Stalker, Abductor... Lover

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

In which our heroine feels so much better and gets her breath taken away.

Chapter 18 (v.1) - First Impression

Submitted: August 17, 2012

Reads: 232

Comments: 5

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Submitted: August 17, 2012

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My dear beloved readers. I thank you from my heart and I swear to you that I would never have made it this far into the story without you.
However, I hope you don't mind the lack of action in this chapter, and still find ot as enjoyable as the others. It is kind of essential to the general body of teh story.
Enjoy reading as well as I will enjoy your feedbacks ;)




The malicious low growl of laughter reached after her even as she ran; no matter how far she thought she was going it kept coming. And she ran, not knowing left from right, batteling the distinct feeling that she was positively drowning in this darkness and suffocating on the sinking premonition that she was doomed this time for real. She looked back, horrified panic in her eyes, dreading to find what she suspected would find chasing after her.
Oh dear God, was she not saved?


With a loud gasp, Natalie pried her eyes open, her body wrenched upright on the bed, drenched in cold sweat. For a few moments of choking silence she sat still, trying to regain some focus and sanity through the illusion of terror, and trying to calm the heart that was well on its way out of her chest by the sheer force in each pound. Oh God, her chest bone hurt. All was dark around her; she could not tell whether time was still in the grip of the night. However she knew where she was and with whom. She took in two deep breaths, in hopes to ease the numbness from her body, but it all went to dust when she heard the scurry of hurrying feet just outside the half closed door.
Suddenly all she was aware of was the fact that she was in a man's house. He had saved her and he had vowed never to harm her, but she just did not want him near her. She did not even want to see him.
Mindless to the lack of balance she got to her feet out of bed, bracing herself by opening her legs as if ready to battle the man. Nicolas.
The door was swung open a split of a second later and Nicolas did not hesitate in the doorway, although he did look somewhat taken aback when he switched the lights on and saw her –blinking furiously against the assault of near pain of sudden brightness— in stance.
He hurried to her side "Are you okay?" he touched ginger fingers to her upper arm. She wrenched away, stepping around him so that her back was to the door, her wary untrusting eyes never leaving his.
There was a shadow of hurt on his face, but it was gone as soon it appeared that she suspected she had imagined it all. "I am sorry. Didn't mean to startle you" he said, his voice flat, a tenor that confirmed that hurt he did not show.
Strangely, she felt the stiffness in her stance loosening, but not all the way, and she could not keep the next words from blurting out "You didn't. I just don't want you near me. I don't want you to touch me, okay?" she hated how her voice shook. Good God, of all the people, she did not want this man to see beginning of tears in her eyes, did not want him to see her as she neared her breaking point.
"I am not the bad guy, Natalie. I will never hurt you"
"You have not been through what I have been through"
He nodded rigidly, the friendly, I-am-here-for-you expression from a couple of hours earlier was gone and before her stood a man she didn't quite recognize. That didn't help anything at all. She swallowed and turned away, heading for the bathroom. He followed.
"Where are you going?"
She whirled around, speaking as quickly as she could "I have to take a shower. I need to wash their filth off of me"
"Okay. What do you need?" he asked, all business-like, something she could have kissed him for it.
"I need a bath robe and anything long I could borrow till… till" till what? Just the thought of going back to her beloved, now-soiled apartment made the hated tears burn around the rims of her eyes.
"Okay. Don't worry about it" he said, and for some reason she was relieved to see some of the warm reassurance back in his eyes "Wait here for one minute and I will right back with all you need. You don't want anything else?"
By this point, opening her mouth was a risk her dignity could do without. So she shook her head, instead.
He was off.
Aware that he still lingered just behind the closed door, she clawed at her clothes, stained with blood and filthy with the villains' gut-twisting odor, undoing her hair as she pulled her t-shirt over her head and hastily donned the soft and immaculately clean cotton robe. Forcefully, she pulled the door open and thrust the piled cloths into his chest with one thing on her mind to say "Burn them"
His eyes grew round "But—"
But the door slammed in his face.
Under the shower, her chest heaved with unleashed rage and rampaging fear, salty tears merging with clear water. The water, she knew, was cold, but she didn't feel the comfort of its coldness, her skin was too flushed and no matter how hard she scrubbed herself the feel of the man's tongue running across her collarbone, up her throat and the side of her face would not dissolve off of her. She still felt it on her body as though he was still right there with her now, doing exactly what he had been doing. She still smelled the stink of his breath and heard the taunting smugness in his voice and his sneering laugh, telling her that he would take whatever he wanted and there was nothing she could do about it.
She was pinned by his two accomplices, and there grip hurt as if she was still there on the ground, hopeless, struggling in vain, until…
A sob burst from between clamped teeth, her undoing; an announcement of total breakdown.
Shaking, she blindly groped for the column of the shower, resting her forehead against it and crying freely now.

On the other side of the door, Nicolas stood frozen. How it all had come to this, he wondered. One moment he was shedding his clothes, suddenly weary all over, and throwing himself on his bed, another he was jolted awake by a sense of deep unease split of a second before Natalie's terrified gasp resounded through the hall to his ears, and after sprinting to get to her aid and got closer, she looked at him with eyes that hurtled daggers of warning, as if she had no idea who he was; a world of distance materializing in the small space between them.
And now there he was, his eyes wide with shock, his every fiber turned to stone. And it was then that he realized, knew beyond all doubt that the hardest thing in the world was not snatching the life of another human without a guilty thought.
It was listening to Natalie's broken tears, muffled through that damned door and being unable to do anything to stop it.
He slid to the ground and hung his head.



