The Initial Meeting

With a violent jump, my body shoots out of bed. Disorientated, I look around trying to find out why I was harshly ripped out of my sleep. The answer comes only seconds later when a banging on my door makes my ears perk and my curiosity peak.

Fumbling for the baseball bat under my bed, I catch a glimpse of the time from my alarm clock above me: 4:34 am. Sighing, I heave the silver bat out and tighten my grip to accommodate its weighty structure.

Creeping to the door, my footsteps are light and my arms are ready to swing at the littlest of movements. When the coast is all clear, I walk up to the peephole and look outside to see the broad chest of a guy- no- the broad chest of a man. My hand hesitates on the doorknob.

To open or not to open, that is the question.

Without a moment's hesitation, a war breaks out in my mind.

The Devil aka the irrational part of me: Open it. Open it. Open it! We've been craving a bit of danger! We need this!

The angel aka the mouth of sense and logical thinking: Don't open the door. We don't know who that is. They look big! They could take us down and hurt us. Walk away!

With another boisterous knock, I look out the peephole once again and turn my lock. My hand stills on the doorknob. With a deep breath and a short pep talk for encouragement, I turn the door handle. With a shriek, my small frame shrinks away from the fist that's about to hit me square in the face. When nothing happens and my face is seemingly spared, I take my arms from their protective position around my head and raise my eyes to this giant of a man. And he is a giant, at least 6'2", maybe taller.

"Can I help you?"

My words seem to break him out of his trance because the moment they pass my lips and enter into the air he looks down at me. His eyes scan up and down my body as if he doesn't believe I'm actually there, like I actually opened the door. Then a smirk adorns his otherwise handsome face. I mean, with dark brown, almost black hair, a strong jawline, plump pink lips, and crystal blue eyes, who wouldn't find him handsome? The smirk, however, turns his features from something sexy to something much more… dangerous and forbidden. My interest is instantly piqued. What does he want? Why is he at my door? What is he doing awake at 4 am?

"You? Help me?" he asks mockingly, his finger pointing towards me then back at himself, "Yea, I don't think so."

Now, I don't know about anyone else, but when someone underestimates me and acts like I'm crazy when they are the lunatic who was slamming against my door at 4:30 in the morning, I'm going to get a little angry and very cranky.

"Excuse me?! Considering you're the one banging on my door like a madman, I can only assume that you need my help with something!"

Turning his attention from me to the living room behind me, he replies,"this isn't your door. Brand, come get this chick before I kick her out myself!"

I can't help but stare at him in disbelief. Who does he think he is?

"Listen, buddy, I-"

"I'm not your buddy."

Taking a deep breath to calm myself down, I pause for a second before continuing, "Listen, I don't care who you are, but this is my door and I would appreciate you walking away before I call the cops."

With a scoff, he pushes me out of the way, causing me to stumble before catching myself with the wall next to me, and barges into my living room.

"Brand! Brandon, man, where the fuck are you?"

Screaming throughout my small apartment, he travels from the living room to my kitchen with only a few giant strides that I have no hope of competing with.

When "Brand" isn't found in the kitchen, he moves on to my bathroom where my pads are in plain sight but ignorantly ignored. Typical male. I pick up my pace to try and keep up with him. Rushing to get ahead, I block my bedroom door but with arms like Vin Diesel, a small nudge breaks my barrier and allows him entry into my sacred place.

Turning on the light, he looks around then stops, not because my bra is hanging out of my nightstand drawer, but because the man who I'm assuming is "Brand" is calling his name outside of my apartment.

"Damon, what the hell are you doing? Get out here now!"

Without a care, he walks back through my apartment and to my front door where his friend is waiting. Still standing inside he asks, "Brand! Where were you, man? Your chick was beginning to piss me off. Doesn't she know who I am?"

"No. We're lucky nobody knows who you are," he grits out through clenched teeth. "Now get out here before she calls the police."

"Who? Her?" he gestures to me with a thumb over his shoulder.

"Yes, get out here!"

"Why? This is your place. If anyone should be getting out it should be her."

He moves his body to the side of the door and with a grand sweep of his arm guides me to the opening of the- no- my door.

"Brand, do you mind if I call you that? No matter. Brand, if you don't get your friend out of my house in the next two minutes I'm calling the police. Not only is he disturbing the peace, but he is trespassing on my property," I insist, making sure to emphasize "my" at the end of the sentence.

"I am so sorry. Damon, get out here. This is not my apartment, you idiot. I'm across the hall."

Nonchalantly, Damon walks out of my apartment as if he wasn't just kicked out several times.

The nerve of this guy.

"Hey!" I yell across the hall, catching their attention, "next time you decide to slam someone's door down and barge inside, make sure you have the right address."

Before either of them can reply, I shut my door, slide down, and blow against a piece of hair that had fallen into my face. Thinking back to what happened, I realize that the ordeal happened pretty fast. He was like a whirlwind that came into my life and left just as fast, but I can't help the feeling that I know that name, that I've met him before.

Shrugging, I stand back up and drag my feet to the bed, making sure to close the door behind me. Tiredness crashes into me the moment I flop into my bed and seconds later, I'm out like a light.