Chapitre 7: (Calum Bryant)
When Mariana entered the room the man had indicated, she was struck by its spaciousness and the sense of order it exuded.
After locking the door and kicking off her sandals, she flung herself onto the bed, sinking into the plush white mattress. The fresh scent of detergent and fabric softener told her it was brand new.
The quiet, albeit temporary, sanctuary of the bedroom felt like heaven. Mariana almost drifted off to sleep, but as she closed her eyes, the man's face materialized in her mind. She snapped her eyes open and groaned.
"Oh God," she muttered, "He's giving me nightmares."
She rolled onto her side, curling her body in a gesture of displeasure. She couldn't figure out if she was scared or simply affected by him, and why his image kept intruding on her thoughts. His eyes, deep, mysterious, and unsettling, held her captive. The cut on his lower lip, far from detracting from his appearance, seemed to enhance his allure, and the way he clenched his jaw sent a shiver down her spine.
"What's wrong with you, Mariana? Shame on you."
She silently berated herself, disgusted by the flicker of attraction she felt for a man who could potentially kill her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a small cabinet table positioned near the headboard of the bed. Its presence was clear from her vantage point.
She sprang to her feet, the time for sleep long gone. She opened the first drawer of the cabinet, then the second, but found nothing.
She gasped for breath, her chest tightening with disappointment. There were no more cabinets, only a closet. She flung open the doors, revealing a wardrobe full of the man's clothes. She could smell them.
"Weird," she whispered.
Mariana's eyes lit up when she spotted a small card tucked under the cabinet. Only a sliver of it was visible, the rest obscured by the furniture.
She knelt and picked it up.
Mariana's breath hitched. It was a school identification card. A male teenager, thirteen years old, stared back at her from the photo. She recognized the man immediately, but younger, thinner. They shared the same eyes.
A genuine smile, the first in a long time, spread across her face. She felt like a detective who had just cracked a complex case.
"Calum Bryant," she read aloud, a smirk playing on her lips. "He's too greedy not to share his not-so-good name."
Her left eyebrow arched in a devilish smirk.
Mariana awoke from a deep sleep to the brilliance of the morning sun streaming through the wide, glass window, its white curtain billowing gently. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was, the warmth of the sun feeling oddly familiar, like a reflection of her own apartment.
She stood, her mind replaying the discovery she'd made the night before.
She walked towards the window, trying to open it, but it was locked. As she turned away, she saw Calum getting into his car. Relief washed over her, knowing he would be gone for a while.
Her inner detective sprung back to life. She rushed outside, barefoot, and into the living room. The small vintage clock on the wall read 7:32 AM. She wasted no time in opening the large cabinet she'd encountered earlier. Her heart sank as she discovered it was filled with bullets and guns. She'd never considered grabbing one of the weapons, unsure if she could use it to defend herself, or if the mere act of holding it would trigger a panic attack. The image of a gun store flashed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the danger she was in.
She walked into the kitchen and opened the large refrigerator. It was stocked with delicious food. She slammed the door shut, realizing she wasn't hungry, but desperately needed a shower.
She returned to the bedroom, but before entering, she checked the other room beside it. It was locked.
She went straight to the bathroom. It was tidy, but damp, as if someone had just used it. She didn't mind and stepped into the shower. She thanked her lucky stars when she found a sealed, unused toothbrush in one of the small cabinets. Without hesitation, she used the man's shampoo and soap. She couldn't be choosy in this time of crisis.
But as she stepped out of the shower, she realized she had no clothes. She slapped her forehead in disgust.
She walked towards the closet and closed her eyes.
"Damn," she muttered, "Do I really need to do this?"
There was no mirror in the room, so she had no idea how she looked in his beige t-shirt. It was far too big for her, swallowing her frame, and it reached halfway down her thighs. She'd reused the strapless bra she'd been wearing, but the most embarrassing part was that she was wearing his boxer shorts. She had no choice. She couldn't stay naked, and wearing his briefs would have been even worse.
She wondered why this was happening to her. She couldn't imagine herself wearing someone else's underwear, let alone the underwear of the man who might kill her.
She sighed and used a white towel from the closet to dry her wet, wavy black hair. Luckily, it was unused.
She hoped Calum wouldn't be furious when he saw what she was wearing. She would just have to wait and see. It was difficult to call him by name, perhaps because she was so used to not knowing it.
When her hair was half-dry, she walked barefoot out of the room and back into the kitchen.
