Curate, connect, and discover
Part I
Warnings: none, really, just some casual fluff and domestic stuff, maybe some grammar error and misspellings.
Enjoy!
The story starts after the dash.
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Synopsis:
It’s been five years since the outbreak happened. Five years ago, in London, a terrorist group released a virus in the city center. 24 hours later, people start developing flu-like symptoms. 48 hours later the infected turn into mindless ghouls biting healthy people and spreading the infection. Everything happened so fast. The army came in and tried to contain the outbreak but soon chaos engulfed the whole country. You learn that similar attacks happened all over the world: New York, Beijing, Moscow, Athens, and Tokyo. City by city, the whole world is ending.
You survived thanks to your mid-twenties life crisis that made you move into a cottage house by the lake in Lake District. The land you own is surrounded by thick lush forest that offers perfect cover for the tiny brick house that is your safe haven. With a water source close, off-the-grid energy, and a garden full of plants, fruit trees chickens, and whatnot, you live a comfortable life tucked away, far from the dangers of the cities. You are so far out of reach that in the past years you only saw a handful of infected, survivors that traveled far to escape and distant neighbours that got infected in the towns nearby. You can’t remember the last time you saw another person. But you are used to your loneliness. The end of the world brought only a mild inconvenience, now that you can no longer order things online and watch movies on Netflix or HBO. But with a library full of books, a homestead to keep you active and your Border Collie companion, Bellamy, life is good. Life is peaceful.
One day, while you are out fishing, a masked man, armed to the teeth and carrying a young girl in his arms threatens to kill you if you don’t provide him with medicine for his sick daughter.
-
Once you get back inside you notice the little girl fast asleep on the couch a peaceful look on her face. Bellamy keeps closely to your side not letting you move without following. The masked brute stands a few paces away at the other end of the sofa, his eyes carefully scanning over his sleeping daughter. Once satisfied that she is comfortable he turns to you and gestures towards the kitchen and for you to follow him. You wait a few seconds and keep a healthy distance once you start following him. Once inside he points at the door and you shut it. You look around searching for a safe place for you to sit now that you’re trapped in here with him. You decide to sit on one of the chairs the one with your back to the wall. Bellamy lays at your feet eyes glued to him.
He leans against the wall opposite from you, arms crossed over his chest. He watches you, studies your face for a while. You try to appear nonchalant at his cold fixating glare, but your hair stands up, goose bumps forming on your skin. He clears his throat ‘I have a few more questions for you’ he says voice just as gruffy as before. ‘Like wise’ you quip from your seated position.
'Have you had run-ins with the infected?'
‘I haven't seen any for the past few months. and even before that they are rare and far in between. And to my knowledge there isn't any other person alive around this area.’ You answer as truthfully as you can.
'You're pretty isolated out here. No neighbours within a decent radius?'
‘Only the Johnsons, Neil and Margaret, they used to live about a half a mile down the lake bank. They were a retired couple.’ You reply a little sad.
'Used to?' he asks intrigued.
'Yeah. They died soon after the infection started spreading' you shudder, the image of Neil coming back to you in full force.
'How did they die?' his head lens to the side as if to take a better look at you.
‘I found Margaret dead in their garage throat ripped out. I'm guessing that Neil got infected when he went to the market in the nearby town. When he got home, he must have turned and killed his wife.’ You fumble with your hands picking at your nails and avoiding his sharp gaze.
'What about the husband? What happened to him?'
You dreaded this question. You take a deep breath to steady your quick heart and face downward in shame. 'I Killed him...' you say after some consideration. 'He attacked me and Bellamy and.... I had to...' you mumble your words not wanting to remember anymore of that terrible day.
He watches you intently, there's no sign of surprise on his face. 'You did what you had to do. There's no need to look shameful.' He seems understanding, but something about his look causes a chill to run down your spine. 'How did you do it?' He adds softly.
'The hatchet. I was out cutting wood for the stove.' you keep mumbling, a distant look on your face as you focus your eyes on spot on the table cloth.
