CHAPTER 8.2
SIMILARITY
Walking upstairs with the light already turned off, which is very strange. Even though I came home late tonight, Della never turned off the light. I don't even bother to turn them on; I am too exhausted. I finally drag my legs to my room, throw my bag on the couch, take off my coat and shoes, and lay my back on the bed immediately. I raise my hand to pull the pillow above my head, and then I feel the hollow, the dent on the pillow. I quickly sprint myself up, look at it, and touch it—it seems like someone has slept on it. I get off my bed and turn on the light.
As I turn around to see my bed, I trip, "Geez…" I cry out lightly and look down. I see the box under my bed. It was the gift that the biker guy gave me, but why it's here—Fuck, someone was inside my room.
Thud.
I flinch.
Something falls down inside my walking closet, or someone is still in my room.
I hold my breath automatically and take a second so I can force my feet to step forward. I expose my bare feet first, and I'm about to show my face, but the person decides to show him or herself to me first. I step back as the shadow is heading toward me. Seconds by seconds, I finally see the body of the person—huge—tall—black outfit—with the protection on his head—the fucking helmet.
"How can you get in here?" I ask shockingly but a bit relieved inside my chest.
As he steps out of the closet into the light in the room, I feel strange. As I look inside the black shield, I feel he is looking back at me in a different way. Am I crazy?
Wait—the size is similar, but the aura and the scent are different—and it's not good.
"You're not him," I say as I step back and about to run; he grabs my body and throws it to the bed. He gets on top of me, locking my wrists over my head, pushing my body over again while I try to sprint and escape from him. He grabs my face and squeezes it up as if he wants to see my whole face—a good look. He holds it long enough to let me also observe him back; his neck is covered with tattoos.
"Argh!" I cry after he pushes my face up and he glides his thumb over my neck,
Not this time mother fucker,
I kick him in his nuts and kick him in his belly. He lightly falls back, and I quickly get up, running out of my room, downstairs, and leaving my house.
I pant so hard I don't know which way to go, and I see the bike coming this way. I run to the yard and stop to see; it might be his mate, as I try to look at that guy coming out on the porch.
"Fuck," I curse as I walk ahead to the bike, and it rides toward me faster, and it stops. The guy who rides it instantly runs to me.
"Ha—it's him," I say and run to him as he opens his arm for me, I jump to him and hold his arms,
"Please, help me," I say as I pant.
He takes me to his back and holds my hand tightly as I hold his arms. He looks straight at the man who is wearing the helmet and black outfit, almost the same as himself. That man watches us quietly and is about to walk off the porch to the walking path. He also steps up forward, but I hold him back strongly,
"Don't—just go," I say lightly.
I grab his big hand so tight, and as he's about to let go of my hand, that man walks through the yard slowly, and I see something behind his waist—he has a gun. I grab his hand and arm and drag him back.
"Please, he has a gun," I say.
He grabs my hands and slowly steps back along with me, back to his bike. He instantly helps me up to the back seat and hops up. We look at the man before us to see if he makes a sudden move. Then, we ride off to the right side, the way my biker came before.
I turn to look around to see if there are any lights or signs that a man has been following us for quite some time. The bike stops in the left corner of the house, the house that I always stop by when I jog.
What?
And then he rides slowly and sneaks to the side of the house through the bushes and vines.
"Wait—why are you riding in here?" I say and shake his body while he rides the bike, "Hey, you can't come in here." I whisper and feel scared at the same time.
He doesn't care, and then he parks his bike in the backyard, in front of the back porch. He gets off the bike, but I don't, and I grab his arm immediately.
"You can't come here!" I shout in a low tone as much as possible,
He says nothing and lets my hand on his as he approaches me and carries me off the bike. I put my barefoot lightly on the grass as I lurk and search for the owner of the house; there's no light or sound—Zygmunt isn't home, but it doesn't mean this guy can get inside the house, and why does he choose this place, fuck.
I grab his arm again before he walks up to the porch. He turns to me, and I shake my head at him.
"You can't barge into people's places," I say,
He says nothing again, and he walks to the door as I hold him back with my full strength,
"Ah–" I cry because my toenails trip to the edge of the stairs.
He quickly turns to me and holds me up. I hold his helmet to face me. "You can't go in there. I can't go in there—we shouldn't go in there," I say, and he sighs heavily. He holds me up and carries me to his shoulder instantly. "Hey!" I shout. "Hey—" I quickly soften my tone. He doesn't care, ignoring everything. He pulls out something behind his pockets and unlocks the doorknob.
The alarm will go on—if he keeps on picking the lock,
"Click." When the door opens, he gets inside while holding me on his shoulder. I wait for the sound, but there's no alarm sound—there's nothing.
How?
I turn my face left and right and try to look around—quiet and dark. Then, he puts me down on the edge of the sofa.
"How?" I ask,
He turns around to the kitchen area,
"Hey—you can't just walk around in here," I whisper and shout at him. Eventually, he returns with a towel, and he's still wearing the helmet on his head—unbelievable.
"You know, even if we were an alibi, you could get off the hook," I say frustratedly as he kneels down and wipes off some dirt on my feet. He looks up at me, "If you don't notice, I'm barefaced right now." I sigh.
I get up, and about to leave the backdoor, he catches my right arm, "Where are you going?" He asks,
"Leaving—I don't want to be here," I say,
As he pulls me back, he steps into me, "Why is that?"
"It's—it's someone else's house," I say,
It's Zygmunt's house.
"Then, where will you go? that fucker might be there probably, waiting in front of this house." He says,
I bite my lower lip and sigh heavily.
"He might be coming back soon," I say, and he stares at me with a black shield. "The owner of the house," I say.
Then, he lets go of my arm and turns back to the kitchen again. I follow him slowly, watching him what he's doing, and he seems to know every corner of this house without hesitating to find or grab the mug.
He doesn't give any shit. I'm losing my mind right now. If Zygmunt knows about this, Geez!
I try to breathe and calm myself.
"How come the alarm didn't ring?" I ask while I look around the house, which is the same—the same as the day I stitched Zygmunt's stomach right on this couch. I lay my hand on the backrest and stroke it from left to right; it still feels the same.
He comes out, "I have the key." He says behind the heavy helmet.
I breathe in—and hold it like I don't want to breathe. I turn around and see him offer me a hot mug, and I can see smoke floating up in the air.
It can't be.
He walks closer to me, and I step back—he pauses as if he senses my doubtful feelings toward him.
"Can you—" I open my mouth and look up at him, seeing my own reflection every time I try to look for him. "Take off your helmet?" I ask.
He stands there, still, and then offers me a mug of hot chocolate. I don't take it, and then he puts it down on the side table. As he turns around, I step forward, and my left-hand grabs his sleeve.
"It's you—isn't it?" I ask, and he slowly turns to me again. I let go of my hand, and he raises his arms, unsecured the helmet under his chin, and takes the black mask off for me.
Revealing the dark hair, which is messy and covers his eyes and forehead. He pushes his hair back, exposing his eyes—
"Ha—" I gasp.
The silver lightning strikes through the dark heavily,
Fuck, it's him,
It's Zygmunt.