CONTENT ADVISORY: This story has suggestive themes, violence, gore, and very mild language. There are references to alcohol, drugs, violence, rape, and sex. Let me reiterate the word REFERENCES. I do not believe I am an explicit writer, just a somewhat descriptive one. Nonetheless, this story is not suitable for young readers. It isn't recommended for older yet overly sensitive readers (like me four years ago). It is not recommended for people's pet cats of any age. You may now begin.

Waiting for Sunrise

Chapter 1

The pain was too great, and she could not imagine for how much longer she could endure it. She desperately prayed to any greater being for mercy, even if it meant death. Such dark thoughts had seldom captivated her, but she was beyond hoping for a kinder mercy. She felt almost ashamed to hope for anything better.

Her arms ached from being held up by immovable shackles. She knew she could not slip out of them even if she tried. Even if she did manage to dislocate her thumb and slip through, her chances of getting out alive were slim. THEY were there. THEY would stop her and torture her even more harshly, and relish in the cries of pain that would inevitably flow from her parched lips. Even if she slipped out, THEY would hunt her down. As long as the sun set, she would not be safe. She had done her best to be strong and overcome all of the peril in her life, but she had never anticipated torture. Her mind went back to the very day it happened – when the beginning of these unimaginable events began. Her thoughts drifted back to that very morning…

The cool morning air of early spring covered the land in crisp splendour. Ante meridiem shadows hung themselves gently, like navy lace curtains. Puffs of swirling, short-lived vapour were expelled from two thin, pink lips. Tawny strands were tucked lazily behind a set of ears; only a few determined strands managed to hang down in front of a pair of golden brown irises. The slender figure continued to jog quietly in the hours before sunrise. The rhythmic thud of a new, blaring white pair of sneakers was the only sound next to her calm breathing. She slowly came to a stop, leaning against a tree. The rough, cold contours of its bark rubbed through her thin, baby-blue T-shirt, scratching her back. Rolling back her head, she stared up through the leaf-obscured gaps of a canopy. She stared at the sky, seeing that most of the nocturnal stars had fled to slumber away the oncoming day.

The girl glanced down at her watch. The choppy digital numbers read ‘5:23 am’. She turned and looked down the path before her. It was lathered in shadows, where bubbles of light drifted down from the far off city glow. The promise of day shone on the mountain-jagged horizon. Even amidst this piece of nature, steely modern things invaded. Glancing down at her watch again, she slipped it off her wrist and shoved it into her pocket. Slowly, she swept the few loose strands of her bangs back behind her ears, which were dusted with rosy hues from the chill in the air. Yet, her cheeks were warm, and she could almost imagine steam rising off of her body from the morning’s exercise. She remained there, enjoying the peacefulness of morning. Nights were too busy; full of fast cars, loud music, and strange people that haunted the streets. Morning, however, was still, and full of hope and slumbering bliss. The night was over, and it wasn’t long until the sun would rise, and a new day would begin.

The silence of the morning was shattered by a loud crack. With a gasp she suddenly jumped to attention, looking madly about. Dark figures in the shadows rampaged through her morning sanctuary. Quickly she slipped behind a tree, and peered out curiously. As she focused her eyes, she began to realize that there was a fight happening. Perhaps it was just a few punks floundering about in a drunk, or perhaps overhung, haze. No, she could see there was something deliberate in the commotion. She could hear the quick gasps, groans, and other expressions of pain. She saw one man come alarmingly close to grab a large branch to use as a weapon. Still, the shadows blurred her vision, and at times, it was hard to separate the men from each other. She drew in the cold air and held her breath as she watched the violent figures, frozen.

”That’ll teach you! Come on, the sun is going to rise soon… I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere,” a crisp voice said. Without hesitation, all but one of the figures took off with amazing, almost animal like grace – unlike the blatant, crude violence they were using earlier. It seemed as though they were gone in a blink. Her eyes set down on a vague, dark form on the ground. Cautiously, she wandered over to it, kneeling down. She could not see well, but it seemed as though the figure were as still as a statue. Her mind raced through the frightening possibilities. Was he dead? Was he dying? Was there anything she could do? Was there anything she really should do?

A chopped up voice spoke. The girl furrowed her eyebrows. She could not hear the man gasping for air, nor did she see him move. Yet, he managed to speak mostly clear. ”You… you just going… to stare?” Perhaps… perhaps it was her own beating heart that made it so hard to hear.

”Don’t move! I’ll help you,” she said reassuringly. A chuckle began to shoot out from his mouth, but was quickly cut off by a moan of pain. Her eyes lingered upon his dark form. Dark pools were spreading beneath him. She put her hand down to them, and was not surprised when she felt a sticky, warm liquid. She brought her fingers up and examined them. Quickly she wiped them off on her dark gray sweatpants. She knew she had a first aid kit at her house, but it was too far away to go home and retrieve and then walk back. ”I know some first aid. May I check for breaks or fractures?”

