I'm Not From Earth - 7. Seven

s e v e n

Rover recognized him immediately as the boy who he had seen earlier in the day, when he was doing the block run. Just before he decided to hide himself for some unknown reason, and just before he flew headlong into that Stop sign. Rover's first instinct was to blame everything on this punk, but he couldn't utter a single word.

How could he when he facing someone who took all his breath away?

An immaculately chiseled face, tapered into a sharp, streamlined jaw that rode up into statuesque cheekbones. Framed with black hair cropped short to absorb the moonlight. An angled nose and a blush of generous lips that begged to be touched. Gleaming in his left ear was a small hoop of silver. How old was he? Rover wondered, realizing he had no clue. The stranger could have been anywhere from sixteen to twenty five, but that didn't matter.

What mattered was that he appeared physically flawless, his face so balanced and so impossibly rid of imperfection, yet, Rover noted after a moment with a shiver, there was something frightening about that, and about him. The slight slant of his long eyebrows was enough to bring an entirely different light to those features. The pale of his skin was just enough to make him seem deathly cold. The slight downturn of his sculpted lips was enough to make him look dangerous, beautiful in an almost ironically cruel way.

Although the shape of the boy's eyes were sharp, too -- slim, angular, hooded beneath thick lashes and shadowed beneath a frowning brow -- there was something to them that was in stark contrast to his icy appearance. Something in those green, glimmering pools of a drunken lake had Rover wondering. After a long moment, he realized that the look hidden deep beneath was something friendly, something warm, something soft. Something that intrigued and asked to be known, and perhaps to even be wanted and loved.

A wild and ridiculous thought raced through Rover, and he thought if a demon and an angel were to ever copulate and have a baby, it would look like this stranger.

Both of them were silent, simply staring at each other, Rover frozen with his arm raised half way to meet the stranger's outstretched hand; two lone wolves meeting in an unknown territory; a fish and a bird catching a glimpse of one another for the very first time; two streams in a forest that had collided in their paths. A change and tangle of fates.

The boy inclined his head to the side, a slight but unnerving gesture of... of what? Hostility or friendliness? His lips parted and he was speaking, soft words rolling from his tongue.

"What are you doing here?"

Rover swallowed. His heart was beating fast -- running-away-from-father fast, winning-touchdown fast; too fast to be rational and too loud to allow Rover to make sense of the stranger's words. He could hear only his voice. A voice that was smooth, yet a voice that was also a throaty growl that held the slightest trill of mockery.

"What are you doing here?" The boy repeated. "Are you lost?" He leaned forwards. With an effortless heave, Rover was pulled to his feet, and standing, his knees shook slightly. His palm tingled where the stranger had grasped his hand.

With a considerable amount of effort, Rover opened his mouth to make a reply, but not a single word came out. He stood with his mouth half open for about five full seconds before his throat relaxed and he returned the most lucid reply he could manage:

"Uhhhnnghh..."

Hell, he thought.

"Alright," the boy said, "don't panic. This sometimes happens to people who fall flat on their butt -- the impact often times rattles their ability to speak for a bit. Now let's start with the alphabet. You know the alphabet right?"

Rover stared.

"The al-pha-bet," the boy repeated, enunciating every syllable, his expression unreadable. "But hey if you don't know that's fine too. I'm good with Abercrombie brains."

"Uhm," Rover started.

"Yes," he continued on in his irritatingly slow tone. "Slang for public school-er, blond hair, typically tanned, typically slow. A-ber-crom-bie. You. But don't worry, all hope is not lost, you're already beginning to make ape sounds like you're supposed to."

"Okay," Rover said, feeling a bout of annoyance creep into the attraction, "seriously, like, I can talk." He moved backwards subconsciously, as though trying to step away from the boy's alluring vicinity. The green eyes followed him, intense and glowing. They should be laughing, but they weren't. They remained impassive as ever.

A silence between them. Not too long, not too short, filled with the buzz of faint traffic, the pulse of a weak beat, the sighs of a gentle wind; thoughts and words racing through the air between them.

"Yeah," Rover said finally, and his eyes were downcast. "I'm lost."

"How lost?" The boy asked, losing the stupid voice, but still visibly amused. "Do you know your way home?"

"Uhm, no," Rover said, frowning.

"Well.... that could be a problem. Unless you're heading somewhere else?"

"I am."

The stranger nodded slowly, his left eyebrow quirked. He crossed his arms and Rover noticed that a baggy hoodie and gray sweatpants were unable to entirely hide that muscular physique...

