This choice: The bedroom door opens behind you and a stranger enters. • Go Back...Chapter #5The bedroom door opens behind you. by: Mr. George   There's a sound of rushing feet, coming up the stairs, followed by the creaking of a door opening. Whirling around you see a man standing in the doorway. Blocking the door by his simple bulk.
"من أنت؟" He barks angrily. The look of fear must be battling with your incomprehension.
Snapping your head, right and left, you confirm this furious figure is blocking the only way from the room. The window is too high for you to leap out.
"أنت لست ناهدة! انا ناهد" The words maybe meaningless, but the tone is crystal clear. He's demanding something, and he wants you to answer.
Your mouth silently opens and closes like a landed fish. Until you give a cough clearing your throat. Sobbing, you burst into tears. The first time in years. "I'm lost.... I don't know what's going on."
His eyes widen as you speak. Surprise clear in them at seeing you speak anything other than Arabic. He steps into the room, and you take a small step backwards. Feeling your feet clatter against the wall, you glance backwards. Arms starting to windmill, you start to topple from the window.
In a few commanding powerful steps, he crosses the room, only just snatching your arm, as you've fallen. The realisation must be clear on your face. The way you're leaning means you need his help to live.
Effortlessly, he pulls you back into the room. Sweeping you into his arms, he hugs you tightly. It's exactly what you need after such a scare. Even as you feel your body crushed against his. The relief he feels is matched by yours, and you melt into your champion, you protector. You soft, supple, sumptuous bust pressed against his firm chest by the iron binding arms of his hug.
You feel yourself blushing, as the hug endures. Questions flood into your mind. Is this your brother? Is this your husband? They make you flush to even consider. But, he's won your patience and forebearance.
Reluctantly releasing the hug, he still holds you by the shoulders. Taking a step back, he looks you over, as if assessing you. Is he ogling you? Checking a prized possession for damage? Or just seeing if you're okay?
"ناهدة" It sounds like a single word, sounds vaguely like "Nahida"
It sinks in, he's introducing himself. Or, asking your name?
"James." you say, awkward patting your chest. It just feels wrong to be drawing your attention to your full bust.
A frown creases your brow, as he shakes his head. How can you get your name wrong!?!
Sliding an arm around your shoulder, you properly take in his height advantage, as well as strength that makes you entirely dependent and submissive to his wants and needs. His broad smile is disarming, and with his free hand he gestures to the door.
Taking you downstairs, you enter the kitchen. Unable to read anything, he's happy for you to sit at the table, as he bustles about the kitchen. The smell is familiar, and the routine too.
"Thank you." you reply, when presented with a midnight black, steaming cup of coffee. He smiles graciously, and repeats, "Thank You." in a thick accent. Well, you assume that's what he's said from the general sound.
It sounds chaotic outside, and naturally safer inside. The sound of screams is mixed now, with the sound of straining traffic. The squeal of brakes is urgent, the gear changes sharp and violent. The engines rev with the sounds of the drivers panic clear in their pitch.
You doubt it's safe out there in a car, let alone as a pedestrian. Any feeling you have of wanting to flee this man is now purged.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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