Page 3 of His Black Onyx

Chapter 2

Malia

The lock turns, and the corresponding loud clicking sound makes me jolt up straight on the mattress in an instant. It's awkward to sit and steady myself like this with my legs stretched out to the front and parted and no way to support myself with my arms. But it's way better than to remain on my back, helpless like a fish out of water and at the mercy of whoever is going to come through that door.

It opens slowly, letting in light before anything else. My eyes have gotten used to the darkness, so I squint at the intruder, not able to make out anything more than his large outline at first.

I'm not surprised to see that it is a man. Broad shoulders, hugged by a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up. The light framing him from behind is so bright that I can't see his face at first, making it impossible for me to make out anything else about his appearance other than the fact that he's quite tall and has a muscular build.

He pauses for a moment, standing silently in the open door. The twofold combination of his height and the lighting work to his advantage, dwarfing me. With every second that passes, my excitement about a welcome diversion is replaced with growing fear.

Who is he? What is he going to do to me?

Where am I? And why am I here?

I don't dare voice any of my questions, mostly because I'm afraid of the answers.

Finally, the tall man moves, flipping a switch next to the door as he steps inside the room. The light bulb above my head becomes brighter, illuminating the room so that the light from the outside no longer contrasts the darkness inside. But before I can get a better look into whatever lies behind the door from which he entered, he closes it.

Everything inside me screams to get away from him as he approaches the bed, calmly but steadily, burying his hands in his pants' pockets, his head tilted to the side. I look up, drinking in his handsome features, which somehow counterintuitively manage to soothe me despite my predicament. He's gorgeous in a way that's baffling to say the least. Hazel brown hair and a neatly shaved undercut that reveals a tattoo on the left side of his head. I've never met a person with a tattoo on their skull, and for the longest time I can't tear my gaze away from following the black lines that stop at his temple. His rectangular jaw line is speckled with a three-day stubble, masking furrows caused by the smirk that accents his face as he regards me.

He doesn’t seem to be much older than me, I'd say. But his expression exudes dark wisdom, the kind that's left by experiences very different from mine.

My pulse speeds up in tune with every step he takes, the beat of it so loud that I can feel it pulsating in my ears when he finally comes to a halt. He's towering over me, that sinister smirk still on his face and a flicker in his gray eyes that scares the hell out of me.

"Hello, Lailah."

His voice is a profound growl, in sync with his appearance. But it's not only the sound of it that makes my blood freeze, it's the name he uses to address me.

I scrunch my eyebrows, slowly shaking my head as I return his unyielding gaze.

"Th-th-there has been a mistake," I stutter, cursing myself for sounding like a scared little kid. "I'm not Lailah."

"You are now."

He adds an affirmative nod to his words, as if it was that simple. He says I'm Lailah, so that's who I'll be?

"I don't know who that is!" I protest. Luckily, my voice shows a little more vigor this time, camouflaging the terror that's clutching me in its icy hold. "I don't know who Lailah is, but it's not me."

His smirk widens into a smile, no less dark but spiced with a friendliness that comes across condescending.

"You are," he insists. "That's the name you'll learn to listen to from now o-"

"No, that's not my name!" I interrupt. "My name is Malia, and I-"

"I don't want to hear it!"

I flinch when he charges at me, his hand finding my neck with such swiftness that it spawns a new wave of horror. His fingers close around my throat, almost encircling it entirely as he holds me in place. He's not applying enough pressure to cut off my breathing, but it still feels as if he's choking me. The threat alone is enough for me to stop breathing as I freeze within his touch. He leans down to me, moving his face so close to mine that we almost touch. Daunting menace flickers in his gray eyes. Now that he's so close to me, I notice the little, bright-colored specks. They reflect the light in a way that makes his eye color appear more golden than gray.

"Now, you listen to me, little girl," he hisses. "I know you're confused, I know you're scared. That's fine. You fucking should be. But there's one thing I won't ever tolerate, and that's you yelling at me like a stubborn little bitch. Do you understand?"

I want to respond, but my voice fails me, allowing for nothing more but a helpless croak as I stare back at him. I try to nod, as much as his grip allows.

"Say it," he insists, loosening his grip on my throat. I feel oddly lost when he releases me, as if his intimidating movement granted me some sense of security.

He juts his chin forward, beckoning me to answer him.

"I-I-understand."

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