A night with a stranger

ZAYLA

The man had excused himself to go heat up water for my bath. I used the opportunity to look around the apartment. It was spacious. Dimly lit, with all the curtains and blinds, drawn down. Just like the owner, the room had a cold and mysterious vibe to it. From the back of my eyes, I noticed the flicker of lights from the corner of the room. I turned to look at it and saw it was a computer setup.

A tech guy?

Amongst three or four computers that sat on the matte desk, only one had a lit screen, and the RGB lights of the keyboard glowed.

That must be boring, because I disliked computer, even as a subject or course.

"Your bath is ready, come with me."

I flinched at the sound of his sudden voice. I hadn't even noticed when he returned.

I took my backpack and stood up, but he'd already turned his back and walked further into the room.

I hurried after him.

I didn’t mean to stare, but I stared — at his back. The hallway light was brighter than the dim living room, painting every line of ink across his shoulder blades in sharp contrast. I was still trying to make out the design when he turned sharply.

I nearly crashed into him.

And then — I saw his face.

Sharp jaw, dark stubble, high cheekbones that belonged in some forbidden painting. His eyes were dark — a dark shade of green, unreadable, intense enough to make me forget where I was.

My breath caught. He was... stunning. In the most dangerous way.

"That’s the bathroom," he said, like he hadn’t noticed the effect he had on me.

He pointed at the door to his left. "There should be a pajama your size, in there. Your backpack looks soaked too."

I nodded, suddenly speechless.

“I think that’s all.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

He gave a curt nod and walked away.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

I stepped into the bathroom, and shut the door. I peeled each layer of my wet clothes off, one by one, and tossed them onto the marble floor. I chewed at the corner of my lip and stared at my reflection, the girl in the mirror looked unfamiliar — yet, exactly like me.

My dark hair, had become very dull. It was slick, messy and matted together.

I forced a smile, my now-darkened grey eyes not quite getting the memo, and immediately I relaxed my face and shook my head. I'll figure out a way to pretend, but right now I really just need a shower. Maybe that will give me the will to fight another day.

I've made it this far, why give up now?

My feet stuck to the cold floor as I made my way over to the shower, the entire thing bigger than I thought it was once I reached inside. On a second thought, this entire house is nicer than I expected, given the entrance of the building. Perhaps he remodeled it recently, installing what appears to be state-of-the-art everything, including a quad showerhead, water

spurted from all directions when I turned the faucet on.

A slight chirping drew my attention to a panel in the shower with numbers on it, and I quickly realized it's temperature-controlled. I pushed the

up arrow, until it blinked red, indicating a warning for the water being too hot. I stepped in anyway, not caring about the warning or the steam that rippled

and filled the space. Tensed, I went through a few emotions one after another.

Pain, pleasure, satisfaction.

I closed my eyes, and fully submerged myself, the molten water cascaded

over my face, my shoulders, and my entire body. I turned, tilted my head back,

and let it wash some of the grime out of my hair.

Once I felt warm returned to my skin, I studied the various bottles on the

shelves and came to the very sudden understanding that he must have a

girlfriend. No single, straight man would have this brand of shampoo and

conditioner, let alone a men's and women's body wash.

Regardless, it doesn't matter, I'm not here to date him, I'm here to hide out, just for tonight.

Would my parents feel remorse, knowing they might not see me again? Knowing I did that to them, because I didn't want to get married to a man who'd kill me? Would they regret their decision?

Funny, how I know the answer to this question. And if at all they felt remorse, it doesn’t undo betrayal. And forgiveness wouldn't resurrect the girl they'd bury in a dress she never chose.

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and cleared the thoughts. I can't

think about them, not now, not when I've finally escaped their cage. I’ll worry about

that tomorrow, when the severity of this situation kicks in—when I've found a permanent place to stay, away from everything.