The kitchen wasn't particularly large or small, just average. Mariana grabbed a pan and took a beef steak from the fridge. She heated the pan, added oil, seasoned the steak, and placed it in the sizzling oil. She also made gravy to accompany it.
She hoped the man wouldn't return too soon so she could do what she wanted around the house. At that moment, it felt as if she'd forgotten she was kidnapped, in danger. She was preparing food, feeling at home. She toasted bread in the toaster and spread peanut butter on it, the only filling available.
She opened a carton of fresh milk from the refrigerator and poured it into a glass.
She arranged the food on the square, tamarind-colored table. Finally, she could eat, she thought.
But as she pulled out a chair, she heard a car pull up in front of the house.
"Oh no," she growled, her voice laced with worry, "What am I going to do?"
She took a deep breath and stood in front of the table, as if trying to shield her food from view. She didn't realize she needed to hide the clothes she was wearing too, it seemed she'd forgotten about that.
She could hear the distinct sound of his footsteps approaching, and a minute later, she saw him.
His maroon t-shirt made him seem to glow in Mariana's eyes. She swallowed hard, bracing herself for whatever was to come.
He was three meters away. They paused, their gazes locked, searching for a reaction. Mariana watched as his eyes traveled down her body, taking in her clothing. She felt like ice melting under a scorching sun, his gaze burning into her. Now she remembered about the t-shirt she was wearing.
"Holy crap!" she whispered to herself, her heart pounding.
She couldn't help but feel self-conscious.
She crossed her legs, aware of his gaze lingering on that part of her body.
"Ahhm..." she muttered, a ridiculous smile spreading across her face. "I, uh, wore your t-shirt. HAHA."
She even attempted a fake laugh, hoping to disarm him, to prevent him from becoming furious.
"Don't you worry, Calum, I'm going to wash it later."
She continued her ridiculous laughter.
"And where did you get that?" he asked.
She paused, noticing his reaction wasn't anger, but confusion. The glint in his eyes, the one that suggested he could kill someone with a single glance, was still there.
"Oh, I found it in your closet," she replied, hoping his beautiful, terrifying eyes would stay away from her.
"And how did you know..." he started, but then stopped.
"Know what?" Mariana asked, puzzled by his intriguing questions.
He walked towards her, his gaze unwavering. She held her breath, watching his every step. She closed her eyes, knowing he was changing direction, that he wasn't going to stop in front of her, but beside her.
She felt his presence so close, his breath brushing against her cheek. She opened her eyes.
"My name," he whispered.
Her voice vanished, leaving her speechless. Her body refused to move. His sexy voice had eroded her bravery and her ridiculous facade so quickly.
"In... the... cabinet... Oh, I mean under the cabinet, in the room. Oh, I mean in an I.D. Yeah, that's it," she stammered, her words tumbling out in a panic.
He continued walking, grabbed a chair, and sat down at the table. He picked up the kitchen knife and fork and began eating the breakfast she'd prepared for herself. She didn't know how he was reacting because he was behind her, and she hesitated to turn around. He chewed the steak slowly, savoring its taste. He was completely captivated by her back, his gaze never leaving it.
"What about... what you wore underneath that t-shirt, besides your bra?" he asked.
Mariana's eyes widened, and a wave of embarrassment flooded her veins.
"Your boxer shorts," she whispered.
Calum's eyes remained fixed on her back, steady and intense, as he chewed. He wasn't angry, he just seemed to like what he'd heard. She waited for his response, but the only sound was the clinking of the knife and fork against the plate. She slowly turned around and asked,
"Your closet was in the room I was sleeping in, how did you change your clothes? Where did you take a shower?"
She asked like a detective, full of interrogations, not considering that she had no right to ask.
His intense gaze shifted to meet hers.
"I had keys, and yeah, I took a shower in that room. What's your problem? It's my room anyway," he said, picking up a piece of toast and taking a bite without breaking eye contact.
She stood ramrod straight, unsure of what to say. She realized that was why the bathroom had been wet before she took a shower, and why the soap was damp.
He stood and drank the rest of the milk.
"Yeah, thanks for breakfast," he said, walking past her.
Again, he left her speechless. She stood there, her mind adrift, when she heard his car engine start. That's when she knew she needed to take action.
"Goddamnit," she muttered, pulling out another chair and sitting down at the table, her eyes fixed on the kitchen wall. She should be grateful he wasn't angry about what she'd done.
"He just ate my breakfast," she said, her voice laced with disbelief, "So frustrating!"
***
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone