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You lay in bed with eyes open in the dark, waiting for that sleepy feeling to finally take you away. Your pillow is too hot, your clothes twist and tighten around you, no position is comfortable enough to even close your eyes. Forcing yourself in one pose, you begrudgingly drift off to sleep, no way of knowing if you have three or nine hours of rest ahead of you.
An unknown amount of time later, you find yourself where you started, wide awake and miserable. You want to see if sobbing could lull you back to sleep, or maybe striking yourself with a blunt object. You pick neither, continuing to stare at absolutely nothing.
In your far-off daze, a light sound brings you back to your body. The subtle squeaking of a material, like rubber or leather. Then, the gentle clinking of what has to be metal, too light to be the house creaking, too close to be explained. You turn your head to attempt to see what’s causing these sounds, only to be met with more darkness. Too upset to investigate further, you close your eyes.
Seconds go by before a new, unmistakable sound sends a shiver down your spine. Breath, an inhale, so close to your ear you feel the cold left by the gentle intake. An exhale, warm air gracing your ear and the side of your face, followed by a wave of terror. You flinch away from this sound, holding your ear as if it’ll fall off without your hand. Your eyes are useless in the dark but they search anyway, wide and shaky. The lamp on the nightstand is just out of reach and in the direction of the anomaly, so you rule out turning it on.
Once your first wave of survival instinct subsides, you’re able to think more curiously, and calmly reach a trembling hand into the darkness. You feel around, grasping at air like water, until your fingertips meet warmth. Skin, you touch and notice a nose, eyebrows and eyes, dry and unpleasant lips, a face. You pull away like your hand’ll get bit off, your breath so unsettled and erratic it makes you dizzy.
Two hands attached to the face jut out for yours, unforeseen force used to pull it close again. They’re large and frigid, their size accentuated by the tight grip. They press your palm flush against their face, letting out a weak, pitiful sigh like they’ve never been touched before. Your face bears a permanent expression of confused disgust, your mind failing to assess what the real danger of the situation is, if there is any.
There’s silence, accompanied by the intruder's uneasy breath. On the edge of your hand you feel a warm bead make contact, then melt down as it’s caught between the intruder's face and your hand. You don’t know what to do at all, so you do the first thing that comes to mind.
Gently, you swipe your thumb across the person's face, wiping another tear that had fallen. Their reaction is a horribly burdened sob, their head falling to the mattress while making sure your hand comes with it. They continue to heave and cry into your bedding as you realize that, right now, there is absolutely no danger. You lean in closer, digging out your other hand and placing it on the person's head. You feel them shift, as if looking up to you, but there is nothing to see in the darkness of your room.
You say nothing. You think nothing, unsure where to start in the first place. Thankfully, the person breaks the silence for you with a weak, deeply troubled voice.
“Please, don’t remove your hands.” A deep, masculine leaning voice pleads with you, desperate for your affection. He begins to sob harder, little vocalizations now slipping from his trembling throat, as if voicing his desire sent him deeper into despair. His hand presses yours against his cheek harder, like a tether to reality. He chokes on his own spit as he cries, sniffling and whimpering with panicked intensity.
You instinctively move your other hand from his head to the other side of his face in an effort to comfort the stranger. In between the nervous convulsions you wipe away the excessive amount of tears flowing down his face, his salty wet cheeks becoming an adhesive that his hair continuously falls into– which you notice is very long, at least going past his chin. With hesitant care, you continue to soothe the mess that decided to break into your home. Again, you grow curious rather than scared, an idea coming to life on your lips.
“Can I turn on the light?” You ask innocently, careful to be gentle with your tone. Your first words to the intruder are met with an unexpected reaction.
“No.” The stranger asserts furiously as he tenses up, instantly unsettling any comfort you established within yourself. You remember the objective severity of your situation, an unknown man with unclear intentions is in your house, in your hands, pleading to be cared for– or, maybe, demanding to be.
Your new-found discomfort manifests as liquid nitrogen in your veins, and a desire to escape the man’s presence. You can only muster the courage to respond with one word.
“Okay.”
