XVIII

A loud thud resounded through the entire apartment, touching even up to the second floor of the apartment where the sleeping figure of the woman now laid comfortably on the bed.

She laid inhumanly still on the bed. Her body was lying as straight as a log of wood with both of her hands placed on each other, resting on her lower abdomen. One would think she was a corpse if it weren't for the regular rise and fall of her chest, an indication that she was still breathing perfectly.

Another thud reechoed, pulling the young woman out of her light slumber as she jolted out of the bed with a gasp.

With her emerald green eyes opened wide, she clutched her chest as she tried to steady her jagged breathing. Beads of cold sweat donned her forehead and atop the bridge of her nose.

She softly ran her hand up and down her chest while counting backwards like her therapist had taught her as a kid. Overtime, she finally had her breathing under control. Leaning back carefully against the headboard, she closed her eyes before moving her hand gently across the left side of her ample bosoms.

She languidly fondled a particular area as though she were soothing an ache there. Memories she was struggling to keep bottled up began coursing through the darkness behind her shut eyelids.

For some reason, these recent days, her emotions were sprawled out all over the place. She felt like the treasure chest of secrets she had buried deep within the immurement of her past was slowly opening. It was as if someone was searching for the key to open it. The key she had drowned in the deepest and darkest depths of her mind. Someone was trying to get a hold of it.

‘But who?’ was the important question.

As those thoughts ran through her mind like the Jamaican sprinter, Usain Bolt, her brain spiked up with the reminiscences of the events that occurred the night before and instinctively, she turned her head sharply towards the direction where the man had laid previously, only to discover that she now laid in his previous position.

With deeply furrowed brows, she took in her position and saw that she had been placed on the bed, whereas the man that had been there was nowhere to be found.

“Mr Kale?” she called out quietly as she gently stood up and walked towards her bathroom. Gingerly, she knocked on the door still softly calling his name but hearing that no response came from the other side, she opened the door and looked around before shutting it again.

“Mr Kale?” she kept calling out as she carried out her search around the entire room, ranging from her closet to even going down the hallway and back to her room.

‘He was nowhere to be found,’ at this realisation, she plopped back down onto her bed, her heart pounding in her chest as she remembered the sight of the injury the gun had left on his arm.

When he had lost consciousness and had collapsed on her, miraculously — she had no idea how — she had been able to carry his muscled body into her room.

She had searched through his phone, which thankfully had no security lock whatsoever — something that was still surprising her, seeing how secretive he appeared to be — and she had stumbled upon his physician's contact info.

Before the medical personnel had arrived, she had been forced to administer first aid when she noticed that his condition was worsening and for some reason, it ached her heart to see him in such pain with cold sweat acting as a penumbra over his feverish body.

Ultimately, the male physician had arrived and had taken over from her while she served as an assistant. He had been given an injection which induced anaesthesia and as if the doctor had already known he had lost quite a lot of blood, he had brought along bags of pints of blood.

After few UV drips and blood restoration, he was starting to look less pale and soon enough, his health status was restored to something close to normal. But he still looked a bit pale and weak and the physician had recommended at least a whole day or two days’ rest, so it baffled her to wake up to find him gone.

Heaving a tired sigh, she laid back in bed and let the events of the previous night engulf her. Her mind ran through how her actions had been nothing less of frenzy, how she had without hesitation, ripped off his clothing to somehow stop the incessant blood flow.

She closed her eyes and the images of the countless tattoos that had adorned his wrists up to his shoulders, leaving his torso bare of any ink, flitted across her mind. She hadn't seen his back to know if it was also decorated by any of the indelible paintings.

Vividly behind her closed lids, she could picture the midsized scar that ran from the bottom of his lower lip down to his jaw. Its existence had been enshrouded by the slight stubble covering his jaw that if you were far from him, you wouldn't notice the scar, but because she had been close enough to count even the littlest specks of freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks, the scar had been revealed so prominently to her.

She could only wonder where he had gotten it from. Some people would say its ugly existence marred his sinisterly flawless face but to Emerald, it was a beautiful indentation. It only added more to his roguishness.

He was still beautiful.

Her eyebrows were tightly bunched together when she thought back to the gunshot. Since she had moved into Gramercy, there had never been a case of a gunshot. One of the reasons she had moved to such neighborhood was in fact, for its promising security and tranquility.

It was unlike some neighborhoods in Manhattan that were chockablock with people and it was as if she had been fated to live here because she had scored a really affordable house all to herself, rather than having to live in a leased apartment with loud or nosy neighbours. She couldn't have been more chuffed.

So, for such an incident to take place in all her years of residing in the neighborhood, it was quite strange and suspicious and she couldn't help but wonder why Mr. Kale had been the only victim. They could've shot her as well but they didn't — thankfully.

‘Could he have been somehow acquainted with the shooter?’ she mused.

