Uninvited Guest

I jumped, surprised, and quickly pressed a hand against my chest as I turned around. It was him.

I had begun to think that our encounter was just my mind playing tricks on me.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," he said, but did not look sorry at all.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, looking around.

The man, clad in black, raised my keys on his slim index finger, a wide grin now plastered on his face.

I quickly snatched the keys, unlocked the door, then turned around and eyed him closely.

Now that I could see him in broad daylight, I realized that he was actually much more impossibly beautiful than I had previously imagined.

"Are you gonna invite me in or are you just gonna stare at me?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"God. Of death," he added, as if it made any kind of sense.

He walked past me and pushed the door open, inviting himself in.

"No, no, no, you cannot stay here," I said as I followed him inside, but he was too busy eyeing the place to notice me.

He eventually sat on my couch with his legs crossed on the tiny wooden table before him and motioned for me to take a seat.

"What are you doing in my house?" I asked.

"I just wanted to talk to you, that's all," he said.

"About?"

"You," he said as if he had no care in the world.

Ignoring him, I carefully walked into the small kitchen on my left. The man's eyes followed me.

I reached for the biggest knife I had before walking back and standing right in front of him.

"What's that for?" he asked.

"It's just in case you get any stupid ideas," I said, shrugging.

He laughed, and I could feel the walls of my house throwing his gruff chuckle back at me.

"I'm serious, and I am not scared to use it," I said, clutching the handle tightly.

"Then do it," he said.

Before I could process anything, he was standing right in front of me.

Seriously, his speed was certainly inhumanly possible. He was now mere inches away from me. Abruptly, I lifted the knife and pressed it into the dark skin of his neck.

He did not make a move to stop me. He did not even flinch.

Defeated, I dropped the knife from my hand. His features softened, and to my surprise, he smiled.

"You live here alone?" he asked, scanning the room with his piercing eyes.

"With my sister. She's not here at the moment," I said.

"And where is she?" he asked, stopping before a framed photograph hanging on the wall.

"She's staying with our father for a while, I think?" I said, struggling to form a sentence.

"Have you experienced this before? The hazy memory, feeling lost, recurring headaches? Or perhaps a sense of not being a hundred percent...there," he asked.

What was he now, my therapist?

"What's your name?" I did not know why I asked.

"I don't see how that's of any relevance to our conversation."

I agreed, but maybe knowing his name would feel a little but reassuring. Then again, why are we having this conversation in the first place?

"Do you usually bring people over?" He walked towards me, stopping just an inch or two away.

"You know... men, women, maybe both? You look like a total freak in be-"

I slapped him.

Well, I intended to, had him not stop my hand in mid air. He had grabbed my forearm, not my bare wrist, my forearm. With only my green hoodie separating our my skin from his touch.

"I would advise against that."

His gruff voice was all but threatening. His grip tightened and I thought he might actually snap my bones in half.

"Just who are you? You run into me and act like you had just seen a ghost, you follow me to campus, you show up to my front door, invite yourself in, taunt me, and now you're just standing there threatening me?"

He stared at me, intense, silver eyes poured into mine.

I closed my eyes and hoped and prayed for whatever god out there that when I opened them he would just be gone.

I let out a small, shaky breath. He was still there. My little outburst did not even faze him.

He dropped my arm and took a step back. Perhaps my little dramatic, emotional expression disturbed him, just a bit.

"I told you who I was. You just seem to not accept it. Just as you seem to not accept a great deal of things."

With that, he walked to the front door and I sighed in relief, he was finally leaving me alone.

He stopped, looking over his broad shoulder.

"Rey."

"What?"

"My name. It's Rey."

.

.

.

I stepped out of the cold shower, wrapping a white towel around my body. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I wiped away the steam with my hand and noticed something on my forearm. A nasty bruise was beginning to darken my skin.

Suddenly, I remembered Rey and how he had grabbed my forearm.

Had his grip been that painful? I couldn't recall. I shook my head and pushed the thought aside, reaching for my hairbrush.

When I finally made it to my room, I looked for my phone.

There were a bunch of texts from both Lily and Eric, but I was not in the right state of mind to message anyone back, so I locked my phone and lied in bed.

Staring at the ceiling, I begin to recall the whole encounter. I lifted my arm and gazed at the discolored reddish skin. I knew he did not mean to harm me in any way.

I sighed, nothing made sense any more.

I woke up an hour or two later. I hadn't realized that I actually fell asleep, it was evening time now and wearing nothing but a big, loose-fitting, blue t-shirt and black panties.

the small open window beside me allowed for the early night's breeze to cool down my flushed skin.

I got up, tying my black hair into a high ponytail, and headed to the desk at the far corner of my room.

I went through some scattered, unfinished drawings and paintings, until my eyes would finally fall on my latest work; the portrait of the young dark-skinned girl.

I studied it, admiring my handy work until I got to the name and date.

Avalyn

June 20th