”Be… my guest…” the man responded, and though she could not see his face, she could hear his grin. She frowned and tried to ignore it, since men will be men. She quickly ran her hands along, occasionally asking where it hurt most. She very carefully slipped her hands to the sides of his neck, and burrowed her fingers into the bloody mud beneath him to feel the back of his neck. It wasn’t swollen, and didn’t feel terribly damaged. Once she had double-checked, she drew in a deep breath. There was nothing broken, just a series of cuts and bruises. Still, he could have a spinal chord injury. She pursed her lips and squinted at him. No, perhaps he was alright to move.

”Do you think you could walk if I helped you?” she asked. The man responded by nodding his head. If he was able to nod his head, then surely he couldn’t have broken his neck, could he? She nodded and stooped down, taking his arm and slinging it around her rounded shoulders. Slowly, she began to stand up, dragging him up with her. She could feel him moving, getting his feet beneath him. He hardly seemed to struggle, and yet, she felt his every single movement. She could feel that beneath his feebleness, he was strong. How was it he came to let himself be taken down like that? How many people had attacked him? "Do you live nearby?"

"No… do you?" he asked.

"I live at the base of this hill… but…"

"Anywhere but here is… good… I need… to get inside somewhere, anywhere…"

Cautiously, she helped him walk back to her home, mixed feelings stirring. If this man was in trouble, chances are that he brought it upon himself. He was a strange, and she could not let him in her home, but, if she didn't what would happen? He didn't seem strong enough to make it to downtown, to where the hospital was. Driven by guilt, she betrayed her better judgement.

The man did not say a word to her the entire time, but he kept on walking with her, as though he were drawing strength directly from her. She did not bother to overwhelm him with questions. And so, they walked through the darkness in silence, and beneath her lips was a hidden smile of relief.

She grabbed her keys out of her pocket as she strode up to the lonely, old house. She walked up to the porch, and let the man sit down on an old wooden porch bench. His eyes slid over to the keys as they jingled. He glared at them fiercely, as the loudness and shrillness throbbed through his skull. To her it was a mere tinkle, a slight disturbance in the sea of sound waves – the sea of silence. But to him…

He darted a glance to the horizon, seeing the first rays of light break over the rocky contours. He curled his swollen lips tightly, and then stared at the girl’s hand. He stared at her bare, slender wrist. He stared at it, as if willing her to find the right key quicker, and get the stubborn lock open. She continued to fiddle, making a slight sound of frustration. His eyes continued to shift between the looming dawn, and her hand. Finally, a satisfying click shot into his ears, and the door swung open. He struggled to get to his feet on his own. The girl stared at him and quickly caught him before he fell onto his face. “Easy there… no rush…”

He glared furiously at the girl, and a sharp hiss pressed past his teeth, blowing past his cracked, bleeding lip. She fixed him with a stern stare and slowly brought him in. His eyes fixed on a large window, with only a set of thin, light curtains. His eyes began to dart around madly – and the girl took note of his agitation. Although just his eyes seemed a wild flurry of looking for a place to escape, something seemed to transform his entire, battered body to express such agitation. It was an animal like fury, and there was something about it that reminded her of those mysterious figures that had hurt him.

”Do you think you can make it down some stairs?” she asked calmly. He turned to stare at her. Finally she got to see his face without the obscurity of darkness. His eyes were bloodshot, but in the core of them were very dark eyes. They seemed like black holes, pulling in all light around them, and she herself felt helplessly being absorbed into them. Slowly, keeping straight eye contact with her, he nodded his head. Immediately she returned the nod and headed towards another door. It was white for the most part, but the paint was beginning to chip off. She turned the loose knob and opened it slowly. Right from the doorway it dropped down into some stairs. Carefully, she led him down.

”The basement is the only place with a spare room…” she explained as they stepped into a cold, dark room. She reached around until she found a light switch. With a flick, a bare, yellow light bulb that hung down lit up the room. Only half of the large room was carpeted, while the rest was cold pavement. There was an old looking bed shoved in the corned, with an old orange and white patchwork quilt thrown over top. By it was a small night table with one missing leg. The walls were bare other than a small shelf bolted into it with a pot with some sort of half-dead plant hanging out, and a few books. Across the room, on the paved side, was a large basin sink and two appliances – a washing machine and drying machine. Two baskets filled with clothes were set nearby, and a cord stretched across the room with a few sheets and towels hanging to dry. There were absolutely no windows in the room, which made the man smile with satisfaction.

”I… like it… here…” he said quietly. She helped him to the bed, whipping off the quilt, not about to let him mess it up. The sheets, however, she was less concerned about. The man slowly laid himself down and put his hands over his chest, staring up at the stark, gray ceiling.

”You just wait here, I’ll be back with some supplies… and then… I’ll call the hospital…” the girl said, breathing out a heavy sigh. Cellphones had always irritated her, but at this moment, she had wished one was in her possession. He glanced over alarmed.

”All I need… are a few bandages… no hospital…” the man said as quickly as he could. The girl just shook her head at him and disappeared up the creaky stairs. He stared back up at the ceiling and waited for her to return. He was not going to go to a hospital.