But before she could dwell further on her hypothesis, she heard another loud thud. Snapping out of her thoughts with her eyes opened, she shot out of bed, only to hit her head against the dark wooden single–planked book shelf that was constructed over the headboard due to the abrupt movement.

With a stifled groan, she crawled out of bed before slipping her feet into her black plush slippers while rubbing her now throbbing forehead.

She bent down and reached for the weirdly heavy yet defense efficient metal equipment beneath her bed — a golf club. Luca, her mother's boyfriend, had given it to her as one of her birthday presents the year before and since then, it had already served its purpose twice.

Logan had been the regular victim of the special club the two times it had been wielded, since he didn't seem to learn his lesson to not sneak into their house as early as 2a.m in the morning under the guise of wanting to surprise them.

If the intruder turned out to be Logan this time again, she was determined to use her weapon to draw blood. She would gift her one year old golf club with the exquisite taste of blood.

With that thought, she quietly made her way out of her room, grateful that she had had all of the furniture including the doors and their hinges changed to prevent any creaking noises. It was both an advantage and a disadvantage since if real burglars should actually break in, she wouldn't hear them coming but it was her house. She knew the whole place like the back of her palm so it wouldn't be a problem at all.

She proceeded towards the living room where hushed groans came from. On getting there, she took in the silhouette of a figure who was hunched over the floor. The person's back was to her as he/she looked as though they were heading into the kitchen before tripping.

Emerald quietly tiptoed towards where she knew the light switch was housed. She wanted to see who the intruder really was for safe measures just in case it really was Logan again, so, she wouldn't end up in jail with his murder on her shoulders.

She had to pass behind the intruder's back to get to her destination so, she stilled for a bit to think of a plan. After much thought, she tiptoed swiftly towards the intruder. Whacking the backside of his head softly but just enough to make him feel like the bell of Notrê Dame was ringing in his skull, she quickly made her way to the switch and flicked on the lights, revealing the identity of the intruder.

“As expected,” she deadpanned as she rested her unoccupied hand on her hip while her other hand still gripped the club.

“What the hell, Mera!” Logan groaned as he rubbed his head, his lips were pulled up into a pained sneer as his entire face was tinted bright red.

“Serves you right since you've refused to learn your lesson to not sneak into my house at. . .” she stopped to look at the clock hanging on the wall, “. . .3:50 in the morning. You should be glad I didn't hit you enough to give you a concussion or worse. Amnesia,” she finished off with a glare.

Logan rolled his eyes dramatically at her words. “Yeah, right. As if your puny little hands could hit anyone enough to cause a concussion, not to talk of amnesia,” he struggled to get on his feet.

“Oh, is that a challenge? Want me to use you as a test monkey?” she took a taunting step toward him, causing him to raise his arms in surrender in record speed.

“Was just kidding, Mera. You should know me by now,” he muttered sheepishly, making her roll her eyes at him before making her way into the kitchen.

“What the heck are you even doing in here? On the floor. In the dark,” she questioned as she dropped the golf club on the kitchen island before proceeding to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.

“Well. . .” Logan could only trail off. With furrowed eyebrows and her lips still wound around the bottle tip, Emerald turned around to face him, passing him a scrutinizing glare before detaching her mouth from the bottle after taking few gulps of the liquid. She sighed.

“Don't tell me you're just arriving from the clubhouse,” she eyed him, causing him to duck his head to avoid her chastising gaze.

Emerald was like the mother hen of their little gang of chum. Whenever they were in the wrong — which unfortunately, was almost everytime — she wouldn't hesitate to castigate them, but as tough as she was, she was still a genial and warm person.

From afar, she seemed like a frigid brute with an austere personality but the more you get to know her, the more you discover how reposeful she really is.

“Where is Oriana?” she asked further when he was too ashamed to lift his head to respond to her questions.

She watched him laggardly raise his hand to point his index finger toward the dining area which was just a few steps away from the kitchen. Emerald took a few steps towards the direction in which he had pointed, only to see Oriana sprawled out on the floor.

She was in a weird posture as her left cheek laid on the cold tiles, her hands were lying upside down, trailing down her body and her ass was up in the air.

Her red mane was all over her face and Emerald could even see a few strands entering her mouth which was wide open as a river of drool flowed out. Her snores and occasional pig–like snorts resonated round the entire dining section as her two friends continued to watch her in silence.

Emerald could only blink before stretching out her hand towards Logan. “Your phone,” she mumbled, her eyes still trained on Oriana's atypical sleeping posture.

She gently took few snapshots of the unconventional yet risible scene before her. It would be useful in the near future, she could tell. She quickly texted the shots to her own phone number before deleting from Logan's phone. She didn't trust him because she knew that Oriana could easily blackmail or persuade him.

Turning around to return Logan's phone to him, she found him doubled over while clutching his stomach, trying to contain his laughter. His formerly red hot face was now pink with his ears being a deeper shade.

