3 - Hungry Panther

EROS

It was Sunday and gloomy--every day to me was gloomy. I was still on the loose from the social justice warriors and keyboard smashers, and it became more gloomy. Gloomy. Dreary. Cloudy.

A regular day for me—except I am nursing a sleeping stranger in my house. On a typical day, I was either painting or traveling to gain ideas and inspiration. That way, the visual bank inside my head would expand, and the ocean of images, shapes, symbols, and patterns would drown me into the abyss.

Port was inside the room for almost two days already. For once, he's alive. He responds but does not go out of bed, doesn't take his meals which I was worried about because if this person died under my care, I would be doomed. Today is his third day at my house.

"Hello, Eros, I miss you so much!" Ara, Perth's girlfriend, greeted me as she entered my house. She passed me a box of pizza and a food tray. Perth followed her and went directly to the kitchen to arrange whatever he brought with him.

"I am very pleased to see you again, Ara," I replied as I approached her for a hug.

Ara was Perth's first and only girlfriend. After I rejected him, Perth met Ara. Their love story didn't start well, as Ara was also dealing with her first heartbreak at that time. The two of them are using each other to ease the pain of a broken heart until they realize that they sincerely love each other.

At first, I was not fond of Ara because I knew the two of them had started their relationship in a toxic agreement. Until I got to know her, I realized how great of help she was to my only best friend as much as Perth to her.

Till then, Ara had become one of my trusted circles. She's like a Perth female version. Once in a while, if I am emotionally breaking down, Ara was the first person I call. She had been a great help as much as Perth to me.

One time, I was attacked with my anxiety during a press conference; Ara was there standing smiling at me. In a room filled with people--a single soul, I didn't know--her presence was soothing. Or when I didn't receive the accolades I expected when I was 17, she was with me, drinking beer on a plastic cup. Whenever I felt terrible about myself, she was there to remind me I was great.

"How are you? I heard from Perth it has been a series of unfortunate events for the past few days," she said as she settled in the living room. I hid a smile when I got her reference; it was a nod to her favorite children's book.

"Don't worry. I am doing fine. Thank you so much for being so helpful with the construction on my front gate." I said.

"That's no biggie. I am always a fan of yours," Ara said enthusiastically, waving her hand.

"Right, Eros, where is the stranger? Is he still alive?" Perth inserted, joining us in the living room.

"He is. I am worried he's not eating anything." I said. Last day, I placed a mixed vegetable and shredded fish plate, but it was barely touched when I checked it for lunch. Then, just today, the banana shake I made was still on its brim.

"How did he manage to survive until today?" asked Perth.

"I also wonder about that," I shrugged.

"How about his wounds?" Ara asked, then bit a pizza.

I sighed. "When I tried to change the dressing, I couldn't move the stranger even an inch. He's so heavy for his small physique." It was as if that person was a huge boulder. I have been lifting weights regularly, but I wonder why his weight was excessive.

"That's weird," Perth said, scratching his chin.

"Are we talking about that naked guy?" Ara said, looking quite petrified.

"Yes, the one I told you who intruded Eros's house," Perth said, absentminded while opening another box of pizza.

"No, I mean, THAT naked guy," Ara pointed at someone behind my back.

I slowly turned, and I saw Port looking confused—watching at us, standing immovably. His pale skin was beaming against the natural light coming from the window. The bandages are untangled, hanging in different directions on his bare glowing body.

Ara, who came from a conservative Christian family, suddenly screamed. Her voice reverberated to the whole room that could break any glass. Shortly, she fainted from what she had just seen.

"Dude! My girl has never seen me naked either! Get your ass off!" Perth complained. He immediately rushed toward Ara and tried to wake her up.

I hastily grabbed the confused stranger; he did not complain and quickly followed me to escape the scene. He was so light, in contrast to how heavy he was when I tried to change the dressings of his wounds the other day.

I stopped in front of his room. "What do you think you are doing?"

"What?" he asked with a quizzical look.

"What? You, butt naked!" I pointed. I couldn't even look at him directly.

His formed brows furrowed, eyes dazed. "What is wrong with this?"

I grabbed him again, and we entered his room. I dropped him on the bed, and I looked for clothes in the closet. I threw him a shirt and a pair of jogging pants. I did not say anything and just watched him change clothes slowly.

"Who are you?" I asked when he finished wearing the shirt.

"I am Port," he answered softly.

"I know, but who are you?"

He did not answer and just looked at me intently.

"Let me change my question. Where did you come from? How did you get here?" I asked forcefully.

"I-I don't know. I only know my name. I woke up in the bed of rocks…I looked for food as I felt starving for the first time, then I passed out." He answered shakily, avoiding my gaze.

"Tell me. Who paid you to spy for me?" I said, crossing my hands. I couldn't believe I was asking this question, an idea from Perth's wild mind.

"No one, I am as curious as you how did I end up in that fortress,"

I squinted my eyes over him, his innocent-looking face and his voice sounds trustworthy, but who knows if this was all his front?

"Do you have a family?"

"I don't know. I only know my name and how I get here," he said, pressing his lips together and playing with his palms.

I walked toward him, he stood up and moved backward. The color drained from his face; I saw a terror in his eyes, welling up, about to cry, he gulped multiple times.

"You know that I hate a liar," I continued to walk toward him. "I hate spies, and I hate when people make fun of me,"

His mouth twitched when he realized he was cornered on the wall. "I am not a liar, I am not a spy, and I am not making fun of you," he said directly in my eyes; there's a fit of growing anger in his eyes. But a tear fell in his right eye; it felt like he was about to break out.

I grabbed him by his shoulders and pinned him facing the wall. He resisted and let out a quick groan as I raised his shirt—exposing his back. I was shocked his back was peerlessly fair. It seemed like it did not experience any trauma or injury as it had been a few days ago. No signs of scars or slashes.

Are those wounds even real? How did his wounds virtually vanish like it never happened? Who was this guy?

He escaped from my grip, and now he's facing me again. He was panting like running on a tracking field, catching his breath.

I looked at him sternly, straight to the eyes. "You can never leave this house until I learn your motives," I moved away and reached the door.

Just as before I closed the door, I turned to him over my shoulders and said, "Don't ever go out in your room naked again; there's a hungry panther in this house, you wouldn't want that panther to see you exposed again,"