'I see.' He says without any kind of judgment in his tone. You find it hard to look at him at this moment. 'You didn't hesitate.' He adds.
'I did. I acted out in fear more than anything.' you say lowly rubbing the back of your neck trying to rid yourself from the cold sweat taking over you.
He continues to observe you calmly, as if trying to understand you on a more fundamental level.
His expression changes slightly, becoming softer, less intimidating. 'Was it hard? Taking a life?'
'Yes.' You say looking straight into his eyes tone genuine. 'But I'll do it again if I have to.' you admit to him hinting that you are not as weak as he thinks you to be. You did manage to survive all this time alone and it wasn't all luck. You worked hard to build and improve the defence around your house and make it sustainable for a long period.
He notices your determination, and for a brief moment, he seems to respect it. 'I believe that you would, I’m counting on it' he says, voice still low. 'How did you survive on your own for so long?' he changes the subject having made his opinion of you on that matter.
'I learned how to farm. When I first move here six and a half years ago, I bought books on how grow vegetables and some medicinal herbs. Margaret was kind enough to show me how to grow chickens, I have a few in a coup behind the house' you motion with your head in that direction. 'In the back, there is a small plot of land with an orchard. Apples and cherries. I also invested in solar panels. I still have electricity and running water. Though on cloudy days the batteries half charge. I have to keep an eye on consumption.
He nods slowly, taking in the information you have shared with him. He seems to be taking mental notes of your capabilities as a homesteader. He speaks again, ’What did do before shit hit the fan?'
‘I am a licensed architect so it was easy to design everything around here, the doing was the harder part' you say proud of what you managed to achieve.
'An architect', he repeats in a low, amused voice, 'and you chose to live in the middle of nowhere?'
He pauses. 'What made you come this far out?'
'I wanted peace and a quiet place surrounded by nature. Cities were to crowded for my liking. I never felt at home there. But here' you look around you, 'here is perfect.'
You hear him let out a breath, seemingly agreeing with your statement and your choice of location.
He studies you for a few seconds, then says, 'You don’t have anyone else? Family? Parents?'
'No.' the answer is short and a far away look takes over you. that is a story from another time. 'Where did you come from?' you turn the attention on him rather than giving anymore information about yourself.
He hesitates for a moment as if deciding whether or not he should share anything about himself.
'I'm ex-military.' comes the final answer, spoken in his usual blunt manner.
'That much I figured' you nod towards his uniform. 'Is she your daughter?'
He nods without saying anything further. There's a strange tension coming from his body language. He seems to be on high alert. He clears his throat as if he needs a change of subject. 'You said you are an architect?' you raise an eyebrow at that 'Yes, why?'
'Are you any good?' He presses, not beating around the bush and being direct with his question.
'Um... as good as they come, I guess!?' you tell him not trying to appear humble.
'So, what is your specialty? Residential? Commercial? Industrial?' he asks very specific.
'Residencial, but I do have some knowledge of the rest. Why do you ask? You try to understand were the sudden interest in your carrier choices come from.
'Just curious.' He says casually, but something in his eyes suggests that he's interested in finding out more. 'And that cottage you're living in.' he points at your house. 'You designed it?'
'Yes' you say eying him suspiciously. His questions were awfully precise. But once again he changes the direction of your conversation wanting to know more about your house. He asks you about the house, the structure and the layout, how you keep warm, where do you get wood for the fireplace.
'You're pretty self-sufficient.’ He concludes. ‘How often do you have to go out for supplies?' his question catches you by surprise. Ever since you saw the news about the outbreak you haven’t ventured anywhere close to civilization, afraid that you’d encounter infected and be ripped apart.
'I haven't really left the property in the past year. The further I go is the lake for fishing. Most of what I own comes from the time when things were delivered to your door or post office. I used to buy items in bulk.' you shrug, it made more sense to you that way. ‘There was no reason for me to leave. Plus, there is a lot of work to do around here, animals to feed. Which reminds me of something…’ you say fixing him with a hard stare mirroring his own. He waits for you to continue.
