Zoya’s P.O.V
I awoke at the sound of the door being opened forcefully. The knob jiggled and shook until it eventually gave way, and a hand shot out from the other side of the hole where the door knob once had been, and the door swung upon easily at the intruder's insistence.
When I finally opened my eyes, the initial drowsiness fading into alarm, I found the once-wounded man standing alive and well in my room. What's more (and worse) was that he was completely naked again, after having discarded the dust cloth I used to cover him with, and if his boldness was anything to go by, it seemed that he did not mind being so bare in front of a stranger.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “How did you come to this cabin and why are you here in the first place?”
Taken aback by the sudden attack and barrage of questions, I did not know how to respond. There were so many things to unpack in this situation that I did not know where to start and which one to point out first. I decided, in the end, to focus on the most pressing matter as of the moment. “Can you get your shit together and get your dick out of my face?” I retorted in disgust. “Go and dress yourself!”
The man blinked as though he thought I would submit to him immediately instead of yelling at him in response. His brows knitted together, he grabbed the first thing he found, a white, dusty-looking towel, and wrapped it around himself. “There,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “All better? Are you gonna answer my questions or not?”
I stared at him for a couple of moments. Suddenly, he did not seem so attractive anymore, and then, at that thought, what happened last night… that kiss… resurfaced as a memory in my mind. I felt my cheeks heat up in embarrassment again, so I shook my head to forget about the moment and focused on gathering my thoughts in order to answer his questions.
“I'm the new doctor stationed at the clinic,” I said, deciding to begin with the basics, just so I could give him a background of sorts. “This is the cabin that I was assigned to last night. Cam, the receptionist, told me that I am to live here for the duration of my stay. Therefore,” I asserted, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “between you and I, you are the intruder, and you owe me a proper explanation as to why you were here in the first place!”
“Owe you?” he scoffed. His attempt at being intimidating did not work on me, because I thought he looked ridiculous with that towel around his waist…even though he had some damn fine muscles on him…damnit, Zoya! Focus! “Darling, I don't owe anyone anything. Certainly not a human like you.”
I didn't like how he said that last part, as if he was not a human himself, but I decided to ignore the remark and march on with my assertion. “You owe me because despite being miffed that you invaded my personal space and time, on my first day here, no less, I did not turn to the police and call in your illegal little breaking and entering attempt. I treated your wounds, too, so that's one thing you should thank me for.”
When he did not answer, I continued, “You know, I'm really starting to wish that I just called the cops on you instead. It would have saved me a lot of time and energy, if this was all the thanks that I was gonna get. I'm regretting that I even let you stay the night.”
I could tell that the man did not know how and what to respond. Finally being able to look at him closely without seeing a patient to care for, I could see that he looked like he came from old money. His features were well-maintained, from his hair that still shined and glistened despite being disheveled and dirtied, to his facial hair that emphasized his sharp jaw and angular face. Moreover, the way he carried himself like he was used to always getting his way without having to compromise anything he did not want to, could only be found in the gait and demeanor of a wealthy man.
He looked like no one had ever told him no his whole life, and if they had, it was probably just a select few, and he was not used to taking orders or having people talk back to him. And the way he was acting as if he was entitled to my obedience, all arrogant and haughty as if, between the two of us, he was not the one at a disadvantage even though it was he who looked like a fugitive, was very indicative of the life he lived before finding himself in this situation.
I wondered about the series of events that led to this moment today. What had happened to him? If he had lived such a good life then, why did I find him in my cabin in the middle of the night, bloodied and bruised, as though he had been running away? Did he do something to anger the people around him? Was he a criminal, exiled from the top of the food chain as penance for a heinous crime he committed?
And I did not like the way he looked at me, like I was an easy prey to catch and the only reason he was even humoring my attempts at warding him off was because he enjoyed toying with his food before he pounced at them.
I had always been a rule-abiding people pleaser my whole life, so I was used to people treating me like I was nothing but a stepping stone they could use to get what they wanted, but that look, coming from him, felt… dehumanizing.
I suddenly remembered what he said earlier. Owe you? Darling, I don't owe anyone anything. Certainly not a human like you.What did he mean by that? 'A human like you'? He was implying that he, unlike me, was not…
The man opened his mouth, about to throw a retort at me, perhaps planning to talk shit at me out of his ass, about how he could take me out with a single strike, et cetera et cetera, whatever these haughty rich men liked to say as threats, but before he could even begin to reply, there was a knock on the door, startling the both of us and cutting a sharp knife through the thick and tense atmosphere in the room.
Curiously, to me, the man immediately went on high alert, his eyes shifting about, and his teeth clenched in concentration.
What was going on?