Chapter 3: A Fatal Grocery Walk
I Knew You Were Trouble - Taylor Swift
It felt like those grey orbs were staring deep into my soul, trying to read my thoughts.
His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and frustration after 15 seconds of continuous staring.
And all this while I was trying not to allow my eyes to wander anywhere else, and kept my eyes fixed to his handsome face.
He quickly moved himself out of his current 'position' and found something to cover himself with. He barked something at the fake blonde and she talked to him with a soothing tone.
But then, I wasn't paying attention to any of them, since my mind was somewhere else, back to yesterday's events.
The previous night:
The cabbie abruptly stopped the stupid car, which resulted with me kissing the floorboard of the car, and saying 'hi' to the inhabitants of the Floorland.
Whose inhabitants included used strawberry condoms and their wrappers, and god-knows-what-else.
If you'd ask me, I feel chocolate and coffee are better than strawberry, like seriously, strawberry is so outdated.
Sorry if I made you want to throw up. I know. I'm a weird kid.
I try and get onto my feet, but sadly, my left legs comes in contact with something plasticky and I come in very close contact to the floor again.
Which means that I kissed the floor.
Which also means that my groggy ass needs to get 10000% sanitised as soon as I reach the shower in my house.
"You okay there, lassie? There, there let's give you a lift.", he stretches his wrinkly old hand in front of my face and I gladly accept his help.
He seems like a nice fella. Maybe those wrappers belong to some horny couple who found the poor, old car for a place to get down and do the dirty.
I quickly get out of the car and breathe in the fresh-, I mean, freshly polluted air and search for my wallet. I hand him his money without any complaints as he sets my luggage on the pavement in front of my house.
"Good day, lassie, I hope you enjoyed your little nap in my old car.", he says, giving me a wrinkly smile, which I more than happy to return.
Okay, thankfully, I didn't lose my keys, so I quickly unlock the door and get in.
My hand searches for the lights and my mind did a victory dance when I switched on the lights.
Man, this place is spacious. I love the wooden floors. I like everything woodsy.
I pull my suitcases inside and drag all of them to the nearest room, and lock the door. I find that dad had already sent up the bed and stuff, the furniture will arrive by tomorrow evening, so everything's set.
The bathroom had hot water running, so I took a quick shower, relaxing my sore muscles.
I pulled out the comfiest PJ's, my favourite black ones with some music symbols on it, and pull on my black fleece jacket, leaving the zipper open.
Now for some food. My stomach growls in agreement and I pick up my wallet, phone and Airpods and head out again.
I did have a good nap, ya know.
Plus, food is bae.
It was almost nine o'clock, and I open the Google Maps to search for the nearest grocery store.
Ugh, the long ways takes about 45 minutes from now, and the short one says 15 minutes.
You know which route I ended up choosing, right?
I follow the instructions from the Assistant and soon notice a decrease of lights.
Who cares? Me and my tummy want Nutella and that's final. I don't give a flying fudge to anyone who comes in my way.
As I walked on, the streets were turning dark and dingy, and not a single soul was to be seen.
Okay, damn, this seems like a really shady place.
I shivered. I should really stop thinking about that fleeting feeling in my gut.
Something about these narrow alleys gives me a bad vibe, and the uneasy feeling in my tummy decides to take that as an invitation to increase by a tenfold.
Miami, where I hail from, didn't have such alleys, which scared the shit out of people.
I see the battered remains of a few demolished houses here and there and keep moving.
Suddenly, I hear horrid laughter resonating through the cold walls of the alleys.
Much to my anxiety, I see two drunk men stumbling out of the nearest alley, roughly five feet away from me.
Yuck! The horrible stench of alcohol and vomit is so strong that it could knock out someone cold for 72 hours or so.
One of the men was tall and burly, with splotches vomit adorning his bright red shirt.
I resisted the urge to barf at that moment.
Trust me, it's really hard to control disgust.
Another guy stumbles out of the alley, holding onto to the other drunkard for support.
"H-hey, who's that hottie out there?", he had the fucking audacity to wolf whistle at me!
It was only because of that asshole's notice that the others lifted their heads and took a good look at me from top to bottom, stopping for a few moments at my chest and legs.
Can someone p-please tell me why I'm standing like a frozen statue?!!
Only then did I notice that my breath was coming out laboured.
No, no, no this shouldn't be happening.
I promised myself that I won't let myself to be cornered like this, fully vulnerable, without anyone or anything to protect me.
I have to protect myself.
I have to.
There's absolutely no damn way I can let history repeat itself.
That's when I chose to run.
You know, there's this sermon, that you shouldn't run when there's a rabid dog's searching for something to sink its teeth in.
Do I listen to anyone?
