Chương 6: Unpleasant Beginnings

Histoire and Jotham were both students at ÍU, and it would have been sensible to travel to the campus together had it not been for the fact that Histoire preferred early morning classes to his late afternoon ones. Another reason was that Jotham spent his mornings at work, leaving later in the day to attend his classes. He would have dropped her off at the campus but she did not anticipate staying the night over in his apartment and did not bring along her laptop.

She reached the mansion right before dawn and told Jotham to hurry along and not wait for her, to which he reluctantly agreed. She woke up so earlier that she did not have the chance to take a proper bath. She did not have another outfit to change into either and that was another motive that drove her to returning to the mansion first thing in the morning.

Once she was done bathing, she pulled the plug to drain the tub of the water and stepped out of it. She reached for the towels as the sun's warm light swam in through the bathroom window. She wrapped one of them around her middle and used the smaller one to dry her dark hair. As a habit, she stepped in front of the mirror to inspect her eyes. There were no problems today either.

Before she could get dressed and leave for her classes, she had one final task to attend to that involved the digital pictures Jotham emailed to her. She made her way down to the foyer to the table where she left her laptop and torn pieces of cardboard that contained the new phone. She left the phone behind in her bedroom as well, as she was not fond of carrying electronics on her person unless she would need to use them, like with today's case because the class was instructed to bring them along.

A not so well known modeling agency began accepting applications a month ago and Histoire would miss the opportunity if she did not submit those photos and measurements in the next few hours. She was too busy with settling down and had retrieved her laptop only a week ago. She had sent it in for maintenance for the same reason she had to discard her previous phone.

The laptop rebooted its entire system, erasing all her files and everything of importance in the process. She was able to recover only twenty percent of the files she lost, otherwise the laptop was in good condition and could be used again.

She attached the photos and everything else that was required before she sent out the application. She had to remind herself that Lady Luck was not particularly on her side in this matter. Normally, as she had learnt the hard way, only applications sent within the first week were taken into consideration, let alone actually viewed. She was not at all hopeful but she could not let herself give up for such a simple argument.

Her towel was now loose around her chest and she adjusted it before she stood up. It was time to get dressed then leave for the day. She had just reached the bottom of the stairs when two rough knocks reached her ears from the front door. She suddenly became perceptive of her environment and hesitantly turned to face the door.

The heart beat in her chest accelerated with every second she waited to act. It was serene a second ago but now all she could hear was the drumming in her ears. She tried to reason with herself; that she was overreacting. But why would anyone appear at her door at such a time? It could have been Jotham, but he would have called if he decided to turn around. He knew how paranoid she was.

She feared that someone followed her home and that it really was a terrible idea to be with Jotham while she was supposed to have waited a while.

"Who is it?" She called out to the figure standing by the door. His shadow was visible underneath it. The person neither moved nor replied. Instead another knock followed. It was more frightening than it was vexing for Histoire. She slowly walked away from the staircase and returned to the table.

She brought her hand underneath the table and traced her fingers against the edge until they touched an abnormality. There was a sharp kitchen knife she taped under the table's surface for a situation such as this one. She ripped the tape and firmly held the plastic handle of the sharp object. It was the only knife that could be found around the house, the rest having been hidden in the basement.

"Tell me who you are!" Histoire said and turned her head slightly away from the door to frantically search for her phone. Then she remembered she left it in her bedroom. Pointing the knife at the door, she walked across the room again and reached the stairs. She slowly began to climb each of the steps.

"Just open the door. I need to talk to you," she heard a masculine, monotone voice from outside. She did not recognise the voice and quickly came to conclude that it really was not Jotham at all. This man's words alone were not enough to convince her to oblige with what he told her to do. Instead, she clutched the knife harder between her damp hands and climbed up two more steps. She was nervous and perspiring and needed to call the police.

Histoire would have much preferred to avoid involving the police in her life as it would cause a scandal and draw more attention to her. Upon realizing that she was in peril at that moment, she did not care for her reputation.

"That's not what I asked you! Tell me who you are before I call the police!" She could not understand why she had not bolted for her room and done that act yet. Perhaps she really was concerned about her public image, she thought, which was rather stupid considering the current situation. This was the single chance she had received to try and live a normal life and she would not toss it aside in a second.

"We have not met yet. I'm your neighbour from across the street. Ines' husband..." the male voice stated. Histoire found a tint of relief slithering into her chest but she repressed it and reprimanded herself for thinking she could trust him.

It was clear to her that urgent situations were timeless, but what valid reason did Ines' husband have to come roughly knocking at her door at the time? Other than to discuss what took place the evening two days ago? Histoire did expose his secret to his wife after all. He could have discovered she was the one who did it that morning and immediately came over to exact his revenge on her out of the heat of the moment.

"A-Are you furious with me?" She called out next with a stutter. Of course he is, she thought to herself, one of them drove off in fury that night and now another is ready to tear my door off its hinges. I might have ended their marriage. I'm a home wrecker who's no different from Taylor.

Histoire felt guilty but she had to prioritise her safety. Her phone was still upstairs.

"No, I'm not furious. Like I said, I want to talk with you," he replied. She was stubbornly unconvinced and turned abruptly to run up the remainder of the stairs. At that very moment, however, she heard the doorknob turn and her body froze over. She looked down at the moving door for only a second but that proved to be critical.

Both Histoire and the man heard a gnarly, cracking noise fill the air for a second. Not long after, Histoire felt an intense surge of pain flow through her foot. Unconsciously, as an automatic defense mechanism, she quickly crouched down onto her knees, scraping her skin in the process. She grabbed her left ankle and bit her lower lip when she could not stop herself from screaming from the pain.

Her body slumped backwards and she was about to fall down the stairs when she felt two strong arms hold tightly onto her body to help her keep balance. Her ankle, however, suffered a major shock. She tried to ease the pain with her hands.

All she could feel was the throbbing pain and could not see much as her vision was blurred by the tears streaming down her cheeks. She could feel two arms around her though. She had not felt that much pain since the incident when she ripped out her nails one by one. She could not ignore it like she did then.

"Histoire! Histoire, can you hear me!" She heard him as clear as day, at least after she stopped screaming and whimpered. This man next to her, he knew her real name somehow. She was compelled to look up at him. Nothing about him was familiar to her. Not his dull, gray irises, or his pale, blue hair that flowed down and stopped a few inches after his broad shoulders. He was clad in a business suit.

He definitely was not her loving friend with the short and pink hair that resembled cotton candy. This man's face instantly revealed that he was the stolid type characterised by a cold demeanor.

She had many questions yet she could ask none of them. She was too focused on thinking of a way to deal with the pain.

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