'You'll have to pull your weight around here. Food and accommodation are not for free.' You set clear boundaries. You may be kind enough to let them stay, considering the threats he’d flung your way earlier, but you won’t be taking advantage of.
He sighs almost offended by what you said, ' I don't plan on freeloading.' He assures you. 'Good' you intend to hold him to his words. He grunts in acknowledgement before going on to speak, 'I hunt regularly, and I know my way around a gun. I'm capable of offering protection.' He says in a serious tone, almost like a pledge. His military training is showing.
'There is not much fighting to do around here, but I'll keep in mind.' you say with a chuckle. It'll be fun seeing him do household chores. You wonder if he'll keep the mask on while feeding the chickens or picking apples.
'I do have one last question.' He says, suddenly sounding more unsure of how to phrase it. You nod at him to go one whipping the smirk on your face and
'If our partnership is to work…’ he pauses seriousness taking over him like a heavy veil, ‘you will have to abide to my one rule.' You sit up a little straighter, your attention fully on him.
'My girl comes first. In a survival situation, every decision I make will rely on her safety. No negotiation.'
You nod your head in agreement. 'Got it. I'll try my best not to get in your way.' You promise tone filled with sincerity.
'Good.' That seems to conclude the interrogation. He seems to relax a bit, and his demeanour is less hostile than before. He rises to his feet and turns to walk to where his daughter lies on the sofa. You watch as he drops his gun and knife on the table and sits on the armchair guarding the sleeping girl.
You let them settle in while you busy yourself with chores. you go out to feed the livestock you keep, collect any fresh eggs, and tend to your garden. The sky begins to darken, wind picks up. you can faintly hear thunder cracks in the distance. It's going to rain tonight, you muse to yourself. You quickly finish your work outside making your way inside. Once in your living room you notice the absence of masked stranger. He is nowhere in the house. You put down the basket you filled with fresh vegetables on the kitchen table and approach the sofa. The little girl stirs awake and looks curiously at you.
'How are you feeling, darling?' you ask in a warm tone smiling gently at her. The little girl rubs her eyes, trying to get rid of the sleep in them. She then looks up at you once again with her adorable big eyes. ‘A bit tired’ she says before yawning.
'It's understandable, you went through a lot out there. What happened to you?' you ask pointing at her bandaged arm The little girl looks at you for a moment as if thinking what to tell you. 'I got hurt by a bad guy's dog...It bit me.' She tries to sound brave but you hear the quiver in her voice.
'Oh... that's awful. Would you let me take a look at it?' you say softly siting down on the couch next to her. ‘Yeah…’ she nods. She holds out her arm for you to take a look at.
On her arm, you can see the puncture marks. They don't look like a human bite mark and that makes you sigh in relief. They were telling the truth. But what worries you is the yellowish liquid oozing out of it. That and the fever indicate that the wound got infected. 'How long ago did that dog bite you?'
‘About three days ago...’ She says quietly. ‘...It hurts now more than before.’ her soft, innocent eyes are filled with concern, fear and worry. ‘...I feel hot...’ she added. 'Let's clean it and rebandage it, okay?'
'Okay' she says with a small, relieved smile. You fetch a med-kit and some disinfectant and begin to clean the wound. It's a bit irritated from the infection. She seems to be in good spirits despite the pain.
You try to comfort her by keeping her mind occupied with conversation while treating her wound.
'How old are you?' you ask her as you wipe her arm with some alcohol blowing a little over it to ease the burn. 'Nine!' she answers earnestly with a toothy smile as she looks up at you, still enduring the sting of the disinfectant. 'What's your name?' you ask remembering that you haven’t been properly introduced so far. 'Olivia' she says with a soft, cute smile. 'What's your name?'
You tell her. 'I haven't met anyone else with that name before' she says pensively. 'Well, we don't really meet many people anyway. Just infected.' she says with a sad sigh. 'Yeah, me either.'
