The man in my room
765 Words
📖 Chapter 2: The Man in My Room
I barely slept.
How could I?
There was a stranger—no, a dangerous stranger—lying on my bed, bleeding and barely conscious, while I sat on the floor beside him with a bowl of water and shaking hands.
What was I thinking?
“I should call the police…” I whispered to myself for the hundredth time.
But something stopped me.
Maybe it was the way he looked at me.
Like he didn’t trust anyone.
Like the police would be the last people he’d want to see.
I let out a frustrated sigh and dipped the cloth into the water again, gently pressing it against the wound on his side.
He didn’t even flinch.
“That’s not normal,” I muttered. “You’re supposed to react to pain…”
“Who said I don’t?”
I froze.
The voice was low. Calm.
Right behind me.
Slowly, I turned my head.
His eyes were open.
Watching me.
My heart jumped into my throat.
“How long have you been awake?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Long enough,” he replied.
Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten.
He had been watching me.
Silently.
The whole time.
I quickly pulled my hand away from him, suddenly very aware of how close I was.
“You should be resting,” I said, standing up quickly. “You lost a lot of blood.”
“And yet,” he said slowly, his gaze not leaving mine, “you brought me here instead of running.”
I crossed my arms, trying to hide my nerves.
“I couldn’t leave you to die.”
A faint smirk appeared on his lips.
“You keep saying that like it’s a good thing.”
Before I could respond, he tried to sit up.
“Hey—don’t!” I rushed forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll make it worse.”
For a second, everything went still.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
Then slowly, he looked back up at me.
The air shifted.
“Careful,” he said quietly. “You’re getting too comfortable.”
My hand pulled back immediately like I had touched fire.
“I’m just trying to help,” I snapped, more defensive than I intended.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Then—
A phone rang.
Not mine.
His.
My eyes widened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a black phone that looked way too expensive for someone found bleeding in an alley.
He answered without hesitation.
“Talk.”
His voice changed.
Colder.
Sharper.
Dangerous.
I couldn’t hear the other side, but whatever they were saying made his expression darken instantly.
“I told you to handle it,” he said, his tone dropping. “Find them. Now.”
A pause.
Then—
“No mistakes this time.”
He ended the call.
Just like that.
No explanation.
No emotion.
I stared at him.
“Who are you?” I asked quietly.
He looked at me.
Really looked at me this time.
Like he was deciding something important.
Then he said—
“You shouldn’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to.”
A chill ran down my spine.
Before I could say anything else, there was a knock on the door.
My heart stopped.
We both froze.
Another knock.
Louder this time.
My mind started racing.
“I—I’m not expecting anyone,” I whispered.
His eyes hardened instantly.
“Go open it.”
“What?” I shook my head. “No—what if—”
“Open it,” he repeated, his voice firm. “And act normal.”
Normal?
There was nothing normal about this situation.
But the look in his eyes told me one thing clearly—
This wasn’t a request.
Swallowing hard, I slowly walked toward the door, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure whoever was outside could hear it.
I hesitated for a second…
Then opened it.
And froze.
Men in black suits stood outside.
Serious. Cold. Watching everything.
One of them stepped forward.
“Is he here?”
My breath caught.
I didn’t even need to ask who they meant.
Behind me, I could feel him watching.
Waiting.
And suddenly, I realized something terrifying—
The man in my room…
Wasn’t just dangerous.
He was the kind of man people searched for.
The kind of man people feared.
And somehow—
I had just gotten involved in his world.
- Writer
