2 Strangers

I can't scream. I can't run. I'm stuck. It's as if the curtains have taken me as one of their own and they won't let go. The backdoor slides open and a massive gust of wind blows into the living room blowing everything across it. I slam into the wall. My heart aches and my body feels limp, I have never felt anything like this before. I am waiting for my end. Either by heart attack or by whomever has just stepped into my home. I scrunch up my eyes as I hear footsteps walking along my heavy oak floors. I've always hated how we've had wooden floors instead of carpeted. Now, they seem like a timer for my pizza, except I'm the pizza, the timer is the person who's in front of me and the oven is the house I'm going to die in.

He crouches down in front of me, I can hear his breath, heavy, as if he's just played a game of cricket and he was the only fielder. He leans in closer to me and breathes in my ear before whispering, "Happy Birthday, my lady..." I open my eyes immediately. His voice is like a summers breeze almost... heavenly.

The man in front of me isn't going to hurt me. I can see it in his eyes. He's pale, fragile. He looks as if he's made of glass. His hair is an almost white blonde, his face is sturdy, serious as if he's made many tough decisions in his life, but kind as if he's seen everything you've been through and imagined it one thousand times worst and pities you. His eyes are a pale blue almost see through, as I look deeper, I feel like I can see another world there, a haven, it's beautiful.

I blink myself back into realty. This man has just entered your home. Without permission. He is trespassing. I stare at the stupid wooden floors. I see him reach for my hand, and despite me wanting to pull away, I don't. His hands are like my feet in the morning, frozen, like the birdbath during winter. He takes my hand and places his other hand on top of it, as if to comfort me. And I feel comforted, until a freezing wind blows into the room. It cradles us. Pulling us closer. It feels warmer even though the wind is even colder than his hands.

I feel like I've known him forever. The wind whips my hair around my face, and he laughs. He tucks my hair behind my ears. Everything clicks.

"Sebastian?" I'm shouting now. The wind is so cold and fierce. It's like nothing I've ever seen. He holds me as if he needs me to be alive. He needs to protect me. He doesn't care whether he gets hurt; it's me that needs to live. Or something else completely...

From what I've heard "Sebastian" died three years before I was born. I push him away. The wind dies down ad if a Vacuum cleaner has just scooped it up. He looks at me tears are halfway down his face. He's not sad, he's proud.

"That's the longest you've done that" he whispers, "You might be able to survive..." his voice trails off. He looks at me, longingly. He's tired. "Please, Miss Tiffany, you have to..." he collapses on the floor.

"Sebastian? "I rush over to him. I put my hand on his chest and he grabs it. He smiles. He's alive, barely. I help him onto the couch and lie him down. I slide the door shut. I pause; I close the curtains as well, just in case. I look over to Sebastian, his eyes are open, and he's watching me, as if I'm the one who broke into his house. I sigh and go to get him a drink.

I peer out of my kitchen window, just in case I see an identical girl walking up my driveway. I don't. I close the curtains for extra measure. A hand covers my mouth. He slides a gun into my hand and then put his arm around my torso. To -I think- prevent me from moving.

"They're coming for us, they want you dead, and me sent back." I stop breathing, and he can tell as he gives me a squeeze of relief, "I won't lose you again," he whispers in my ear," I can't..."

I car pulls into the drive and he picks me up and runs. "What do you think you're doing? Put me the hell down!" he replies to this with a grin. And glides through the open backdoor. And drops me on the grass. "Sebastian! Really?" he smiles and helps me to my feet.

"You did tell me to put you down, no? "He's cheeky, but he's got his energy back, which makes me happy. I spin the gun around my finger, just like dad taught me. I slide it into my belt for safekeeping. I look around my garden and listen to the gentle wind. It suddenly starts getting louder, vaster, crazier, just like me. I listen harder I can feel it spinning around me. I open my eyes. He's looking at me, there's that crazy look in his eyes, and I've seen it before. It's that kind of look that flips your stomach, not with fear but excitement. I pull the gun out of my belt and point it at him.

"You haven't told me why you're here. Frankly, I don't really care. Kind of. Anyway, if you don't tell me, I'll shoot," I say this as confidently as I can. I'd never shoot him, never. He smiles.

"You remember me? The guy from that portrait? I've always watched over you, to make sure you were okay," he pauses, "you were fine until yesterday, but they're coming for you. When your dad left, he got into a... business, made a lot of debt." He looks at me. I know what he's saying; they want me as the payment. I looked at him; everything was blurry like I had just gone swimming without my goggles. I just stared at him.