You finish treating her wound and re-bandage it. A shiver runs through her little body causing her to tremble. ‘Are you cold?’ you ask, reaching your palm to her forehead. She is indeed a little feverish. ‘...A bit.’ She mumbles with a small shiver.
You stand up making your way toward a small closet where you keep some blankets. You pick a fluffy one and hand it to Olivia. 'Here you go, sweety'. She smiles brightly as she accepts the extra layer and buries herself in it. 'I'll go grab some firewood to get a fire started.' You announce heading for the door. Just as you reach for the door handle, the door opens and there stands the tall dark figure of the man, his hands full of firewood. 'Oh...' you say in surprise as you step aside making way for him to enter. Outside rain is pouring. He puts the wood in the fireplace and starts working on the fire. You close the door and watch in silence as he works. In no time a well-built fire heats the small house casting a warm glow from the fireplace. The shadows flicker on his face, the white mask adding a level of horror to the otherwise cozy scene.
‘Thanks,’ The little girl says softly to him, to which he only grunts in acknowledgement.
You quietly make your way to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Bellamy lays on the kitchen floor quietly supervising the two strangers in your house through the open door. The dinner you had in mind this morning included fish but you were rudely interrupted, so you'll have to settle on chicken with a side of veggies. You work quietly and efficiently, casting a glance once every few minutes in the living room. You see Olivia tiredly saying something to the masked man and him leaning back, the chair reclined, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching you prepare dinner. Soon, everything is ready, and three plates of steaming food lay neatly on the kitchen table. You walk into the living room to invite your involuntary guests to dinner.
The tall man is sitting on the comfortable armchair, the little girl lays on the sofa next to him, propped up by the pillows. As you enter, they quiet down and stare at you. He slowly stands up, holding out a hand to the girl, but she swats at it and raises by herself with a huff. He says nothing and he follows you two the kitchen. For how big he is he his movements are fluid, calm and quiet. You can barely hear his footfalls.
The little girl sits next to her father and digs into her plate burning herself in the process. 'Take it easy, kid.' he gently admonishes her. It's a weird scene seeing him at the other end of your small table, still in full gear watching the two of you eat in silence. Earlier he was threatening to kill you, now he sits in your kitchen hands rested on his knees watching like a hawk and frozen like a statue. You cast a few glances at him wondering if he'll take the mask of to eat but he remains unmoving. Perhaps later when I’m not around you think to yourself.
You try subtly glancing at the masked man, now that you sit in awkward silence. The little girl eats hungrily, she seems to love the food. Her blue eyes are focused on her plate, but you notice that she also seems to sneak in a few glances at her father while she chews. They look at each other as if communicating solely with their eyes. Perhaps they could, after spending so much time together in situations that require keeping quiet and nonverbal communication. You’ve notice so far that he prefers gestures instead of words. Once she’s finished eating the girl turns to look at you 'Is there any dessert?' her question is followed by a small burp and a quiet laugh. Her father pumps his knee audibly into hers under the table and throws her a pointed look. ‘What?’ she feigns innocence. You chuckle at their antics watching them bicker.
'I have some cherry jam if you're interested.' you offer with a smile.
'A bit, please.' she replies. Olivia’s eyes are sparkling while her father looks as unimpressed as ever, while you prepare a few slices of homemade bread and spread jam on it. She sits closer to him whispering something in his ear. He bands down and you watch as he whispers back.
She seems to be a very attached child, and you wonder if that is a consequence of all the trauma she has gone through. His manners on the other hand seem a bit less harsh, slightly more relaxed, although his dark gaze still lingers on you as if his prepared for you to rush him or something.
After you finish eating you collect yours and Olivia's plates and dump them in the sink to wash them later. You then turn towards Olivia 'How about we get you out of those dirty clothes and give you a warm shower? you ask motioning upstairs were your bedroom and personal bathroom are. She looks at her father with a look of silent plea.
