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Gigi heaves yet another sigh as if to brace herself for the moths, at least one or two will swarm her, and she reaches for the cold brass knob.
She doesn't pull.
Doesn't get the chance to.
Her hand grips, but then—
From the inside, the doors burst open. The edge of one smacks into her, hard.
Gigi staggers back, the bag nearly slipping out of her grip.
She blinks, once, twice, and stares into the pair of eyes that gleam from the shadows of the wardrobe. The ones looking right at her.
The light is too dim in here, she can’t make out much more than those eyes… watching her from between clothes on hangers. No face, no body, nothing but eyes.
Frozen like time itself in this eternal moment, where not even her heart beats, she just stands…
Inside the wardrobe, he stands…
And as he straightens up, he becomes a ‘he’. Tall, broad-shouldered, so fucking large in how he towers over her. Sheathed in all black, a black sweater, black combat pants, black boots.
But the disturbing part, the piece he wears that has the breath knocked out of her, is a rough-textured hood. It’s pulled over his face, a sack of sorts, with two slanted holes cut out of it… where his eyes shine from. The darkest blue she’s ever seen, so perfectly deep like the far-out ocean, that she’s certain in her fleeting thought—contacts. Another piece of this disguise.
A wink of light pierces the dusty dullness between them.
Gigi looks down—just for a moment, not even a full second, at what caught the light. A knife.
It's no kitchen knife either.
In his black leather gloved hand, is a hunting knife. Large, polished, andvery fucking serrated.
Frozen no more, time shatters like a fallen ice block.
All at once, her chest rises with the air for a feral scream, her face contorts into the twisted look of horror and—just as she steps back…he steps out.
Heavy black boots thud loudly on the floorboards.
The knife is closer now, close enough to illuminate the blood stains that mark it. Crimson spots on the toes of the boots not far from the scuffed sneakers on her own feet.
And the only thing she has, firms in her tightening grip, the backpack. Weightless nearly. Might as well be a piece of paper on the wind.
But the very moment that time shatters and the scream rips through her small frame, she heaves up the bag like it's filled with rocks and stones and padlocks—and she whacks it over his potato sack hood.
A split second of distraction, of his blindness even if only for a heartbeat.
That's all she has, and she uses it.
Turning on her heels so fast her that her ankles should snap, she feels the pain sear through her, but it doesn't even slow her down.
Gigi is running. She is barreling out of the room in a fast terrified breath—and right behind her is the thump of the backpack hitting a wall, then the indescribably heavy bounding noise of boots chasing her out into the hall.
Boom,
Boom,
Boom.
The darkness out in the hall is thick and instant but Gigi doesn't falter.