When I knew I shouldn't.
"Don't you run, sweet cakes, you're only straining yourself, you still have to keep up with us later!", slurred a guy, and his voice sounded like he was a bit more sober than the others.
I ducked and swerved into different alleys, trying shake those drunkards off my trail.
"L-look girlie, I've had a tough day, so it's better if you stop the chasing and come to us. We'll go e-easy on ya, don't worry.", hiccuped another.
No way you son of a vermin. Not happening. Never.
"Shut the fuck up, you sorry excuse of a man! It's not my damn problem if you can't keep that tiny dick of yours in your pants. Learn to take cold showers and ask Google for tips. Not run around some random girl who has thousand problems of her own."
, I shouted, coming out of my hiding place.
Of course, all that bravery had a price.
Is that a question to ask?!
I began to run again. My legs began to hurt, and my ankles felt like a thousand hot needles were stabbing it repeatedly.
My legs were going to give out if I run for a few minutes more.
No, no. I can't stop now.
"Aha! There she is! I like feisty bitches. They make excellent wh-", the sober one was interrupted by my black Vans connecting with his face.
It fell to the ground with a small thud, leaving a beautiful, red mark on his left cheek.
I don't take shit from anyone.
Not now. Not ever.
They looked at the shoe, then my face.
And then they realized they had me cornered in an alley.
It was the same moment I realized that too.
Their faces turned into a mask of pure rage and smug smirks plastered themselves onto their faces.
And then they pounced at me, since I was surrounded from all the directions.
What I didn't understand was, that I didn't panic like a normal human in the same situation as me.
But then again, I'm not normal.
Before I could move a single muscle, I heard a the growl of an engine, and the next moment, a shadowy, shapeless mass of black literally crashed into the bodies of all the drunkards, which sent them flying, their bodies ramming into the wall which made them crumble to the floor like sacks of rotten garbage.
My eyes widened infinitesimally, as my eyebrows shot up into my hair.
I could feel my hair ticking my neck and I noticed that the hair tie had come off from my loose bun because of all that running.
It took me a while to realise that I was staring openly like a wanton woman at the stranger as he swung his powerful leg and hopped off his Harley Davidson.
My (unwanted) saviour was hot.
Calling him only 'hot' would probably be a crime.
He could easily tower over more than half of the human race.
6'7 I believe.
A whole foot taller than me.
The stranger was gorgeous as hell, devilishly handsome with thick, dark, midnight black hair closely cropped at the sides, a few strands falling over his forehead.
I had a very bad urge to brush those soft locks away and run my hand in his hair.
He had a beautiful olive complection and flawless skin which looked soft and smooth even from a few feet away from my sharp eyes.
He had high cheekbones, a chiselled jaw, and his face was carved to perfection.
So perfect that it could make Michael Angelo's David shit his pants.
Oh, he doesn't wear one does he?
He had a neatly trimmed beard with a five o'clock shadow, which made him all the more drool-worthy.
His lips were thin, but plump, in an alluring shade of pink. They were almost feminine, and a nun could probably give up chastity just to have a taste of those lips.
Rings bounded his thin, long fingers and judging by his dressing sense, they were no doubt, made of platinum.
His muscular thighs were clad with ripped jeans, and his well-defined body was covered in a black t-shirt and an equally black leather jacket.
Tattoos dotted his skin, right from his left hand to his neck, but sadly, all that skin was hid by the clothes.
He locked his fingers and raised his hands, stretching like a bored cat, and his t-shirt rode up his abdomen, showing a peek of his defined v-line and a large tattoo of some sort which disappeared into his left leg.
What I wouldn't give to watch him shirtless and take a good look at his packs.
Unfortunately, my commonsense decided to butt in and brought me back to the situation at hand.
Which made me realise (I've been having too many late realisations), that I had been staring at him all this while.
All this while.
Wow Janine, you sure know how to make a lasting impression on a guy, don't you?
I need an award for "Embarrassed Queen of the Year".
To say that I was only 'embarrassed' would be an understatement.
"W-who are you?", was my outstanding dialogue.
Wow. Just wow. Can someone kill me this instant?
Easier said than done.
He rolled his eyes.
I mean, I can't blame him. I always manage to make a fool of myself.
I can be (very) socially awkward.
But, FYI, I do have something known 'people skills'. I'm not a loner.
He brandished a wicked-looking gold trident out of nowhere, making me gulp.
If I wasn't scared out of death before, I definitely am now.
Looks like God decided to grant my wish.
"They call me the Devil, aka Satan, aka Lucifer. I have too many aliases.", he paused and ran his hand through his hair and,"But I can promise you that I make very, very, very good deals."
"I'm the ruler of Hell, after all."
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