The Neighbourhood
folder
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
9,114
Reviews:
41
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
9,114
Reviews:
41
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Crowley
This story contains violence, language, death, angst, abuse, and sex.
Reviews are welcome as is constructive criticism.
Chapter 2
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
She looked up sharply, her heart beating faster with fear.
The voice belonged to a man, a very unusual man. He was leaning against the doorway to another room, seeming relaxed compared to his angry outburst. He wore a black, shabby coat that came to his knees and army pants. He had bright blue eyes, a stubble beard and a busted lip. Over his eyebrow was a small tattooed pattern. His hair was shaved close to his head and she could clearly see more designs running along his scalp. And not entirely hidden by his coat were more tattoos, starting from his left ear, all the way down to his neck and disappearing under his wife beater. He looked like he had seen better days. But what was most unusual about him, was his necklace. It had a tear shaped diamond. Maybe if it was a rhinestone or a cheapo it wouldn’t seem so strange, but no, this rugged man had a real diamond necklace that was more suited on a woman.
“Well? Ya gonna sit there all day and stare?” He asked in a husky voice. He almost sounded amused.
She tore her eyes away from him, scrambling off the dirty floor and holding her backpack to her chest.
Oh please don’t let him be an escaped murderer, please God.
“I-I was…it was hailing outside. I just, um, came in. Only for a little while. I mean, I thought it was empty!” She stammered.
Way to sound like an idiot!
“Well it’s not empty now, is it? What’dya doin’ round here, anyway? This ain't no place for a girl.”
She looked around at the mess, at that horrid beanie bag. This is no place for anyone.
What should she tell this man? ‘Sorry sir I just happened to be in the neighbourhood on vacation. Lovely place, but no hotels’?
Yeah, right.
“I’m…homeless,” she said and attempted to look pitiful. Not that it was much of an effort.
The man peered at her, then shrugged. “I can’t be lettin all the hobos in, now can I? This is my house, lady,” he said, then turned and walked through the doorway.
She stood for a moment, confused. Then she went to the doorway.
The room was bigger than the living room, but it was still small. The only window was covered with duct tape, so the room was dark. The man was kneeling down by a small barbeque, poking some hotdogs. Pushed against the wall to the left was a battered mattress covered by a sleeping bag. A small antique lamp was plugged in beside it, but there was no light bulb. The only furniture in the room was a coffee table and a plastic lawn chair. On top of the coffee table were several paperback books, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight, one toilet paper roll, scissors, an alarm clock and a Nike shoebox. Placed underneath the table was a beautiful red, Turkish rug. It looked surprisingly clean. Leaning against the opposite wall were two rifles and a pistol. Several knives lay before them.
But what really caught her attention was the painting hanging on the wall. It was a print of Munch’s ‘Scream’. Her dad had a copy of it too, in his closet. But her dad had no interest in art whatsoever. He didn’t even know who Picasso was. So she had always wondered why he had it.
It was like every eccentric item in the world was here in this room. She loved it.
“I have money,” she whispered, afraid he would be angry at her for following him. Wait- what did she just say? She had money?! Just leave, go somewhere else. Go back home. You don’t even know this man. She came to the conclusion that he couldn't be worse than her father. That gave her courage.
He turned and looked at her. “Okay. How much?”
She dug through her backpack and pulled out her roll of money. She had $670 dollars, all the money she had saved in eighteen years.
“$500 dollars,” she lied, stuffing the rest of her money into her jeans pocket while his back was turned.
The man sighed, and sat down on his heels. “You really wanna stay here?”
She looked down at her hands. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she whispered.
He peered at her again, making her blush. What was it about those eyes? They were so intense, so scrutinizing.
He brought a hand up and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’ll let you stay. But don’t get too comfortable,” he warned.
She smiled, feeling an overwhelming gratitude towards the man. She had a place to stay, at least for today. And that was enough.
“Thank you,” she said, meeting his eyes. He frowned, grunting. He picked up a hotdog, handed it to her. She ate it quickly. She was hungry, being the idiot that she was, she hadn’t packed any food and hadn’t eaten before she left home.
“A.C. Crowley,” he muttered.
“Huh?”
