It Ain't Me, Babe

I tried to run even harder, but my injured calf protested with each step I made.

A large steel door separated me from voices of people—people who could perhaps help, or maybe not. I did not know, but it was my only choice. I pressed down on the long handle with all my strength, bursting through, falling to the floor. My legs had finally given out, my vision hazing, and an intense dizziness took hold.

I slowly looked up, the room seeming to tilt on its side. Many pairs of eyes focused on me sitting dead center of the room and people began circling around me. Lots of people. Strange people. Frightening people. It looked as though they were swirling around. I wanted to cry.

I fought back a sob. Maybe the teachings were right. Maybe I was in hell after all.

The walls of the large room were mostly black, though adorned with picture after picture of Satan in hell—infernos, blood, demons, evil beasts, and dark rivers swarming with lost souls. My hand muffled a scream as I realized Prophet David had been right; outside of The Order was evil. I had been protected yet escaped.

I surveyed the immediate area, my dizziness ebbing a fraction. Loose women wearing scant clothes dominated the room. Rough, unkempt long-haired men wearing leather touched them in very intimate places and the women clearly invited such provocative actions. Even as they looked at me, amusement flickered in their eyes as they cowed me with their stares. Men and women alike were smirking at me, some seemingly in kindness, others in blatant lust.

A deadly sin.

The door behind me crashed into the wall and I froze—the passive deer surrounded by a pack of lions. Chills ran through me as I felt the man from the bedroom approach.

I flinched at a loud screech. A chair scraped slowly on the wooden floor, the noise flowing around and through the crowd. Many heads turned toward the source.

“Baby, where are you going?” I heard a soft female voice ask from across the room. The crowd parted but no answer greeted her question.

Tightly holding my breath, I waited for who would be revealed. Then a tall, hugely built man broke through the wall of people, walking straight toward me. His hard gaze locked on mine and I could not divert my attention away from his large, hazel eyes, rough, unshaven cheeks, and dark messy hair as he towered over my slumped form. I dared not even breathe.

Though he looked like Satan himself, he was quite simply the most beautiful man I had ever seen: ruggedly handsome and the most commanding man I had ever encountered.

Shuffling back a few steps, I hit the legs of the man from the bedroom. Kneeling down, he steadied me by placing his hands on my arms. But the man with hazel eyes kept closing in, only stopping when he was two feet away.

Crouching down, he gazed at every part of my face, his nostrils flaring as he drew in long breaths. His lips parted slightly as he exhaled and behind him, someone coughed. Distracted, his eyes darted to the side and away from my stare. I placed a palm over my pounding head. It was all too much and I could not focus. My heart slammed in my chest and pure fear seized control of my body. I willed myself to stop trembling; this only seemed to fuel my anxiety further.

At the snap of his fingers, someone moved closer and I started. The man with the large hazel eyes began waving his hands around in controlled yet unfamiliar movements. Then someone ordered, “Go to him.”

What? What was happening?

Stretching my head up to follow the voice, I saw a man with long blond hair to his shoulders stepping forward. “Calm yourself. You’re safe,” he assured me gently. He had kind eyes and was very handsome. But so is the devil, I reminded myself.

The dark-haired man edged closer still, now only mere inches from my chest. Even in my weakened state, his scent stirred something in my stomach; he was intoxicating, dangerous but intoxicating.

I lifted my wary eyes to meet his and his hands began to move once more.

“You have nothing to be afraid of. No one will hurt you. You have my word,” the blond man said, continuing to watch his friend’s busy hands.

He seemed to be translating.

I wanted to scream out in confusion. I did not understand anything that was happening, did not understand where I was, who I was with, and why the man before me did not speak. In a flash, I suddenly remembered the boy I met at the fence when I was eight. He too spoke with his hands. Maybe some people talked with their hands on the outside? I rubbed my hand down my face and squeezed my eyes shut. I was delirious, my mind wandering to silly, idle thoughts.

“Styx, man. What the hell? Who the f**k’s this bitch? Why’s she freaking out?”

My gaze was drawn to a man with straight, long black hair that dropped to the middle of his back. His features were so different from mine, his width so, so… big. He was almost as wide as he was tall. His skin was a caramel brown, eyes almost black, mouth fuller. Strange dark patterns were etched into his entire face… a large tattoo of swirling black lines and symbols.