The first thing Natalie thought of when she opened her eyes much, much later was how very odd it was to feel nothing below the neck the way she did now. It was compelling, she could think of nothing else. No scratch that, she could feel nothing whatsoever. She had a headache, a dreadful sense of weightlessness and, even before she gave it a try, she knew that balance was out of the question for now. Still, she reasoned that whatever she was feeling now was so much better than the numbing blows of panic after last night's nightmare.

Or was it only last night?
She frowned.
Then blinked.
And did nothing.
She waited for something to tell her that it was a good time to move her head. Thankfully, because she hated feeling like such an idiot for long stretches of time, the clock in the room rang loudly in the stillness around her; she took that as a sign. She turned her head and then made a double take.
Did that clock point at 5 p.m?!
Impossible! She never slept that long, even if her nerve system was not performing at its best. She never, ever, slept till so late in the day. Balance be damned, she rose onto her elbows and regarded the light pooling on the bed from the window.
Yep, it looked 5 in the evening. She looked ahead and shook her head. But how? As if on cue something caught her attention out of the corners of her eyes; the late afternoon sun reflecting off the rim of a glass. It stood empty on the desk beside the bed. Nicholas had left it there before he disappeared into his own quarters last night (or should she say that morning?) with a stick-note that said "I hope you feel better in the morning". She had crumbled that tiny note and drained the whole thing in one time. But now there was something about that glass that did not set right with her that moment, she was looking at it with most shrewdly speculative eyes.
She felt a vein pop at her temple, pounding, as realization dawned.
"Nicholas you bastard!" she hissed.
Of course! He had drugged her!
Her first inkling was to spit a long string on cuss words in every language she spoke, for no one in particular, but she did not. She found, to her surprise, that she was actually grateful for what he had done. Happy even that he had done it.
He certainly had no right, but still it was decidedly thoughtful. God knew that she did not pin for another mortifying panic attack. Ever.
He had done her quite a favor and she, on the other hand, had an awful load of things to make amends for.
She slid out of the bed and treaded carefully as she made her way to the bathroom to freshen up. When she was done she took a look at herself in the mirror and barely managed to hold in a hysterical burst of laughter. She looked down right ridiculous!
She had asked him to bring her something decent to wear, but of course, judging from his impressive breadth of physique, whatever he chose was bound to make her a laughingstock. The grey sweat pants were rolled at the waist and legs, and the black t-shirt that, even without seeing it on him, she was sure must cling to him, but on her it… hung. As if she were a hanger or something. Not that she didn't have a bust that made her proud, but still she was not Nicholas.
It was when she stared at herself in the mirror that the perfect way to say a proper thank you struck her.
And having tasted what she was sad to call soup, it was not hard.
On the fridge she found another stick-note, reading "be back around 6" and it was already 5:15. One of the things Natalie liked about herself, something that endlessly aided around her restaurants, was that she gifted with the ability to think, plan and act quickly, there was no time to waste any way. She would first have to get acquainted with the kitchen and all would be downhill from there.
That evening she made him a small feast he would never forget.
Hopefully, teach him a thing or two about what cooking really was.
When she was done and all was good, not too shabby nor overly nice, she tidied up a bit and went on a little tour of exploration of the house. A three-bedroom, two-bathroom, and an American kitchen. One of the three rooms was locked, and the living room was not as big as the one in her own apartment. It contained all sorts of confirmation that the master of the house was one who ran his household with a hand of organization something that had crossed her mind upon reading his stick-notes. The word pretty came to mind only to be shoved out of the way by cozy since the place had a classic fire place and a sofa that, when she plopped down into it, she sank. Although they both were kicked in the bottom by breathtakingly magnificent once she stepped out onto the relatively spacious terrace, with potted plants and climbers at the corners, that overlooked the lake.
It was a sight that nothing could ever erase from her memory, the sight of the house standing close to the edge of the lake, in the water itself, the centre attention of the forest that encircled the lake.
But oh goodness! Was it a sight to behold!
An ancient-looking willow overhang its limb golden-green branches, some dipping into the crystal water. Multi-trunked trees spotted the small clearing between the belt of the forest and the lake. The water lotus that were beginning to close and sink underwater once night darkened the sky floated around the surface, as if in an oblivious dance, little ripples broke against the almost rounded edges and butterflies of violets and yellows chased after each other. Vibrant slants of fiery light from the dying sun slithered through the tree and leaves. Wasps and bees buzzed, and birds fluttered their wings across her line of sight.
My dear great GOD! She was stunned, disbelieving, for it was simply impossible how sharp everything here was, how vivid were the colours, how intense was the awareness of the life happening wherever she looked.

But it was real, the whole breathtaking lot of it.
She feasted on the sight before her and breathed in the beauty that could never be marred, closed her eyes and listened to silence the like of which she had never came across, but she was here now and in the heart of it. It was a place that trickled a long lost feeling deep within her, something she had not felt since the death of her father; a strange sense of belonging.
She opened her eyes, blinking away the film of tears and sent a yearning prayer for her beloved papa and the mother she had not known.
Perfect. That was the word.
Her little Wonderland.

Two minutes later, she heard the distinct sound of a key slipping into lock and the bang when it turned. She walked in quickly with a friendly smile just in time to see an unshaven, slightly disheveled Nicholas walk through the door… and was caught of guard by an unwanted, unexpectedly powerful sense of déjà vu.


© Copyright 2019 Laila Alexander. All rights reserved.

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