I’ll Find You

Lenny’s POV

Gradually, the darkness that had swallowed me finally began to spit me out, taking off its tendrils as I heard sounds muddled in my ear. Soon, the fluorescent lights above me flooded my vision. After taking a minute to adjust, I swept my head from one side to another.

"You're alive," a deep, gruff voice filled my ears. My shoulders stiffened for a second, until I rolled the tension out of them, straightened up, and locked eyes with a guy leaning against a white wall, looking at me.

Just as I was about to inquire about the identity of the stranger in front of me, a feeling of pain speared through my leg. I finally looked at it, set in a cast. I blinked several times at it and then looked at the guy. "You did this," I said, my voice entwined with accusation. "You were the one driving the car, weren't you?"

My voice was getting louder with every syllable that trailed out of my lips because my life was already a hot mess, and now I was injured. Great. The man barely flinched at my sudden rage; instead, he looked at me with a glare that could burn through steel.

"Yeah, I'm the one who drove the car. But I'm not the one who walked into the road like someone with a death wish."

My mouth snapped shut as I remembered those moments before impact. My heart was crushed from the inside out, just wanting something to snuff out the pain. I still didn't feel great—maybe they had injected me with some drugs—but now I felt more level-headed, capable of tucking away those dark thoughts to the corner of my mind.

As I wasn't saying anything, the guy scoffed. "You're lucky that you're walking out of this with just a broken leg. If I had been any less of a driver, your body would be in the morgue right now."

The chilling realization settled in my chest and spread out. I clenched my teeth; he made it sound like I was supposed to be grateful to him. But I'm still just a loser with a prison record, and now a broken leg. I can't imagine that the job market is stretching its arms wide open for me.

"Geez, thanks for not running me over. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The guy in front of me moved so smoothly that I blinked once and he was in front of me. Dark hair partially fell over one eye; the other was a sapphire sphere that burned like an open flame. His shoulders were broad—the type that you'd need a good minute to slide through—and his broad chest tapered to a 'V' waist.

"Say that again, princess."

Maybe because I've been behind bars for years, but seeing this man so close to me sparked a feeling I hadn't felt for anyone but my worthless ex for years. "Just f*ck off, will you?"

His eyes were caught somewhere between anger and shock, as if he had never had to experience someone not stroking his ego. Typical. Suddenly, he was close enough that I didn't have a choice but to inhale his scent of leather, cigarette, and musk.

"Careful now, princess. You have no idea who you're talking to right now."

The alarm bells in my head were going off loudly; this guy spelled trouble worse than the kind I saw in prison. Now, the smart thing to do would be to shut my mouth and reel it in. "Do I look like I care?"

But I was a storm of emotions and couldn't think straight. His eyes widened briefly, then suddenly his hand was under my chin. "What—what are you doing?" I blurted out.

His hand under my chin felt like it was being held by a heated iron. He turned my face from side to side as if adjusting a doll. His face was completely blank as he did it, his eyes glazed with such intensity that it felt like he could see through every pore on my face. He came even closer until his chin, which needed shaving since yesterday, brushed against my cheek.

Then he spoke in a voice that was low but seemed to vibrate through the room: "I never forget a face, princess. So watch your back if you plan to stick around here."

He pulled away, walking out of the room as he owned it. He was gone. I was discharged, finding out that he had actually paid for everything. My curiosity piqued. "Really? He paid for everything?" I said, leaning towards the nurse at the station desk.

She nodded. "Yes, your boyfriend wanted you to get treatment immediately."

My skin got pale at the mention of "boyfriend." Then it clicked in my mind that it made more sense for him to introduce himself like that than to explain that he almost ran me over.

"Yeah, he cares a lot," I said, feeling like every word physically hurt to let out.

The nurse handed me a note, wearing a knowing smile. "It's from your boyfriend."

"Oh."

I didn't want anything more from that guy, but rejecting it now would seem awkward, so I took it carefully, as if I was reaching for a bomb. I had the mind to just read it the moment I was out of the hospital, but something pushed me to read it instead.

*I'll find you.* That's all it said. He had a surprisingly nice and smooth handwriting, not that it matters. I'm sure he just said all of that to get under my skin. How was he even going to find me? He is just pulling my leg, I'm sure of it.

That's what I told myself, but I remembered the promise in those blue eyes and dread filled me. Rather than tossing the note, I kept it. But later, I would regret it. I'd even ask myself why I didn't just throw it away. Because six months later, when I had finally managed to put away all memory of him behind me, he would show up at my front door.

"What the he—"

Before I could blink, I would find my back against a wall. "I told you I'd find you, princess. I'll always find you."

Oh my God.