Page 9 of Are You Scared, Krowe?

I should have taken the letterman jacket to drape it over her, to at least try to offer her some warmth on the way back to the house.

It's not a short walk, but I make it in record time, whispering assurances that it will be fine soon, soothing her sticky hair out of her face, willing her to hang on.

I throw the door open with more force than I mean to, and it blows back on its hinges, creaking in protest as the bitter wind follows us inside.

I don't stop to close the door; Natalie will be upset with me for letting the leaves in, but if a couple leaves are all that stands between this woman's life and her death, Natalie will just have to get the damn broom.

"What's all the commotion?" Herb asks, poking his head out from behind the newspaper. When he sees the girl in my arms, his pale eyes widen.

"I've gotta get her into the bath." I explain, not pausing for chit-chat.

"What's going on?" Lizzie steps in my path, and then immediately stumbles backwards.

I don't wait, heading up the stairs to the bathroom, ignoring my roommates as they poke their heads out of their rooms, curious.

The woman is practically weightless; I know she wasn't out there longer than the night, but she looks like she's been there for days.

The abuse to her body is less horrific under the halogen glow from the lights, the bruising less vivid and more mottled, darker.

The true test of how extensive it is will be once I wash away the dirt, the paint on her face, the straw in her hair.

I turn the water on, watching as it churns out a russet brown.

The pipes are old, full of rust, but it clears after a moment or two, and I transfer her gently to the old clawfoot tub, careful to make sure her head doesn't smack against the porcelain.

I don't stop the tub, letting it continue to run as I work a washcloth over her tender skin.

She doesn't moan or wince as I do, letting me wash the grime off of her body, dirt and blood off her feet, blood and vomit off her chest, cum and blood from her thighs, and streaks of something I don't want to consider too much.

She’s absolutely wrecked, and it makes me want to murder Toby Connors a thousand times over. How could anyone be so cruel?

It feels wrong to be in such intimate spaces as I clean her, but I'm not going to leave her in filth.

I'm careful, using a feather-light touch to swipe between her legs, gentle circles to lift the grime off of her flesh.

When I've done a decent job avoiding getting too familiar with her body, I drop the cloth on the ground and stop the tub, drawing the chain and fitting the little rubber plug in place.

The water fills the tub fast, and her body slips into the water a little more as it rises, so I grab a fresh cloth and tilt her head a little, setting her up so that I can see her face.

As I strip the paint and makeup from her face, it's like revealing a treasure... which is exactly what she is.

I haven't felt longing like this in years.

My cock wakes slowly, coming back to life as I watch her blue-tinged lips move beneath my touch. When I drop the cloth, admiring my beautiful treasure, I hesitate just a moment before letting my touch stray to her face.

Her skin is like silk beneath my fingertips, dark lashes free of the clumps of her makeup now resting on her pale cheeks. One of them has a small cut on it, which thankfully didn't start bleeding again when I rubbed the washcloth over it. Her lip, too, is split on the top, like someone hit her.

That burgeoning rage in my stomach twists, mixing with the desire for her, the regret that I didn't hear anything last night, that I didn't go out for a walk last night, knowing this was coming.

I've never heard of them tying up a girl, though they certainly weren’t above using them as bait to lure me out there.

Christine knew I wasn’t interested in their stupid traditions, but she had begged me to go to the party with her that night.

They were my teammates, but that didn’t mean I cared to hang out with them beyond the necessary.

But I cared about Christine—she was the first friend I made when we moved to Hollow Fields.

Too bad she was just doing her boyfriend’s dirty work, getting me out to the cornfield so they could haze me.

Team bonding, they joked.

If I hadn’t left after that, they probably would have expected me to act like nothing happened, to continue playing football like my own damn team wasn’t complicit in this cruel joke.

In every story I've heard of Hollow Night, it's a guy thing... a hazing.

It's stupid and mean, definitely the sort of bullying that should have died in high school, but as far as I know, it's never been violent.

You don't need to have an imagination to know what they did to her, and I suppose asking why wouldn't get me anywhere, since I can't level with that type of cruelty.

My poor little wraith.

She's a prize, but not one to be taken. One to be earned.

I can only hope that when she wakes, she will give me a chance to earn it. I hope she will let me worship her.