'Go on.' he says quietly with a nod. She gets up, excited to get a warm shower, the prospect of getting cleaned and changing clothes is too much for her to resist. Olivia runs up the stairs followed quickly by you, leaving the man alone to eat.
A few moments after you are out of sight, Simon takes off his balaclava and puts it on the chair where his daughter sat. he grabs the cutlery and just as he’s a bout to start cutting into the chicken he stops, feeling eyes on him. He casts his eyes at the door where your dog watches him curiously head tilted to the side and years pointed up. ‘What?’ he grunts in annoyance, and the dog gets up and leaves the room. With a sigh Simon starts eating, he can’t remember his last proper meal that didn’t involve expired cans of beans.
-
Once in the bathroom, you turn on the shower and set the necessary water temperature before stepping out to wait for her. You go inside your bedroom searching for some clothes that will fit her better than what she has. Her soiled clothes go straight to the bin. They’ll need a proper wash for sure. You wait by the door for her to finish. You can hear her saying something to you through the cracked door.
'I don't remember the last time we had warm water' she says from behind the shower curtain. 'Were you on the road for a long time?' you inquire curious to know more about them, and now taking your chances with Olivia who is chattier than her father.
'Yeah...We've been on the move and camping for a while now in abandoned houses.' she replies as she turns off the shower and steps out. She is wrapped in the towel, her wet hair sticking to her forehead and with a shy, bashful look on her face to which you can't help but smile at.
'Come' you motion for her to go inside your bedroom 'let's get you dry.' She happily obliges and you both step into the bedroom.
You help her dry her hair and then you give her some privacy for her to change into the new clothes. By the time you are done, she is completely dry and wrapped in a cozy sweater and shorts. She looks really pretty now that she’s clean, her pixie cut framing her round face perfectly.
She smiles at you and then starts looking around the room. Your bed is made, covered in cream linen bedsheets, your bedside table is nicely decorated with some flowers from your garden, and your desk is neatly organized.
A few books and magazines laying at the corner of the desk that catch her attention. She walks closer looking at the covers curiously. You notice her looking at a particular magazine cover, it shows a woman holding some gardening tools and a child playing nearby.
'Do you like gardening?' you ask her.
She shrugs. 'I don't know', she answers sincerely. Right, if they were moving from place to place, they didn't have time for that. Probably didn’t have time for many other things. The realization dawns on you. Growing on the run in a world full of monsters must’ve been rough on her, not really being able to be a child, always on high alert.
'Maybe you can help me tomorrow in the garden if you feel better.' you offer kindly. 'That would be nice.' she replies earnestly, her warm smile lighting up her adorable face, making her look like a normal kid.
'Okay, for now, let's get you settled in the bedroom downstairs.'
'Alright… but can I ask you something?'' she looks up at you scuffling her feet, the wool socks you gave her sliding and pooling at her ankles. 'Sure thing.' You turn towards her and wait for her to voice her question. There's a brief pause in which she mulls over, seemingly struggling to form the right words.
Finally, she speaks, 'Why did you accept us in your house? She takes you by surprise. You pause, looking around, giving yourself time to think before you answer. 'It was the right thing to do. You needed help.' You say conviction in your tone.
She nods a little bit, still unsure. 'But you don't know us...you could have just closed the door on our faces. It happened before. People keep their things for themselves out there.' She arguments.
Your heart falls a little, your hopes in humanity crumbling. You knew people could be selfish at times, but now they really turned borderline savage and hysteric. 'People can be like that when they feel threatened.' you admit.
'But you aren't?' she follows up your statement with a question. You hesitate a bit, her eyes are focused solely on you, their innocence and naïveté are so endearing it somehow breaks your heart.
'I try not to be.' Your answer seems to have raised even more questions. She is curious to know more. 'Why? Why do you try not to be like the others?' she tilts her head as if trying to solve you like one does a riddle. 'I don't know. It just doesn't feel right to me. I think people should be kind or at the very least not violent with one another.' Your philosophical reply is met with more confusion. '..So why did you let us in?' she asks earnestly. She doesn't understand why someone like you would extend a warm generosity to perfect strangers who have nothing to offer when the same kindness is so scarce.
