Mundahlia (The Mundahlian Era, #1) (3 page)

“You’re a doctor?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“No,” he paused. “I’m just prone to getting cuts and scrapes too.” He wiped off a forming drop of red and tilted the liquid within the bottle onto my skin. “It’s alcohol,” He said, eyeing my questionative face. “It’ll burn for about a second or two to get out all that bacteria.”

He was gentle each moment his skin touched mine, almost like he wasn’t touching me at all. Once he smoothed out the bandage over the scrapes, he stayed staring at me for a few seconds more. As if his eyes were trying to focus on my face and find the answer to a question I had no idea about, or even heard him ask.
This is awkward, what do I do? He’s just staring at me like a creep.

“Let me just ask you again,” he finally said in a slow soft voice, nearly a drawl, breaking the awkward silence. “Need help?”

I didn’t speak—at least not with my mouth. In my head I was repeating,
please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me
over and over.

“I’ll just take that as a yes.” He began grabbing the remaining nearby books and deposited them gently into the box, briefly glancing at the titles of each one as he set them in. With some—the classics, he smiled. With others—the young-adult novels—my guilty pleasures, I could see his eyebrows furrow in confusion. I remained sitting on the ground, registering what had just happened to me. I had only been in a big city for about ten minutes and in a matter of three of those minutes, I had gotten touched by a complete stranger and gotten injured—okay, not really injured, but the cut still stung. I mean, he seemed like a nice guy and didn’t give off the
here let me help you—Shank!
vibe, but boundaries dude!

I got up from where I was sitting and brushed away some extra gravel that clung onto my outer thigh for their dear lives. I looked up, and cautiously made for the animated silhouette of the mysterious man, already picking up the last few things. As he stood closer toward the home, I could finally see a golden outline of his body, bouncing off the edges of his skin from the soft lights coming from behind the window. He was tall. Not an inch under six feet. His dark hair that could of easily blended into the night, flowed to just above his shoulders. It was about half the length of my own dark wavy hair that cut off about midway down my back. The pants hugging his waist and legs were a faded dark blue, and his tan Henley barely clung onto his sculpted chest. But his face—the face to place to this stranger in my mind, was still hidden.

As I neared, I had already planned out a few different strategies of how I’d take him down if he were to try anything. Of course, as I caught sight of his large arms I’d more than likely scream and run the hell away.

“So, you new to these parts or what?” he said, setting the now filled box on the ground. “I’ve never seen
you
before, plus—you look like an out-of-towner.”

“Yeah. I just moved here to live with my cousin for a few months,” I said, pointing to the house, but still keeping my distance.

“Ah,” he nodded. Still no sight of his facial features. “So, what? Your parents give you the boot?” he mimicked a kicking motion with his boot as he spoke.

“No. Actually, I gave myself
the boot
. I needed some time away while they work things out on a cruise.” I kicked a few blades of grass out of nervousness, then stopped.
What am I, five?

“I see,” he said intrigued. He looked into the box by his foot again, “So, you’re one of those book reader people, I suppose? Or do you just collect them and carry them around to make you look smart?”

Ouch. Did I look like I had the IQ of bread or something? “Yes, I’m a
person
who
reads
books
.” Book reader people? Seriously who says that? “I have four months to myself. Might as well spend it lost in a fantasy world than being bored in this real one.”

He laughed. “Well, you never know what could happen. Life is full of surprises.”
Yes! He’s turning to look at me. Just a little more so I can see his
—Suddenly, there was a small whistle from the left side of the road. The creepy side. “Sorry. Uh, I gotta go.” He sprinted off down the road, disappearing just as fast as he had appeared. I couldn’t help but stare as he turned the corner and vanished into the gloomy side of the lone road.
So that’s who lives down there.

“
Well, this was—interesting,” I said to myself as I entered the house with the box and shut the door with my foot.

“Rini!” a booming voice filled with southern twang called. “I was looking for ya’ punk!” I turned to find shaggy, dark-haired Marine George waiting with open arms. “How’ve ya’ been?” he continued.

I hardly recognized him. He was several shades darker than when I’d seen him last and was dressed from head to toe like a modern day cowboy. Black button up shirt, a shiny silver belt buckle on faded blue jeans, and deep brown boots that scuffled on the floor. “Good and you?” I managed to get out without sounding entirely out of it. All he needed was the hat and he was ready to saddle up.

“Oh, I’ve been great.
Come here!
” he pulled me into a bear hug. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How long’s it been?” I could feel the prickly stubble on his face press into my cheek. His grip was tight. Even though he was out of the Marines and into construction now, he still had the body of one—and the strength.

“George
, I-can’t-breathe
,” I tried to make out. He was constricting my lungs.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he apologized and let me down.

I gasped for air, slowly feeling the color returning to my face. “It’s all right.”

“Come on in to the kitchen, I made us some dinner,” he said, leading me to the double doors that Celeste had gone through minutes earlier.

The kitchen had an Italian-styled theme. Grape and wine decorations covered even the smallest corners of the gold-painted room, and a set of deep red, mossy green, and golden artwork spelled out the Italian sentence:
La cucina è il cuore della casa
, with the English translation:
The kitchen is the heart of the home
, written underneath it.

A delicious scent of grilled meat pervaded through the air, and I could feel my mouth beginning to water. I hadn’t eaten since Brackettville about two and a half hours back, and even then, a pizza stick and a bottle of water wasn’t much of a meal. At least not in my book.

Celeste was in the process of setting down plates and cutlery on the large table at the back of the dining area when she spotted us and smiled.