“My name- A.C. Crowley. But you can call me Crowley,” he said, finishing his own hotdog.
“Oh. Beatrice. But you can call me Bea,” she said, trying not to grin.
A loud clap of thunder startled them. Beatrice had forgotten all about the hail, but now she could hear it pounding on the roof.
“The roof will hold, right?” She asked.
Crowley snorted. “What does this look like to you, a shack?” He said.
Beatrice didn’t know what to say- then she realised he was joking. She laughed, shaking her head. He smirked, and Beatrice thought that was the closest thing he could get to smiling.
She spread out her jacket and lay down on it, using her backpack as a pillow. She really was exhausted. She brought out her pocketknife, clutching it to her chest. Just in case.
“Well gee I guess I can’t just let a guest sleep on the floor then, huh? Here, you can sleep on the bed,” Crowley said, pulling off the sleeping bag.
“No, it’s okay, Crowley. You’re letting me stay, that’s enough,” she said, though she was touched he offered it to her.
Crowley shook his head, brushing off the mattress. “Now I know this ain’t no luxury spa or nothin, but it’s the least I can do. Besides, you’re in front of the door.”
Beatrice picked up her jacket and moved to the mattress. She laid down on it, setting her backpack to the side. Crowley handed her the sleeping bag.
“Ya might as well use it, because I can’t. I got things to do,” he said.
Beatrice curled up inside the bag, grateful for the warmth. “Thanks.”
Crowley grunted again, and then picked up the pistol that was leaning against the opposite wall and one of the knives.
“I won’t be gone too long. No one should come in, unless my luck runs out and another homeless girl decides she wants to stay in my house,” he said, smirking.
Beatrice snorted. "And if God really loves you maybe he'll send a maid to clean this place up."
Crowley ignored her. “But if anyone does come in, tell them The Crow is on lockdown. They’ll know what I mean,” he said, and with that, turned and left the room. Lockdown? What the hell does that mean? She thought.
But soon the warmth and softness of the sleeping bag lulled her to sleep, and she forgot all of her worries.
~~~~~~
She woke up, after an hours sleep. Crowley was still gone, but that didn’t bother her. What bothered her were the terrible screams coming from outside the house.
~~~~~~
AN--
Thanks for reading.
Reviews are welcome as is constructive criticism.
Chapter 2
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
She looked up sharply, her heart beating faster with fear.
The voice belonged to a man, a very unusual man. He was leaning against the doorway to another room, seeming relaxed compared to his angry outburst. He wore a black, shabby coat that came to his knees and army pants. He had bright blue eyes, a stubble beard and a busted lip. Over his eyebrow was a small tattooed pattern. His hair was shaved close to his head and she could clearly see more designs running along his scalp. And not entirely hidden by his coat were more tattoos, starting from his left ear, all the way down to his neck and disappearing under his wife beater. He looked like he had seen better days. But what was most unusual about him, was his necklace. It had a tear shaped diamond. Maybe if it was a rhinestone or a cheapo it wouldn’t seem so strange, but no, this rugged man had a real diamond necklace that was more suited on a woman.
“Well? Ya gonna sit there all day and stare?” He asked in a husky voice. He almost sounded amused.
She tore her eyes away from him, scrambling off the dirty floor and holding her backpack to her chest.
Oh please don’t let him be an escaped murderer, please God.
“I-I was…it was hailing outside. I just, um, came in. Only for a little while. I mean, I thought it was empty!” She stammered.
Way to sound like an idiot!
“Well it’s not empty now, is it? What’dya doin’ round here, anyway? This ain't no place for a girl.”
She looked around at the mess, at that horrid beanie bag. This is no place for anyone.
What should she tell this man? ‘Sorry sir I just happened to be in the neighbourhood on vacation. Lovely place, but no hotels’?
Yeah, right.
“I’m…homeless,” she said and attempted to look pitiful. Not that it was much of an effort.
The man peered at her, then shrugged. “I can’t be lettin all the hobos in, now can I? This is my house, lady,” he said, then turned and walked through the doorway.
She stood for a moment, confused. Then she went to the doorway.
