Nero
Payton
A red and gold leaf floats across the room, seemingly weightless,
before settling onto the carpet between my spot on the couch and the TV.
I glance at my open patio door where another gust of wind brings the
scent of promised rain, but instead of getting up, I tuck my legs underneath
me and pull my fleece blanket up to my chin, careful not to tip the bowl of
popcorn resting on the cushion next to me.
A storm is coming.
Payton
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵,𝘪𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶…
I snuggle further into the corner of my couch.
Payton
𝘩𝘶𝘩..𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘰
I remind myself, inhaling deeply through my nose, willing new memories to replace the old.
This is my home.
I’m safe here.
The low rumble of distant thunder calms me further.
No matter how much they tried to beat it out of me, I never lost my love
of violent weather.
I never understood why I was supposed to be scared of storms. Didn’t
understand why it made me different, or wrong, or stupid––like they
claimed.
It wasn’t the violence I craved, it was the change. The washing away.
The cleansing. That smallest sliver of hope that a wave might crash through,
dragging away the old, leaving something new.
And maybe that’s why I still like them. There’s still that spot in my
chest, deep inside of me, that wants to be sucked up into the sky, whisked
away from it all, and dropped into Oz.
As if summoned by the wind, the woman on screen opens her front door
and the world around her morphs from black and white to color, and I let
the familiar sense of nostalgia wash over me
The sounds of the nearing storm keep filtering in and out of my
awareness, even as I sway my head to the familiar songs
My hand is halfway to my mouth, popcorn between my fingers, when
the dull noise of groaning metal drags my gaze to the patio, the sliding glass
door open wide
The gauzy curtains I installed last year are flowing eerily with the
breeze, but the streetlamp outside is burnt out, so I can’t see beyond my tiny
balcony
I’ve never really trusted that balcony, it’s as shabby as the rest of this
building. But I figured it’d take more than a little inclement weather to
knock it down
I give myself a mental gold star for never bothering with furniture out
there as I lick the salt off my fingers
Another roll of thunder, closer this time, draws my attention back to the
balcony.
And the man standing in my open door
Payton
A scream catches in my throat, too strangled to be heard
My eyes squeeze shut, and I force myself to breathe
Payton
𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨*gulps*
But when I open them again, the man is still there. And coming closer.
The man crosses half of my apartment in two long strides, putting him
only feet away
Adrenaline courses through my body, yet I don’t move.
To my own humiliation, I don’t do anything
Aside from the television, the lamp in the corner is the only light on.
And it does little to illuminate the man in front of me.
He’s tall. I’m sitting but I can tell he’s tall. And… he’s wearing a suit
Payton
𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵? 𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦?
His voice is deep. But gentle. Soft even. And my brain
doesn’t know how to react
My heart is racing.
My hands are shaking.
But the rest of me doesn’t move
he takes a few slow steps, crossing in front of
the TV
Nero
You really shouldn’t leave your door open like that
My lips part, but my words get jumbled on my tongue and I have to
swallow before trying again
Payton
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦.. 𝘐𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳
Still trying to understand what’s happening
He tilts his head, and it feels like he’s humoring my response, but I can’t
focus on that. Because the angle allows the light to fall across his features.
And…
Dark eyes. Dark brows. Nearly black hair tousled yet styled back, and
sharp cheekbones outlined with a trimmed beard in the same shade.
He looks like he came from a photoshoot. Or a boardroom. Or a
photoshoot of a boardroom. And an inner voice is shouting at me that that
should make this even scarier.
I also notice that his clothes aren’t wet, which means the rain hasn’t
started. And for some reason, that saddens me. Like that detail alone seals
my ruin
Resist the urge to sigh at the sight of my phone sitting on said kitchen
counter. Mocking me with the idea of calling the police, knowing I’ll never
get the chance
A police siren wails outside.
Then another.
And a moment later, I watch the flash of red and blue lights bounce
down through the night as cop cars speed past my building.
Slowly, I turn my gaze back to the man facing me
This man is running from the cops and he’s standing in my living room. Like
nothing is amiss. Like he just decided to take a different route home.
*
Payton
Are you running from cops?
His body shifts and I think that maybe that’s all this will be. The police
have passed by, now he can leave.
