HIDING PLACE 

Plot: John Peters just wanted to get away for a few months but things were not happening as he liked it. The impossible happened & plans seemed to go his way. Will he be in deep shit?

Warning: If you're sensitive about the word 'fuck', 'shit', 'asshole', 'motherfucker' or any profanity better walk away since I'm going to use them liberally.

Note: Pedro Pascal is my inspiration to write this story. I read it in his voice! J

HIDING PLACE

CHAPTER 6

Just open one eyelid at time and pluck it off. Go on!

Steady hands…reaching 1…2…3…

Whoa! Suddenly things moved…up became down and a white thing slammed on my face. Something heavy landed on my back. The heavy weight trapped me at the curve of my waist.

I couldn't move!

A curtain of dark wavy hair fell on my face. I blinked to keep it from my eyes and it moved a little away. When it touched my face it carries the same scent that I enjoyed in the taxi. It was the same fragrance on her hair. I had a wide-eyed realization…

"Who the fuck are you?"

Shit!

The cannonball is awake.

-o-0-o-

I heard the question but I got distracted by many other things coming at me all at the same time: her voice, the warm breath in my ear, the tickle of her hair at the back of my neck, the side of my face on the cool sheet, her scent, the weight of her on my back, but most of all, the pee-inducing pain in my elbow and wrist.

Yes, that hyper-vigilance skill is not doing much for me at this time. And…if I put a bullet point in my thoughts, bullet point two is-'I'm still trying to figure out how I got flipped down on my face!'

"Who are you?"

"Uh...don't be afraid." I said in my hopefully non-intimidating voice.

"I'm not." She said calmly. And why did I believe her? I heard her smirk at my words.

"I'm…I'm not dangerous…"

"Good. Name?"

I hesitated and that was my mistake. She shifted slowly. "Whoa! Stop!" I groaned in pain. Where the hell did she learn this?! But that's not important right now. This is ridiculous! How did I ever get into this 'from the frying pan into the fire' situations?

"I'm…I'm John." I cleared my throat. "I'm glad you're awake." I managed a lopsided smile.

"How did I get home?"

Here we go; that question that I was dreading about. "I took you back home…by taxi. You had an accident..."

"How?"

"I'm not sure…but I think you fell…" her eyes were scanning my face.

"How?"

"I don't know…I…I was sleeping when it happened…"

"Where did this happen?"

"At the airport….I was resting..."

"Where?"

"There was this place behind the potted plants…"

"At?"

"At…at Exit 6…? It was out of the way…"

"How did you know where I live?"

"I found your phone. I saw the address…"

"Why didn't you take me to the hospital?" Her voice turned hard.

My throat began tightening up, heart pumping faster. I know what's going to happen next. I can't…

The number one reason why I picked this country is to vanish even for a few months until the storm is over. This can't happen again.

I slowly moved my right hand, sliding my palm on the quilt. Once I got it about as high as my chest I took a deep breath. This is not how I wanted to end it.

Sorry, cannonball…

-o-0-o-O-o-0-o-