'Well, your father did threaten me with a gun.' you give her a more appropriate answer, something she understands better: violence. She sighs. Her adorable little face drops as she realizes that her father's actions might have put you in danger. 'Oh.' She remembers your earlier encounter, her father's less-than-friendly approach to strangers seems nothing new to her. ‘Right…. He's protective, he has to be.' she promptly excuses his actions, her expression a little troubled but at the same time, she seems to understand. 'But he's not a bad person' she quickly adds.
'I didn't say he was.' you remind her. She nods her head a little, still thinking about it all.
She is very smart, it is evident that she is much more aware of her surroundings than the average kid her age, you wonder what she would grow up to be, and what kind of adult she would turn out to be in such a harsh world. You imagine she will be a spitting image of her father, cold and ruthless.
You gently lead her down the stairs and to the guest bedroom ending your conversation. Once you reach downstairs you notice that her father is missing yet again. 'He's probably outside smoking. He never does it when I'm around though. He says it's bad for the lungs. But I don't understand why he keeps doing it' she confesses. She sounds more like an adult than a child. She has probably matured fast due to the circumstances, but that doesn't change the fact that she is still so young.
She still needs guidance, she still needs help figuring things out. Even as she speaks of his flaws, she is quick to excuse him and defend him, she loves him and looks up to him so much. It's almost like she sees him as two different people, one good and one not-so-good. You wonder if that is just her way of trying to cope with his actions.
'It's a bad habit people tend to have when they are stressed' you tell her. You remember your college years going to bars with colleagues and smoking a few cigarettes from your friends. But you never bought a packet.
'Do you get stressed?' she asks you, seemingly trying to see if you are the same as her father.
You take a few seconds to think it over, but her innocent, naïve gaze is hard to lie to.
'I do.' you confess, '…Sometimes. But I do other things to relieve the stress.'
She looks at you curiously, you can tell that she is looking to you for advice on how to deal with stress or she’s just looking for options for her father. 'What kind of things?' she asks, her voice filled with childlike wonder and curiosity.
'Well, gardening is a good way. Bellamy likes to help.' at the mention of her name, your companion leaves her guarding post by the fireplace and approaches the two of you. Olivia hides a little behind you at the sight of the dog. 'Don't worry, she won't bite you, I promise. She's really friendly with people. Look...' You crouch next to her and stretch your palm towards her nose. Bellamy starts wagging her tail eager to be petted.
Olivia watches you cautiously, but then sees how Bellamy loves to be petted and she can't help herself from being curious. She cautiously puts her soft little hand forward, hesitantly touching Bellamy on the cheek. The dog allows it, and soon Olivia warms up to her and starts petting her.
She smiles at you as she does that, then she speaks. '...Does she like me?' she whispers loudly as if the dog might understand her. 'I think she does' you playfully match her tone.
Olivia smiles even more, petting Bellamy even more enthusiastically. 'What kind is she?' she asks, showing a bit more enthusiasm in her voice. 'She's a Border Collie. She is a dog meant to herd sheep and keep guard from other animals.' '…She must be very smart.' Olivia says as she continues petting her, her voice is full of curiosity and admiration as she says that. 'She is' you say with a tone of love for your sole companion. ‘Dad told me that the dog that bite me was German Hepard. A guard dog.’ She informs you the way children do to prove they are just as knowledgeable as adults. ‘Shepherd. German Shepherd.’ You correct her with a small laugh. ‘That’s what I said.’ She counters with an incredulous look on her face at you for not taking her seriously.
Olivia slowly yawns her eyes hooded with exhaustion. 'Let's get you in bed' You guide her towards the bed pulling the covers and allowing her to get in. Once she settles comfortably you put the back of your hand on her forehead checking for any signs of increased temperature. to your relief, her fever went down a little. It means that the pills still have an effect even after all these years. 'Good night' you whisper to her as her eyes flutter closed. She nods, tired from the day's events, and slowly closes her eyes as the sleep starts to take over her. '..Good night..' she whispers to you with a sleepy voice before she falls asleep.
