can still feel his gaze burning into the side of my head, that is until a ding sounds into the room and my attention is drawn to the archway that leads into the front foyer.

I make out Sammy form as he rushes out of the elevator and into the room looking frantic and when his eyes scan the room, landing on the man sitting on the couch, leaned back and puffing smoke from his mouth, his face pales.

"I-I didn't realize you'd be back so soon-"

"I don't give you access to my home so you can bring groupies back to it." He says, his tone unaffected and when I turn my head to look at him, he's glancing up at Sammy from his position, yet even seated, he's in charge.

Sammy's eyes flicker from me to the man and guilt instantly fills me, but I don't dare to speak. Something tells me that will make it worse.

The man tilts his head up and blows smoke out of his mouth, my eyes trailing his jaw as it flexes, before looking back towards Sammy who's as tense as can be. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."

My heart rate picks up and I try to control my breathing.

Kill him?

No, no, no. I didn't need another death on my hands.

I look up towards Sammy who side eyes me before looking towards the man. "Because she isn't a groupie." He states carefully. "She's here visiting Wes- she's his cousin." He clarifies, watching the man carefully.

I force my mouth shut as I look to the ground and attempt to stop my body from shaking in fear, but it seems impossible when the man speaks and I know it's directed at me.

"Run away from home?" His tone is low and when I raise my head, I see him in his same position only now he's got his free arm rested across the back of the couch.

I tense under his stare as he scans my face. "Something like that." Is all I manage, and even then my voice sounds shaky.

He tilts his head as he examines me and I try not to shrink under his stare. He's making me feel defenseless and so weak and that's simply from a glance.

I stay quiet, waiting for him to speak, stop or do something and when he finally breaks the tense atmosphere with his voice, I finally let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Leave before I change my mind." He states, picking up my cellular device and throwing it into my lap from his position. "Both of you."

And that's all it takes for me to shoot up and hurry towards the elevator, forcing my steps to not seem to rushed but with the way his gaze burns my back, I couldn't help but pick up my pace.

And it's only when I step into the elevator and watch the doors close that an unsettling feeling crawls into the pit of my stomach.

I may have been blinded by fear and too exhausted to process my surroundings back there, but something tells me that I had just made a mistake.

A very big mistake.