Chapter Two

There is a man, unconscious in my bed.

Whatever had possessed me earlier was long gone because now I could use the reasonable part of my brain and it was telling me that I brought some kind of criminal in.

This was a bad idea, I have an early flight tomorrow or at least I had before I called and postponed it for another two days because well I couldn't exactly leave with this in my house. He looked dead but still took in air... barely. I felt responsible for him so just until he wakes and I'd be on my way.

I should be done packing by now, my suitcase was already out but here I was trying to figure out where to even start with the pile of a man on my bed.

His most severe wound had stopped gushing only after painting me in red which I spent three hours scrubbing away. My sheets met the same faith but now I was on cleaning duty, his bruises and cuts some red and others really dark purple.

With all the first aid equipment and two bottles of alcohol, one for me. I was ready to demonstrate my three years skill as a pediatrician before quitting and following my dreams.

His ruined shirt had to go first and I was faced with the full reality of his hurt. His chest rose and fell in uneven jerks, lips pale and slightly parted.

The space at the left side of his stomach had the most prominent wound, it looked like someone put a knife in there and twisted it. It took five of my tops to hold back the blood from that type of injury and now it needed bandages. You might ask, why didn't I just take him to a hospital, call 911, and get him out of my hair? For one, I don't make a hubby of putting myself into shit and second, I could avoid attention from the police and eventually the psychos responsible for this. Make sense?

Opening the first bottle I took a long draw from the bottle before I poured it over his injury and got another proof that he was somewhat alive with low grunts and the subtle movement from the sting. With practiced hands I worked the bandage over his abdomen, making it strong and tight but not so tight.

Now it was left to handle… his trousers.

Taking a deep breath, I hauled a sheet over him, then blindly endeavored to cut away his ruined trousers underneath it. Frowning in concentration, I started the scissors only to pull my hand back. Another breath, I can do this!

As much as it wasn't helping, I'm not a pervert, and what if he's some kind of psycho who'd kill me for seeing him naked.

Biting my lip, I started with his belt, unfastened and pulled it free, noticing that his torso was flat, the ridges of muscle pronounced, with a thin trail of black hair leading down.

He was so heavy and yet he looked starved. What exactly did they do to you?

Feeling up his muscles when cleaning his minor injury, I could tell he had a strong body, it hadn't given up even after being beaten up to a pulp. He would heal fast if I helped him and soon we could go our separate ways.

Trying to blindly dress his wounds proved as difficult as I'd imagined so I came up with a theory. He could hurt me for seeing him naked but kill me for not helping him properly. So with that in mind, I cut off the front of his trousers, making an effort to avoid every form of contact with him there. I didn't linger in his muscled legs as I dressed up the rest of his cuts and bruises.

Out of breath when I was done, I even managed to have him put on a shirt belonging to the one who shall not be mentioned.

I couldn't still believe the events of this night alone. Now I had no bed to be on, after considering it for a while, I took up a small place beside him in the bed making sure we weren't touching.

My eyes were drawn to his hand. The fingers and back of it were as scarred as the rest of his body and the palm was abrasive. My brows drew together as I shallowly tested out my palm over his and couldn't help a small smile seeing how mine was small in comparison. It could easily swallow mine. Fitting each finger against his matching one.

How crazy am I keeping him here even when there is a possibility he'd hurt me?

I'm not so tasteless now.

Three days went by and I shifted my flight again. This time I'd given a mental note to just let it all go if he didn't yet wake up. But it was not all bad. I cleaned him, changed his bandages, and dressed his wounds which were healing well enough and in return, I had someone I could tell absolutely anything about. We settled into a daily routine where I would check him and monitor his breathing just in case and blend his food so I could pour it down his throat.

It wasn't much but he'd started to get his color back and didn't look as starved. I could now note some handsome features.

While in the past days, I had revealed everything about my life to him, precise things I couldn't tell my mom, even though she's my best friend. Convinced he couldn't really hear me, I said things about Peter my ex and maybe shed a few tears while talking. I even talked about work a lot and how it was the one thing that added color to my life because seeing people have their happily ever after was the best experience. He proved to be a great listener

I wondered two days in if he’d ever wake up.

This morning I went through the routine when my mom called me and our conversation ended up in her cussing at Peter because, in her words, he is a 'dirty man whore'

Now I went into my newfound hobby of gazing at the man in my bed. I'd giving him a name too, Kel, after my dog I had when I was eleven. I couldn't still place where he was from because he didn't look American one bit and now that I think about it neither did those men.

My gaze fell on his chest where there was a hint of something, my personal thought was that it was a tattoo he tried to get rid of but apart from his scars, there wasn't a single ink on his body.

I wasn't fond of the tattoo Peter had of his first love's name. Though he still crept into my mind, I hadn't thought much about him, Kel's presence broke up loneliness in the house. I didn't hate it and I tried not to like it.

Something else caught my attention. I may not have much experience with men but I wasn't so oblivious.

The sheets over his lower half tented and my eyes drew wide. How does someone unconscious have such a reaction? Trying to keep a straight face, I pinched the edge of the sheet on each side of his hips and tugged it down. I wasn't sure what I was going to do, my hands shook as I lifted the cloth. Under my gaze, his stomach flexed, and I frowned when the muscles rippled. Is he...

I could see his manhood. Before I refused to pay attention to it, even using gloves when cleaning him and avoiding it altogether, now it was outlined, it was larger, harder and I was reacting to it.

I should look away and just walk out.

“Mia eroina, tell me” the man’s voice rumbled, “do you like what you see?”