You quietly sneak out of the room, closing her door softly behind you. You can still hear her soft snoring coming from inside the room, and a little smile forms on your face. You know she feels safe with you, and that warms your heart a little. You then head towards the kitchen, Bellamy in tow, only to discover that there are freshly washed dishes on the drying rack. You hum to yourself in appreciation. He may be a hulking terrifying military man but he has manners. You chuckle at the thought, despite the cold and aloof vibe he gives off, he still manages to surprise you with small gestures like these. It's clear that no matter how rough he seems, he does have a softer side to him.
Bellamy follows you next, and the two of you make your way outside. The rain has stopped, but there is still no sign of the man. He seems to like to disappear like a ghost. you scan the area around your garden, which is now damp with the fresh rain. Further outside, from the fence to the outside world, the darkness envelops everything. The light from your house is not strong enough to penetrate outside your garden. You take a deep breath the air humid and refreshing. The clouds hide the stars, you wish the sky was clear so you could map out the constellations with your finger, a favourite pastime of yours during the summer nights when the air is too stuffy for you to fall asleep.
After a while, the gate opens, and the masked man walks in, rifle slung on his shoulder, strap gripped tightly in his hand. The white skull on his face is the only thing that reflects enough light for you to make it out. A shiver runs down your back at his frightening attire. No wonder other people turned them down. He looks more like a serial killer from a horror movie than a human being. As he comes towards you, you can't help but wonder out loud 'Why the mask?' you watch him as he approaches you.
He doesn't respond to your question. Instead, he looks you up and down, studying you for a moment before he speaks with a firm voice. '..To hide my face.' He states in an obvious manner.
You stare at him dumbfounded the look on your face most likely betraying your confusion at his answer. He walks past you a small chuckle audible enough for you to catch it. He goes inside without another word. He's such a hardass... you think to yourself but you follow after him locking the door behind you. He looks around, most likely looking for his daughter. 'Olivia is asleep in the guestroom.' you point your thumb over your shoulder at the door. He stares at you silently which makes you really uncomfortable. 'You can make yourself comfortable here. My bedroom is upstairs...' you inform him awkwardly.
He stands there, not uttering a word, not even moving an inch, just looking at you, his eyes searching your skin and face, analysing your body and appearance with a prodding, cold, and distant gaze.
After what seems like an eternity, he finally utters a few words in response to you. '..That'll do..' he dismisses you with his usual monotonous and stern voice.
You nod and go up the stairs. once inside the room, you lock the door and sit on your bed. You stay like that for a while trying to comprehend today's events. You're unsure how things will play out between you and the masked man downstairs. You only hope that it won't interfere with the peaceful life you've built for yourself here. After what feels like hours have passed, you rise and start digging in your closet for pyjamas and a towel. You'll take a shower, hoping it will wash away the unease that seems to overtake you.
As you strip away your clothes and step into the shower, the warmth of the water fills your body as it washes away the cold. You let the hot water run over you for a while, allowing yourself to relax and forget the tension still lingering around you. After a few minutes, you step out and dry off by sliding your towel along your wet skin. Feeling refreshed and cleaner, you pull on a comfy set of pyjamas before returning to bed.
Once under the sheets, you close your eyes and try to fall asleep. Unlike Bellamy who snores peacefully on the rug next to your bed, you don't have such luck. You stare at the wooden ceiling above you. The house is dead quiet and you try to focus your hearing in hopes you'll catch something from outside your room. A few minutes pass when you can distinctly hear the faucet of the downstairs bathroom sink. You keep listening trying to imagine what he's doing. He's probably washing up, you think. The house creeks as the wind outside starts to blow. Soon after the rain starts once again, the sound of raindrops hitting your window finally lulls you to sleep.