But he lifts a foot and steps closer.
Panic starts to flare brighter inside me, hitting its flash point, when
another gust of wind lifts the edge of his suit jacket.
Payton
𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥.. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘯
He doesn’t reach for it though. He just… lowers himself onto the couch.
My couch.
Beside me.
Once again, my mouth opens with nothing coming out
Payton
What are you doing?
What is happening?
Payton
What. In. The. Hell?
Payton
His large body fills up too much space on the couch. All my furniture is
small. Small because my apartment is small. Small because it’s only ever
me here.
I sit frozen, wondering if I should say something, but he keeps his focus
on the TV
Payton
𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦...𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?*nervous*
I start to shift, wondering if I can just get up and slip away
Nero
I’d rather you didn’t get up.
He doesn’t turn his head when he says it,
his tone casual. But there’s no hiding the fact that it’s not a request.
My breathing picks up, as I remain facing forward. Prickles running up
and down my arms.
I cut off my plea, not
wanting to put my specific fears into words.
I can hear the rustle of fabric as he starts to turn toward me, and I
squeeze my eyes shut.
A large hand settles on my thigh, and I stiffen even more.
The weight of his palm is alarming, the heat of his touch searing me
through the blanket.
His hand presses down with a little more force.
Payton
𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴..𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮?
He’s leaning toward me, invading my space further, and the stance
should feel dominating. But there’s something in his body language, or
maybe it’s something in his eyes, that makes my body obey. Makes me
relax, just a little.
His gaze travels over my face, and this close, I can see a tinge of green
in his eyes. They’re stunning.
His eyes move back to mine.
Nero
I'm not going to hurt you
I mostly mouth the word, my voice too quiet to hear, but he
nods anyway, a pleased look crossing his features.
Payton
𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮?
His hand slides off my thigh, taking the heat with him
Before I have time to start spiraling, he lifts the bowl of popcorn from
the spot between us.
Without waiting for an answer, he settles back, props his feet up on the
coffee table and sets the bowl on his lap.
Then, casual as ever, he drapes one arm across the back of the couch, fingers nearly touching my shoulder, like
he’s here for a date and not a home invasion.
I watch as he starts to eat the popcorn, whole handfuls at a time, never
dropping a single piece on himself.
Payton
𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘥𝘰
Payton
𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘖𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸?
With my eyes still on his profile, waiting for whatever’s going to
happen next, I hear the character on the screen talk about courage. And I wish more than anything I had some
I jump when he speaks, then bite my lip
Payton
Um… I don’t think I should
tell you that.
I see his eyes flick over in my direction
Those two syllables bounce across my skin.
My fingers tighten around the blanket, pulling it even higher
Payton
𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦
My stomach clenches and my stupid brain takes this moment to remind
me that I probably look like a disheveled mess.
Not that it matters. I don’t need this intruder to think I’m sexy. In fact it’s probably better that he doesn’t. It’s probably better that I have popcorn breath and a ponytail that needs adjusting. And bangs that are going every which way since they got damp when I washed the makeup off my face before sitting down to watch my favorite movie for the four-hundredth time.
The fingers near my shoulder tap against the backrest, keeping in time with the characters on TV as they skip down the road.
This has got to be the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me
Payton
𝘈 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘺. 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘶𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯.
Payton
𝘢𝘯𝘥.....𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨?
Payton
𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺. 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨
With careful, small movements, I push myself further into the corner.Trying to add any amount of distance I can between us.
I want to ask his name. Ask him what he’s running from. But I feel like the less knowledge I have, the better.
Payton
𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦
My inner voice unhelpfully reminds me
Not knowing what else to do, I stare at his profile. Watching the way the light dances off his eyes. The way his mouth opens and closes around handfuls of popcorn. The way his shoulders seem relaxed
He seems so at ease. So… comfortable.
My lids lower in a slow blink and I force them wide.I can’t make out the clock on the microwave from here, but I know it’s past my bedtime. I didn’t intend on staying up for the entire film because
waking up at five a.m. every weekday means I go to bed early. And I haven’t been sleeping well this week. Hell, I haven’t been sleeping well the past twenty-seven years.
He chews another mouthful, and I watch the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows
Maybe this really is all a dream
Maybe I’m already in bed, sound asleep
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