I lathered some of the shampoo in my hands and washed my hair, following it up with the conditioner. In the few moments of letting it sit in my hair, I popped the top on the men's body wash, the scent of it

an instant reminder of when I nearly crashed into him in the hallway. His dark-green stare had bored into me, the color so strange and beautiful and intense, I was almost mesmerized by it. Only, I was more focused on getting inside of his bathroom and taking a shower.

When I was done, I used the towel, I'd assumed he'd set out for me, and located the closet he'd informed me the pajamas were in. I darted in and out, and left a trail of water behind as I grabbed a dark blue pajama that looked my size. I tossed the towel near the entrance, and changed into the pajama, feeling very refreshed and warm.

I stood in front of the mirror, and stared at my now flushed and fresh face.

I almost chuckled. Funny, how after planning your life, then boom! The complete opposite happens.

I shook my head to rid myself of the useless thoughts, my mind did anything it can to distract me from the fact that I had died and woke up, drugged my parents and escaped my arranged marriage, all in one night. And now, I'm standing in some random man's bathroom, dressed in a pajama that belonged to him and using his girlfriend’s brush to attempt to untangle my hair.

With a curse, I slammed the thing onto the counter and clenched my jaw.

"It's only hair, Zayla, chill out."

A knock suddenly sounded on the door. "Is everything okay, in there?"

"Yeah." I forced a smile, even though he couldn't see me. I left the brush behind and hobbled my way over, I took one last glance at the mirror, certain my smile was perfect, I reached for the handle.

I opened the door to find him leaned against the frame, his hand posted

on the side, eyes fluttered from me to inside the bathroom then back to me

again. He was no longer shirtless.

"What was that noise?" he asked like I had set his apartment on fire or something.

"I was using your girlfriend's hairbrush."

He glared at me so intensely it's almost as if he's trying to set me on fire. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"Oh." I shrug.

He continued to watch me and for a moment, I allowed it, unsure of what

he's trying to accomplish other than burn a hole through my forehead.

"Thank you." I said again, once the moment has turned awkward.

He lowered his tattooed arm and stepped out of the way, then down the hallway. I followed after him.

We reached the living room and I found the couch made up with sheets, a blanket and a pillow. I couldn't help the warmth that spread through me, and the smile that immediately tugged at my lips.

Jesus, he seemed nicer than he appeared.

"Are you hungry?" He asked as I made my way to the couch and sat down.

"No," I lied and begged my stomach to not betray me. I'm so fucking hungry, but I don't want to stress him more than this.

"Are you lying?"

"No."

He contemplated my answer and decided to let it go. He made his way to the computer setup I'd seen earlier, and sat on the flexible chair.

"Aren't you going back to sleep?" I asked, and watched him type a few things into the keyboard.

"It's almost 5 o'clock, I can't go back to sleep."

I realized It was my fault. I must've woken him up with my knock. Guilt curled at my chest. "I'm sorry for disturbing you."

He didn't respond immediately, but when he looked up from his screen, his gaze fell on me, his expression blank.

"What's your name?"

I hesitated. Tell him the truth or fake my identity? I couldn't afford to trust anyone—not now, not soon. No matter how kind they seemed. So, I chose the latter.

"Eva Taylor."

He stared at me, like he could see through me.

"What were you even doing outside by that time of the night? I mean, you're a lady."

"Running from an arranged marriage I didn't agree to." I said — and for once it was the truth.

His brows deepened, "Who still does an arranged marriage for their kid?"

"My parents."

He said nothing, and returned his gaze to his computer. I wanted to ask his name, but stopped myself. It was no use, we'd become strangers tomorrow.

"You said you parked a car around the area?" He asked, his gaze glued on his screen, as he punched into the keyboard.

"Yeah," I nodded, and laid on the couch. My eyelid grew heavy, and sleep tugged at me.

Through my drowsy eyes, I saw him pointing at the direction at the far end, "Help yourself if you feel hungry. The kitchen is that way..."

The rest of his words faded out, as I succumbed to sleep.