Despite the darkness, you get the feeling he’s staring daggers at you, like he has the inhuman ability to see clearly in the dark, taking advantage of the fact you can’t. Your body begins trembling against your will, fingers twitching and begging to peel away from the man's skin. He picks up on this, the feeling of his face contorting apparent under your palm and sending cold adrenaline down your spine. Out of terror, you let out small whimpers, eyes stinging and ready to pour. He moves, taking hold of both your wrists in his retreat. Pulling you up to your knees on the bed, he stands with an enormous figure, towering over you. He takes hold of your face this time, his grip uncomfortably tight, giant hands cradling your head. You instinctively grab his forearms in some attempt to loosen his grip, but can’t decipher them through thick leather sleeves. His breathing hardly changed from his earlier sobbing, now sounding dry and angered.
“Do you know what I’ve done?” He asks harshly through gritted teeth, as if you have any clue who he is.
You stammer, struggling to say anything definitive. You shake your head side to side to say no, letting out a corresponding vocalization.
He inhales sharply, a sign you might’ve given the wrong answer.
“For humanity's sake, I’ve cleansed the earth.” He almost hisses. “Disposed of the vile, wretched vermin of this godforsaken planet.” He goes on, taking on a more monstrous tone with each word. “Brought retribution, salvation..” He stops himself, his breathing speeding up, either from panic or pure excitement.
“You should be…” His voice somehow remains intimidating while shaking. “You should worship me.. As a savior, an angel of death…” He chokes on his words, falling apart all over again, giving you whiplash as he grunts through labored sobs.
His words circled your head, not exactly landing and being absorbed. You struggle to understand what he could possibly mean, what he means by ‘disposed of’... an ‘angel of death’... Murder? Disposing of; killing people. Your eyes widen with your realization as your breath hitches.
“Demons…” He starts.
“Demons wearing human skin. Parading around and ruining lives… ripping me from my home.” He cries so vulnerably, sounding so deeply terrified, like he believes absolutely everything he’s saying. “They’re after me, they want to drag me to hell.” All malice drops from his voice in an instant.
You give up any attempt at thought, allowing yourself to succumb to wherever this interaction leaves you. This man, you understand, is an unpredictable threat, clearly in psychosis or something adjacent. Your heart sinks as you remember that he might really have blood on his hands, and could stain them again with yours.
There is no escape.
His progressively more pitiful sobs bring you into reality again. He brings you close into his wide chest in an effort to comfort himself, his grip on your head is almost endearing, loving? A tender embrace that should only be shared between willing parties. To potentially protect your own life, you decide to return his embrace, wrapping unwilling arms around his massive stature. You can’t tell if he really is that big, or if it’s the thick leather coat leading you to believe so. He reacts with a sound that leaves you confused and slightly disgusted. A breathy sigh, close to a moan. You try to brush it off and remain close, listening to a rushed heartbeat underneath a thin– most likely cotton shirt. From this position, you hear little vocalizations internally, whines and cries with every breath. You tighten your grip around him, a strange realization dawning on you. Despite the threat to your safety, you’re growing sympathetic to the man. Somewhere in your heart, you wish to bring comfort to the troubled stranger.
Unconsciously, you nuzzle your face fondly against the man's chest. To this he stammers and lifts his hands, not knowing how to react, but definitely not wanting it to stop. Remaining in this awkward position for so long, your knees and back begin to ache so terribly you must act to alleviate it.
"Let me lay down." You bluntly ask the man, the drained and apathetic quality of your voice surprising yourself.
After a moment of silence passes, the stranger releases his grip, allowing you to remove yourself and lay back down on the bed. You make sure to straighten out your burdened legs, and sigh as you decompress into your mattress. To your knowledge, the man doesn't move, staying stationary as he speaks up.
"I'll spare your life in my next cleansing." His voice is oddly neutral. "You're one of the good, innocent people of this world." He states.
Without another word, no explanation for his presence, he turns to exit your room. Closing the door behind him, you hear heavy footsteps fade away towards your front door, then exiting your house entirely.
Silence stormed your mind as you grappled with a strange feeling in your chest, an emptiness, almost a longing for him to come back. You get back under the covers, shaken, but incredibly calm.
Despite your stillness, you were unsuccessful in falling back asleep. You dread the day ahead of you before you even get up, witnessing the sun's light pouring into your room through cracks in your windows curtains.
You hope he comes back some day.