I leave her in the bath as long as I can stand to not be beside her, admiring the structure of her cheekbones, the bow of her lips, the beautiful pallor of her skin...

When I can take it no longer, I wrap her in a towel and draw her against me. I carry her to my room, tucking her beneath the blankets before stripping down and crawling in alongside her.

It's her sleepy moan that pulls me from a sleep like death.

I didn't even realize I fell asleep until that very moment when I was waking up.

My body wakes up, aware that she will likely need a minute to orient herself, and to realize that I am of no harm to her.

I watch her, breathless, as her lashes flutter, slowly at first. And then the motions get rapid, less serene and more troubled.

She's trapped somewhere between sleep and wakefulness; I place a gentle hand on her shoulder, hoping to settle her.

Instead, she shoots up so fast that the blankets fall away, resulting in a flurry of movement that stirs the stale air of my room.

"You're okay." I tell her calmly.

Waking up in a strange place, naked, after what happened to her, I expected her to be on alert. But when she turns to glare at me, it's not fear I see in her eyes, no trepidation of what I may intend to do. It’s rage.

"Who-" Her voice cuts off, choked by the rasp of how much she must have screamed last night. I watch her grip her throat, her fingers massaging over her trachea.

She watches too, enraptured by the motion of her fingers.

I stay silent, letting her work through this on her own as she holds her hand out before her, waving it slowly through the air.

"I found you out in the corn field and brought you here." I explain. "You were so frozen I thought the worst, but I bathed you and kept you warm."

I don't know if she hears me, though, because she doesn't acknowledge me. I don't get so much as a glance as she stares at her fingers like she's never seen anything like them.

"I... do you need anything for the pain? I think we have some Tylenol downstairs."

"Pain?" She blinks.

Something about it is ethereal, slow like she's still trying to process everything. I wonder if she has no memory of the night before— it would be a mercy, I'm sure.

"Yeah." I nod. "Does anything hurt? Aches, pains..." I clear my throat, and she furrows her eyebrows at me.

"Who are you?"

"I found you..." I explain again. "In the cornfield. I couldn't leave you out there, so I brought you here..."

"Where's here?"

Vaguely, I wonder whether she could have developed brain damage. Most of the damage to her looked to have been sexual in nature, but there is a bruise on the side of her face, like someone hit her there.

"My house."

The door opens and the woman jumps to her feet, though the motions are strange... halting.

"Oh, poor dear." Natalie sighs upon seeing her. Her lips turn to a frown, and I think her eyes shine with tears before she manages a weak little smile. "You must be so confused."

My little wraith blinks, looks down at herself again, as if realizing just now that she's completely nude. She doesn't make any move to cover herself, to my surprise.

"I feel... different."

"Probably the drugs working their way out of your system," I explain. "Be careful you don't fall. You look unsteady on your feet."

She looks down at her feet, as if seeking proof, and I see her sway again. I reach out for her, but she slips away from me, her eyes sliding from me back to Natalie.

"What's going on?"

I watch Natalie bite her lip, glancing at me. "You've… you’ve died, dear."

"Died?"

I stare at Natalie, waiting for her to laugh. She's not one to joke, unlike her husband and their youngest daughter, who think everything is funny.

"I'm so sorry." She says, crossing to where my treasure stands with her arms at her sides, wearing nothing but confusion.

I watch Natalie wrap the blanket in her hands a moment before draping it around the girl's shoulders, cloaking her body from view.

"It seems you didn't make it."

I blink, wondering if Natalie is suffering a psychotic break.

She's never seemed particularly disturbed, but I suppose that could have been something she's worked hard to hide.

After all, we're just roommates, not exactly friends.

I like them all, of course, but I keep to myself for the most part.

I don't understand how she can't see the woman before us is clearly alive.

She doesn't even look dead; the bath did her good, and she's exquisite.

.. clean and soft, though I can see the discoloration from the bruises they left on her fair skin.

"I didn't make it?"

Natalie purses her lips, sliding her fingers beneath the woman's chin so her gentle eyes can appraise her.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I..." The woman nods her head, swallowing. "I was sick."

"I'm so sorry." Natalie repeats, her lips tugging downward.