The room was bigger than the living room, but it was still small. The only window was covered with duct tape, so the room was dark. The man was kneeling down by a small barbeque, poking some hotdogs. Pushed against the wall to the left was a battered mattress covered by a sleeping bag. A small antique lamp was plugged in beside it, but there was no light bulb. The only furniture in the room was a coffee table and a plastic lawn chair. On top of the coffee table were several paperback books, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight, one toilet paper roll, scissors, an alarm clock and a Nike shoebox. Placed underneath the table was a beautiful red, Turkish rug. It looked surprisingly clean. Leaning against the opposite wall were two rifles and a pistol. Several knives lay before them.
But what really caught her attention was the painting hanging on the wall. It was a print of Munch’s ‘Scream’. Her dad had a copy of it too, in his closet. But her dad had no interest in art whatsoever. He didn’t even know who Picasso was. So she had always wondered why he had it.
It was like every eccentric item in the world was here in this room. She loved it.
“I have money,” she whispered, afraid he would be angry at her for following him. Wait- what did she just say? She had money?! Just leave, go somewhere else. Go back home. You don’t even know this man. She came to the conclusion that he couldn't be worse than her father. That gave her courage.
He turned and looked at her. “Okay. How much?”
She dug through her backpack and pulled out her roll of money. She had $670 dollars, all the money she had saved in eighteen years.
“$500 dollars,” she lied, stuffing the rest of her money into her jeans pocket while his back was turned.
The man sighed, and sat down on his heels. “You really wanna stay here?”
She looked down at her hands. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she whispered.
He peered at her again, making her blush. What was it about those eyes? They were so intense, so scrutinizing.
He brought a hand up and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’ll let you stay. But don’t get too comfortable,” he warned.
She smiled, feeling an overwhelming gratitude towards the man. She had a place to stay, at least for today. And that was enough.
“Thank you,” she said, meeting his eyes. He frowned, grunting. He picked up a hotdog, handed it to her. She ate it quickly. She was hungry, being the idiot that she was, she hadn’t packed any food and hadn’t eaten before she left home.
“A.C. Crowley,” he muttered.
“Huh?”
“My name- A.C. Crowley. But you can call me Crowley,” he said, finishing his own hotdog.
“Oh. Beatrice. But you can call me Bea,” she said, trying not to grin.
A loud clap of thunder startled them. Beatrice had forgotten all about the hail, but now she could hear it pounding on the roof.
“The roof will hold, right?” She asked.
Crowley snorted. “What does this look like to you, a shack?” He said.
Beatrice didn’t know what to say- then she realised he was joking. She laughed, shaking her head. He smirked, and Beatrice thought that was the closest thing he could get to smiling.
She spread out her jacket and lay down on it, using her backpack as a pillow. She really was exhausted. She brought out her pocketknife, clutching it to her chest. Just in case.
“Well gee I guess I can’t just let a guest sleep on the floor then, huh? Here, you can sleep on the bed,” Crowley said, pulling off the sleeping bag.
“No, it’s okay, Crowley. You’re letting me stay, that’s enough,” she said, though she was touched he offered it to her.
Crowley shook his head, brushing off the mattress. “Now I know this ain’t no luxury spa or nothin, but it’s the least I can do. Besides, you’re in front of the door.”
Beatrice picked up her jacket and moved to the mattress. She laid down on it, setting her backpack to the side. Crowley handed her the sleeping bag.
“Ya might as well use it, because I can’t. I got things to do,” he said.
Beatrice curled up inside the bag, grateful for the warmth. “Thanks.”
Crowley grunted again, and then picked up the pistol that was leaning against the opposite wall and one of the knives.
“I won’t be gone too long. No one should come in, unless my luck runs out and another homeless girl decides she wants to stay in my house,” he said, smirking.
Beatrice snorted. "And if God really loves you maybe he'll send a maid to clean this place up."
Crowley ignored her. “But if anyone does come in, tell them The Crow is on lockdown. They’ll know what I mean,” he said, and with that, turned and left the room. Lockdown? What the hell does that mean? She thought.
But soon the warmth and softness of the sleeping bag lulled her to sleep, and she forgot all of her worries.
~~~~~~
She woke up, after an hours sleep. Crowley was still gone, but that didn’t bother her. What bothered her were the terrible screams coming from outside the house.
~~~~~~
AN--
Thanks for reading.