The girl came down later, holding a case by its handle. She knelt beside the bed and opened it. “Let’s see here…” she said slowly as she looked inside. She brought out a roll of bandages. The first aid courses she took in early middle school had long since began to fade from her memory. There was very seldom the opportunity to use them, and the pathway in her brain was atrophied. She began to unroll the bandages and applying disinfectant. Carefully, she wrapped them around his wounds, which had already stopped bleeding. She curled in her lips and furrowed her eyebrows as she quietly did her best to dress his wounds.

”Unbutton your shirt…” she instructed, looking at his torn, black shirt. Blood stained fingers delicately undid his shirt and left it open. She had almost prepared herself for a shady comment, but none came. He just stared at her intensely, and with a great amount of displeasure.

”By the way, my name is Irene,” the girl said. The man continued to stare at her intensely, unblinking.

”Cyrus.” was his short response. Irene sat back and looked him over, shaking her head, causing her short ponytail to bob side to side.

”This is the best I could do…. Cyrus? It’s not a very common name …” Irene remarked slowly as she stood up. “Then again… Irene isn’t Jenny or Amanda or Stephanie…”

”I had very old fashioned parents…” Cyrus remarked, a slight look of amusement betraying his stern glare.

”Well, that will have to do… but I suppose I should get you to the hospital…”she said with an uneasy sigh. His face hardened again and he curled his lips menacingly like a dog about to bare its fangs. But before he could utter a word in protest a small furry thing wandered into the room, meowing loudly. It glanced over at the man on the bed like an intruder. Promptly, the small gray cat wandered over to investigate. After getting a good smell, it arched its back and hissed furiously. The man eyed the feline as though it were a light snack. Irene quickly stooped down and picked up the cat, trying to calm it down as she smoothed out its puffed-up tail.

”Shhhhh…. it’s alright… it’s alright…” she said to it soothingly, as she pet it, but the cat continued to cuss and swear in its feline language. Irene brought it over to the door and placed it on the stairs, quickly closing the door. She then turned to Cyrus calmly, albeit her eyebrow was arched. “Silver is usually friendly… but she can easily tell if someone is a bad person.”

Cyrus looked up at Irene from his perch. “And if I am?” he questioned. Irene just calmly shook her head again, and he watched the sway of her ponytail. She walked over to stand on the carpet.

”Good or bad, few people deserve that. Besides, I’m not the person to judge you. I don’t know you,” Irene said in a very flat, almost stony tone. Cyrus lifted his head slightly, slowly bringing his bandaged hand up to wipe away dark strands from his eyes.

”No, you don’t…” Cyrus said, in a tone that tried too hard to be mysterious and just came out lamely. Irene hardly cared much for his hinting. She lived in a day and age where dark, mysterious men and danger were attractive, and thusly, most men pretended to be something deeper and more thrilling than they actually were.

”Well, I guess I’ll go call the hospital now…”

”NO!” Cyrus almost shouted. Irene jerked her head to look at him. It didn’t seem long ago he had such trouble talking, suddenly she realized just how much control he had over his vocals. “I hate doctors…” he growled. Irene sighed and calmed herself.

”I don’t like hospitals myself,” she relayed. She studied Cyrus. She hadn’t really realized just how pale he was. Yet, he seemed too coherent to be suffering from shock. She hesitantly walked back over to him, putting her hand on his forehead. The flesh was not clammy, but it definitely was much cooler than it had felt previously. She studied him again. “How are you feeling?”

”I’m in pain – but that’s nothing new,” he responded sharply, adding a quick, insincere smile at the end. Irene tilted her head to the side, a shock victim surely wouldn't be able to flash a smile like that. Not a fluid, almost charming smile as his.

”You feel cold. You need a doctor,” Irene insisted reluctantly. Cyrus shook his head vehemently.

”No, no doctors, no hospitals. Rest is all I need. Just let me stay here the rest of the day, and I’ll be gone by nightfall,” Cyrus bargained. Irene crossed her hands over her chest. She did not wish to argue with him any longer. She needed a shower and to wash her clothes before they stained too badly. Besides all of that, she had to go to class soon.

”I understand you don’t like doctors. I’m not fond of them myself. My older sister died of cancer, and though I know they did everything they could, it doesn’t make it easier to like them,” Irene said, arching an eyebrow. After a pause she shook her head and looked back to Cyrus. “Fine, I’ll let you stay the rest of the day, but if your condition gets worse by nightfall, it will be my duty to send you to a hospital. I can’t afford the paperwork if something were to happen to you. Do anything suspicious, and I'll phone the cops as well.”

Pacified, Cyrus nodded his head as the glare dimmed from his eyes. “Trust me, I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse done to me,” Cyrus assured in a calmer tone. Irene nodded to him, telling him to get some rest before she disappeared out of the door to wash up and get ready for school.

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Author's Note: This chapter was last editted/updated Janurary of 2008.