George slid a chair open for me to sit and uncovered some of the dishes sitting in the center of the table. “Steak with all the possible comfort foods you could imagine.”

“Smells great,” I said, eyeing my first target: a bowl of macaroni and cheese.

“Tastes even better,” he replied.

George and Celeste took their seats and dug into the buffet of food he had more than likely spent almost all afternoon preparing. I plated myself a small steak, and didn’t shy of taking heaping spoonfuls of the cheesiest macaroni, and the creamiest green bean casserole I have ever tasted.
Yum.

...

After dinner, I helped Celeste wash the dishes and put the leftovers in the refrigerator. George had disappeared upstairs to rest for an early day of work in the morning. I knew it was about eleven o’ clock, because I couldn’t help but yawn. The natural clock ringing inside me, telling me it was time for bed.

“You look tired,” Celeste said, wiping her hands on a small hand-towel. “Come on. Let me show you to your cabin.”

“Cabin?” I questioned, suddenly stumped. “What do you mean
cabin
?”

“You’ll see.” Celeste headed for the backdoor and flicked the porch lights on. “You coming?”

I followed her into the backyard, where truth be told, a single-person wooden cabin stood about a hundred feet away from the house I had originally thought would be my temporary home.

“This is mine?” I asked upon arriving at the cabin steps.

“
Mhm
. Welcome to your bachelorette pad.” Celeste drew a key from her pocket and opened the door. “George built this guest house himself as a project last summer for his construction company portfolio,” she explained. “So, don’t be surprised if it falls apart.”

“Yeah, thanks, that really helps soothe things for me,” I said sarcastically. “Why am I not sleeping in your house—you know, where the safety is?” By safety, I meant George. He could probably tackle an elephant if one happened to barrel through the door right now.

“Because, one of the bedrooms is being used for storage, and the other room inside is being turned into a nursery.” Celeste pointed to her belly, “Hello!”

“Okay, and what if someone tries to break in and I get kidnapped or killed in the process,” I said, trying to throw the negative sides to this on the table. “I’m still getting used to the slasher flick scene you and George live in.”

“Well, if you’re smart, you wouldn’t put yourself in the position to be killed or kidnapped, now would you?” Celeste sassed. “And besides, what would they want with you? You’re boring.”

“Jerk! What if they break in and rob me while I’m asleep.”

“What would they take?” she rummaged through the box in my hands that I had picked up. “Books, movies and—” she held a DVD up and looked at me accusingly, “—
my
Madonna concert dvd.”

“What?” I remarked. “You left it behind at Mommy Gloria’s and I picked it up before someone else took it.”

“Mhm. That’s what all little hoodlums say.”

“Are you serious?!” There was a period of silence and awkward gazing between us.

“I’m just kidding, Rini,” Celeste laughed, dropping the DVD back in the box. She held out the key for me to take. “You’re going to be fine, this cabin comes with a security system.” She tapped on a small white box with buttons mounted on the wall and headed back to the front door, “It’s secure. Goodnight, Rini.”

“Aren’t you going to show me around?” I asked with my hands out in question.

“It’s
your
cabin.” The door closed, shutting out the obnoxious song from the crickets outside.

The inside of the cabin wasn’t decorated. Furnished, but not decorated. It was a blank canvas waiting to be painted. Apart from the dull white walls, I had to admit, the cabin was actually pretty nice. To the right, a small living room complete with mismatched couches and a small brown area rug welcomed me. Further on down the lone hall on the left was the bedroom, where I saw my luggages sitting on the bed through the open door. George must have set them there when he left for a while, then came back to finish eating dinner. Straight across from it was the small, but tolerable, bathroom. And set directly down the hallway from the front door was the backdoor, which I made sure to double lock. It was like a mini apartment, just situated in the woodland. If this wasn’t living near nature, I don’t know what is. People pay money to live in something like this, and I have it for free—for now.

I guess I got my paranoia from my mom, because I also put a chair under the knob of the backdoor for extra security. Feeling a wave of curiosity, I peeked out of the small rectangular window in the top half of the door. There was nothing but trees that stretched for miles along a small dirt trail that lead to who-knows-where.
Yup, definitely the setting for a horror movie.
I felt as if I could already hear the cheesy music building up to a crescendo as a man in a mask made his way to my cabin to end my life in a matter of excessive gore, and for some reason, extreme and unnecessary nudity.

After I set the alarm, double checked the windows—and the doors, I opened up the first box and started unpacking my things to make this room feel like mine for the next four months of my life.

...

When I finished, I put an oversized T-shirt aside and hopped into the shower to rinse off the day and a bit of dried mud from my legs. I hadn’t realized until now that my parents never gave me a proper goodbye. They were too preoccupied with other things. My mom, calling all her friends and telling them that she was going on a “luxury” cruise to sightsee the world, just so she didn’t have to publicly admit that she and my dad were at possibly, the end of their marriage. Denial at its best. My father, on the other hand, was packed and waiting in the car, honking here and there to rush my mom out and waving to a few passing neighbors. Both were doing their own thing and too busy to triple check if I needed anything, or had the numbers to my closest relatives and family friends like they used to. I didn’t blame them. When they were happier, they were picture perfect parents. Not saying that they love me less now, but I wonder if it ever crosses their mind—especially in these moments, that had I not been born, they wouldn’t of been rushed into their marriage, and ultimately wouldn’t have stayed together all these years. Having been born while my parents were still in high school always seemed to be something I’d frequently get teased about in school. I was seen as
that
kid. In a way, I guess it made me stronger. Instead of being shy and taking people’s crap, I fought back and defended myself. Something both Celeste and mommy Gloria raised me to do.