I stare into his fiery eyes as he stared back into mine. It’s a game of Mexican standoff. I let my fingers slowly inch away from me until they find the cold handle of the knife that was laid out. Then Brennan’s eyes flick down to my hand.

“You little brat!” he curses as he jumps into action, grabbing me by my hair and pulling me forward. I swing the knife out, but he catches my wrist and pulls me across the table, twisting me around simultaneously so that my back hits his chest and the arm holding the knife is pinned to my stomach. I’m sitting on the edge of the table with my legs reaching to the other side, so I can’t kick him or move really. He yanks the hair on my head, and I seethe in pain, tilting my head back to look at him.

“Fuck you,” I snap at him with a scowl.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, you annoying bastard,” he quips. I try to jerk my arm holding the knife out of his grip, but he tightens his hold and pulls my arm closer to my body. I drop the knife into my left hand, and before he can notice what I’ve done, I jam the knife behind me into his thigh.

He starts to cry out, but he closes his mouth to muffle his scream. “Motherfucker!” he shouts and shoves me away from him. The force pushes me forward, sending my head over my feet. I yelp as I do an involuntary somersault off the table and hit the floor. I sit up rubbing where I hit my head on the cursed cement floors. I whine in pain as I look up at Brennan who has his hands braced around the knife that protrudes from his leg. Blood soaking the denim makes it stick to his skin, and his hands are coated in red. He does some quick breaths as he delicately wraps his fingers around the knife handle. Then he takes a sharp breath in before yanking the knife out. His face contorts into pain as he slowly turns back to the table and slams the knife down, smearing blood from his hands across the tabletop. He hisses then lets out a shaky breath. Brennan stands like that for a moment, writhing in pain with his head held down and his hair hiding his eyes, but then I watch as he pushes away from the table and comes around the side, not even looking at me as he limps away back down the hall.

Was I in the wrong here? Should I not have stabbed him? What else could I have done? He had a hold on me, and he was taunting me. I couldn’t just let him do that, and he wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t argue with me, so I had to make the final move. I should probably go check on him, though, and make sure he’s not bleeding out. I don’t really want to deal with a dead body right now.

I get up from the floor and go down the hallway. Why am I checking on him? Like yeah, I want to fuck him and all, but normally I wouldn’t care. So what if he died? I could just find someone else to fuck, so why is there this nagging feeling saying that I don’t want to? He’s probably the most complex human I’ve met in a long time. That’s why. I want to figure him out.

I step through the door to the bedroom hesitantly. The bathroom light illuminates the room gently, casting shadows in seemingly unreasonable places. I step into view of the bathroom to see Brennan, pants-less now, leaning down over his leg as he weaves stitches through his skin to piece the stab wound back together. After he’s reached the end of the gash, he ties off the thread and cuts it with scissors he grabs from the bathroom counter. He puts down the scissors and the needle on the granite with a soft metallic clink, and I hear the doctor sigh quietly before he looks over at me. “Come here to stab me again?” he asks sarcastically.

I shake my head but don’t say anything. I mean, what could I say? So, I just watch as he strips the rest of his clothes and throws them to the floor. “I’m going to take a shower; you just go on to bed,” he tells me without glancing towards me. Then he walks to the standing shower, turns the water on, and gets in without waiting for it to warm up. He has to be some kind of psychopath.

I look away from the bathroom, and my eyes fall to the bed. He still wants me to stay? I stabbed him for fuck’s sake. Personally, if I was mortal, I’d want to stay very far away from someone who had the gall to stab me.

I go to the bedside and sit down on the edge, flattening out the sheets with my hand to stall laying down. I felt awkward in this house before, but I feel even more so now. I slowly lay down across the bed and tuck my legs into my chest. I don’t get under the covers just in case I’ve made a mistake of getting comfortable. I don’t want to get all cozy and then have him come out and tell me he meant for me to stay in a guest room of some sort. Oh my god, what if he meant for me to stay in a guest room?

I sit up and start to push off the bed, but I am interrupted by Brennan, “Where are you going?”

I jump at the sudden intrusion of his voice. I guess I didn’t hear the shower stop; I was too distracted with my crippling anxiety of doing something wrong. I look up to see him naked with water drops rolling down his toned body, and all my worries seem to just float away. Hot damn, if I do say so myself. He’s drying his wet hair that hangs down in strands and sticks to his forehead. His eyes are narrowed, and his eyebrows are pulled together to give me a questioning look. That there’s the problem, I can pretend to hate him and attack him all I want, but he still gets me drooling. I open my mouth to answer his question, but he speaks again before I can, “Lay back down. I took a knife in my leg for you. Don’t be a brat.”

I slowly lower myself back to the bed on my side, laying my arms below my head. He disappears into his closet and comes out again wearing sweat pants, but he still doesn’t put on a shirt. I observe the way his muscles tense and relax as he runs his hand through his coffee-colored hair. He sighs and walks to the other side of the bed behind me. I feel the mattress dip under his weight as he gets under the covers.

I feel like the universe is spiting me; the air conditioning kicks in and a gust of cold air blows over my body. I start to shiver and clench my teeth to keep them from chattering. It’s too late to get under the covers now. I’ll have to awkwardly readjust, and I don’t want to call more attention to myself than I already have. Dare I say that I feel bad for impaling him. I shouldn’t be here even. I should’ve just left. I have probably way overstayed my welcome.

Okay, I wasn’t welcome in the first place either. I followed him here. I followed him here, we had sex, he offered me dinner, and I stabbed him. Seriously, is he sane? What mortal willingly opens his house for his stalker and then assailant?

I hear Brennan sigh before I feel the bed shift as he turns over. I can tell he’s staring at me. I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m not here, but then I feel his arms wrap around me and he pulls my back against his chest. This time, he’s not restraining me.

“If you’re cold, get under the covers,” he whispers, his lips brushing the outside of my ear. He reaches around and pulls the covers from under me then lays them gently on top of my body. Brennan wraps his arms back around my torso and holds me close to his chest. His warmth spills from his skin into mine, and I find my body relaxing as he nuzzles his nose into the back of my neck.

I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all.