"Do you need directions?" He offered, not unfriendly, and Rover for a stupid moment thought he said Do you need erections?

Rover nodded after a moment. "Yeah, I do. But like, I don't even know where I'm heading."

"You don't?"

"Well." Rover paused for a second. "I do know where I wanna like, go, but I don't know what street my friend's house is on and I don't know where I am... and it's night time and I've been running for hours from... Hell. Everything is just so..." Rover stopped, embarrassed, realizing that he was rambling. He shot a look towards the boy to read his expression, but he had sat back and was immersed in the shadows.

"Wrong?" the boy inquired softly, all contempt gone. The breeze shifted, and Rover saw his head move slightly, as though taking in a deep breath.

Rover began to speak, but the boy cut him off.

"You're hurt," the stranger said. His tone was sharp and cold, keen as razors digging into pliant flesh. The change was scarily abrupt, and he sounded as though Rover had committed a shameful crime. What crime? Rover wondered weakly, just as a wave of shivers spiked across his skin.

Silence.

"I'm fine," Rover replied cautiously, his hands flying to his side, back pedaling.

The boy moved forwards. "Lemme take a look at that."

"No, seriously, I'm fine."

"You're hurt --"

"I said I'm fine," Rover shot back in wavering defense, and his feet hit the concrete fringe of the roof, forcing him to stop. The boy approached steadily, and soon they were almost face to face. He was out of the darkness again. Every pore of him became visible, every inch desirable and glorious, and Rover longed to reach out to stroke his jaw, to run his fingers through the jet black hair, to reach forward and discover his flesh beneath the loose fabric of his hoodie. But there was fear amongst his excitement and desire. Primal fear that told Rover that the stranger was more than half a head taller, fear that noted the dangerous strength hidden beneath the clothes, and fear that warned Rover that he knew nothing of him.

"Let me help you."

Rover felt a hand on the side of his waist, resting so lightly it was almost not there, and long fingers that grasped the edge of Rover's T-shirt, easing it gently upwards. He shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the closeness between them. He was barely breathing his chest was so tight, barely moving for he was so barely breathing. A touch. Lightly upon Rover's stomach, running upwards and exploring the radius of the wound, stroking grains of congealed blood aside and tracing tensed muscles. Static brimmed in those soft fingers, and Rover wondered stupidly: how was it possible for someone's hand to be so pale but so warm? A light prod that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and a mild throb of pain.

And then the most peculiar sensation reached Rover's side where the stranger had pressed. It felt like... stitching, yet it was painless. Rover squirmed, and something triggered in his memory, but soon the feeling was gone, and he was sure that he had just imagined it. He had lost a lot of blood, after all.

"That looks painful," the stranger said softly.

One thing was for sure: his fingers on Rover's bare skin was not imagined. Flustered, Rover mustered enough will power to pull his shirt back down. "I'm --" he began, but the boy cut him off once again.

"Yes, sir," he said mildly. "You say your fine, but I know you're not fucking fine, and I'm not about to let you bleed to death, so just stand still, Abercrombie."

Rover blinked, opened his mouth for a retort as another touch caressed his side, but then froze.

Rapid footsteps reached his ears. They both turned their faces towards the stairs.

"Oh, hell," Rover hissed with dread.

Tall and threatening, all muscle and mission, the bodyguards appeared. They spread apart, bald heads the only thing visible in the gloom.

Rover did a quick count and weighed his options. Five against one. Rover wondered which would yield better results -- tackling through them, or walking up to the nearest baldy to throw a bitch slap?

His options were nonexistent.

The guard directly ahead of Rover muttered something inaudible -- probably talking to father through his earpiece -- and advanced. Rover backpedaled. His heels hit the far side of roof.

Trapped again.

He wouldn't go back tonight. He would never go back!

"Do you trust me?"

Rover snapped his head to the stranger, who was suddenly standing right next to him, a firm grip on his arm.

The words were breathed again: "Do you trust me?"

He didn't see any reason why he should, but it didn't matter, because the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Yeah."

Rover felt the boy wrap his arms around him -- surprisingly gentle for someone of his stature and built. Despite the situation, Rover felt himself instinctually relax in the embrace, but then, too late, stiffened once he realized what was happening. There was no warning. A slight pause, hearts fluttering like caged butterflies, a slight tip over the side of the railing...

And they fell.

    *