The Shadow Stalker Around Her

Chapter 9

Skyla

(Past)

I couldn't believe my eyes. What happened to him? I never imagined seeing him in that way. Carl. His knuckles were bleeding. There had a cut on his forehead and his lips. His grey eyes were bloodshot, which were boring holes in my skin. He was breathing heavily. His clothes were disheveled. Did he fight with someone? I thought of myself. He looked scary as always, but for some reason, my heart was bleeding to see him in pain. I couldn't decide whether to leave him alone or tend his wounds. My granny keeps a medical box with me in my backpack. I could feel my hands and feet getting cold, thinking what if he hit me if I go in front of him. No, I couldn't be a coward, and I should learn to overcome my fear. With determination, I stood up with my shaky legs. 

With a slow pace cautiously, I went toward him, fixing my eyes on his knuckles. My delicate heart was loudly thumping as I stood in front of him. I could tell his eyes fixed on my face. He was observing me keenly. I lifted my right hand and held his left wrist softly. I felt a familiar spark. I looked up to see his face. Could that person be him I saw in my dream? Is he the one who is my savior? I thought. I was searching for something in his face but found nothing. His face was stoic, and his eyes were cold as dead ashes. We were staring at each other for how long only God knows. I shook my head, thinking he could never be that person in my dream. Why would he keep me safe when he doesn't know me? I am so stupid to think he is the one. No one would come for me. 

Pushing those thoughts aside, I turned around and led him with me. He didn't protest and that was a relief. I made him sit in one of the armchairs. I went to bring my medical box from my bag. I kept it on the desk. Kneeling, I took his right hand on my left hand. Opening that box, I took cotton and disinfectant liquid on top. I started clean blood from his wrist in which he hissed. Well, sir, who told you to get yourself involved in a fight? I mentally scoffed at him. I blew warm wind through my mouth and began to clean that bloody wrist. Then I repeated the same with his other wrist. When I was done, I wrapped a bandage around his wrists one after another. Now left his forehead and lips. I stood up. I went to work on his forehead, but his dark gaze stopped me on my track. I didn't look at him for once when I was tending wounds on his wrists. I had no idea what I should have felt in the way he was looking at me. I gulped and took a deep breath.

I went near to him and work on his forehead. His eyes were fixed on my face. I tried my best not to let him hear my heartbeat, which was beating wildly. I could feel my cheeks were turning red in every passing second. What kind of torture is that? He needs to stop looking at me that way.  Did anyone ever tell him that it might creep someone out if he stares at someone for so long? I mentally yelled at him. 

I heard him asking, "Did you say something to me?" My eyes shifted from his forehead to his eyes. He was glaring at me. Did I say out loud my thought? No! I shook my head in denial and said, "N-no, I-I s-said n-nothing." I was a stuttering mess. 

He said in a hard tone, "You need to work on your speaking habit. It sounds worse when you stutter all the time when you talk. How would you communicate with the judges in the audition in which you are going to participate within a few months? Do you want to lose my face there? I am giving you free lessons in return I want you to bring the trophy here? Can't you just do this simple thing for me? I came here after a few hours for some reason. Did you keep practicing, or just waiting for my return?" 

His scolding made my eyes tearing up. I bit my lips not to make any sound. Else, I might have started sobbing. I was indeed waiting for his return, and instead of practicing, I fell asleep. About the stuttering, he made me scared whenever he came in front of me. How could I possibly tell that to him? I muttered, sorry.

I went to put ointment on the cut of his forehead, but he held my wrist in a firm grip and stopped me. Standing up, he hovered over me. He said in a threatening tone, "I asked you something. But you only muttered sorry. You dare to play with my reputation. You being indolent get on my nerves. I am not going to let you get away with a single sorry. You need a good punishment, I see." His eyes were glinting evilly. My heart dropped after hearing him. 

Is he going to beat me like my foster mother or going to assault me as my foster father used to do? No, he can't. He is not like them. Those thoughts made occurring goosebumps on my skin. I started crying and shook my head in denial. No, he can't do this to me, can he? He couldn't be a bad person. I decided to ask for his forgiveness. Why is he always angry with me for reason or without any reason? What have I ever done to deserve this?

Gulping hard in fear, I asked in a stuttering tone, "W-what d-do y-you m-mean?" I stopped and gulped some air and said, "I am sorry for not practicing when you weren't here. I could never touch your violin without your permission when you aren't here. But I promise I will never let you down. I am going to do ever- "

He stopped me abruptly by pulling me toward me holding my waist in a tight grip. He looked beyond pissed. He gritted out, "I don't want to hear any excuses from you, understand? You will do as I say. You deserve punishment from your violin teacher for being slothful in his music class." My heart started pounding loudly in fear. Leaning closer, he said, "You are going to play the violin non-stop today until- " He leaned more closer, and the tip of his nose touches mine, "-your fingers turn red, and you have a hard time moving your elbows. All Night Long, Skyla." The last part said with a venom-laced tone.