Slapping the backside of his head, she tossed him his phone as he let out a yelp from the contact.

“Take her to her room. Tuck her in bed, leave her on the rug, leave her doubled over the toilet bowl for all I care but get her out of my dining area and wrap up the slobbered present she left for you. I'm off to bed right now. Too tired, but I promise to deal with the lot of you both tomorrow,” she carried the water bottle along with her before reaching for her weapon.

“And as for you,” she turned to Logan as she stopped by the doorway of the kitchen. “The next time you attempt sneaking into my house without my consent, be it for important reasons or not, I won't hesitate to free your brain from its imprisonment within your cranium with my golf club. So, be warned.”

She took a step to leave before halting again. “And this. . .” she whacked his ass again with the club, educing a shriek from him, “. . .is for my pounding forehead,” she walked back up the stairs and into her room, but not before hearing Logan's groans and Oriana's snores.

▬▬▬▬▬

“Eme?” she heard a voice call out as warm hands caressed her cheeks softly.

“Mera?” the voice called again and she groaned at the disturbance.

“Sweetheart, wake up,” her eyelashes which were always closed halfway finally fluttered open, revealing her tired eyes.

She looked around until her eyes stopped at the sight of the person before her — Logan. He was all dressed up.

“Baby, is everything alright?” he inquired worriedly as he helped her sit, “You've never slept this long before. Are you ok?” he felt her forehead for a fever.

“You don't seem to have a fever. So, what's wrong?” he sat beside her on the bed and gently pulled away the hairband she had used to hold her golden hair into a messy ponytail before softly massaging her tensed scalp.

She sighed in content as she immediately eased into his touch and enjoyed the moment. A smile of admiration spread across Logan's lips as he watched the woman in his arms close her eyes to grasp onto every ounce of comfort she could get. Leaning forward, he pressed a warm kiss to her temple before continuing his massage.

“What time is it?” she asked after moments of bliss and silence, rubbing her heavy–lidded eyes and causing phosphene to appear in the darkness behind her lids.

“Hmm. . .some minutes past noon,” he hummed and she groaned in disbelief. She had never slept in for that long before. Even during the weekends, she would only wake up an hour later than her usual time. So, she was surprised.

“Do you feel better?” Logan asked to which Emerald hummed affirmatively.

“Thanks Lolo,” she opened her eyes and looked up at him with a faint smile.

“You're welcome, honey,” he pecked her cheek before standing up. “I gotta go. I have a shoot at the studio today.”

“Oh, ok. Will you be back today?”

“Most likely. If we could wrap things up early, then I'd probably have the time to edit the photos at work, but if not, then I'd have to stay back to finish up. You know how I hate bringing home leftover work stuff.”

“Yeah, that's true. I wish you all the best then. You've had something to eat, right?”

“Yep, I made breakfast and lunch, but since you didn't come down for breakie, I packed it up and kept it in the freezer for later and I brought up lunchie,” he pointed to the tray of delicacies waiting on the nightstand, which Emerald hadn't taken notice of.

Almost immediately, her gluttonous stomach rumbled at the sight of the paradise on Earth meal, which Logan had made. She heard him chuckle and she looked up at him after swallowing the saliva that threatened to escape her mouth.

“I guess I got here at the right moment then,” he grinned, watching her eyes latch onto the sight of the food again.

“Is Oriana still asleep?” she struggled to tear her gaze from the delectable viands.

“Yep,” he responded and he watched her nod her head slowly as though she were scheming or contemplating a plan. Her eyes, however, gave nothing away.

“What are you scheming? Something tells me you're up to some shenanigan,” Logan asked cautiously, still eyeing her expression.

“I think we should gift her with an exquisite wake–up call, don't you?” a mischievous glint finally engulfed her emerald green orbs.

▬▬▬▬▬

Emerald stripped out of her hoodie and sweatpants outfit before heading for her bathroom when she heard their doorbell chime downstairs.

“Ori, get the door!” she called out as she turned the knob of her bathroom door.

“Come, get it yourself!” Oriana retorted grumpily, making Emerald roll her eyes.

She had been grumpy since she had been awaken — not so quietly, might I add. The wake–up call Emerald had promised had been promptly delivered. Hitting metallic pans and spoons right beside her ears had been the best tocsin to wake her yet.

Logan had made a video and had tagged it as the epic wake–up call in all of the history of wake–up calls. Since then, she had been going about the house cussing at every little thing.

Emerald had gone grocery shopping and had gotten home to meet her shitty mood still the same, but she couldn't care less. That was her own punishment for getting drunk and arriving late since Logan had been administered his, courtesy of the one year old golf club and Emerald had to admit that she had indeed had a good laugh.

“Don't make me come down there, Mendel,” Emerald warned before closing the door and walking into the shower.

She had just turned on the faucet and had regulated the water to the desired temperature when she heard a piercing scream.