There was no way I could wake John at this height. I might as well just wait until morning to get his help. After all, I probably wasn’t strong enough to climb his bed or dresser anyway. And even if I did wake him, I would probably feel horrible about it. This was more than likely the first night in awhile that he actually seemed to be sleeping well. Making up my mind, I walked to his bed, thankful that John’s servants always kept the house clean so underneath his mattress it wasn’t dirty or dusty, just a few boxes stashed underneath. I spotted one of his socks lying about a foot away. John never left dirty clothes on the floor so I figured it must be clean. I walked over to the article of cloth and picked it up, surprised at how heavy it was as I dragged it across the floor with me under the bed. Maybe that was because it was a thick wool sock, lucky for me to keep me warm. I slipped into the footwear and curled myself up in the fabric like a sleeping bag. John’s deep steady breaths above me quieted my fears and I faded off into sleep.
The creak of the bed drew me out of my slumber. John was moving around, and by the looks of it, I had slept until late in the morning, which was quite strange of me, but I had been tired. As soon as I heard John move, I scrambled out of my makeshift sleeping bag and peered out from under the bed. I was not prepared for what happened next.
A bare foot, over twice as long as I was tall slammed down in front of me, shaking the ground. I could see every wrinkle, every hair on the foot in detail I had never been able to notice before. But that was not what took my breath away. A second foot landed next to the first and I watched in awe as John’s heel muscle contracted and stretched as he stood up from the bed. My neck craned backwards as I looked up and up into the face of my boyfriend. Again I could see every detail. I could see the sleep encrusting his eyes as he fought the drowsiness of slumber. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction possible. One of his cheeks was smushed in, probably because it had been the one he had been sleeping on. His expression was that of a normal teenager who just got out of bed: grumpy and disorientated.
But what was most impressive was when he moved. He brought his hand up to his face and scratched his head with fingers that could effortlessly crush me. He yawned, showing teeth that could split me in two and a maw that could swallow me whole. As he stretched out his arms, I watched his biceps and triceps flex, aware of the fact that those muscles were each bigger than I was. He cranked his neck to the side and I heard it crack like the sound of a whip. He took a step forward and I became conscious that I was shaking. This giant, this living monolith of a person was my boyfriend. Only a short while ago I could look him in the eye without hurting my neck, but now I probably couldn’t even reach his ankle.
John bent over and picked up something off the floor. I recognized it as one of his wool socks, but then I saw that he was looking around in confusion.
“Where’d my other sock go?” he mumbled. He reached his hand for the bed, straight towards me. In that instant I probably would have been better off if I hadn’t moved, but fear took over me and my body reacted purely on instinct. I ran. And I heard John jump back with a yelp.
The dresser had only been a foot away, so I dove underneath it, cautiously looking out. But John had seen me and the look on his face was not what I had expected it to be; he was looking down at the crack between the carpet and the underside of the dresser with disgust.
“Great! There’s a stupid mouse in my room!” he exclaimed and my blood turned to ice. I looked down at the clothes I was wearing (thank God they had shrunk with me) and was horrified to see that I was wearing a gray sweatshirt, the one I wore right before I changed and went to bed. No wonder he mistook me for a mouse.
I scrambled away from the edge of the dresser as John kneeled down and stuck his face sideways so that he could see. I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a whimper of fear, which did no good to me at all. John leaned back with a sigh of frustration and then I saw his hand reach out and grab something from under his bed. He pushed a box to the edge of the dresser to my right, blocking off any chance for me to escape under his bed, and he was holding something else in his hand: a bat. It was too thick to fit under the dresser, but the very sight of it sent chills up my spine. He intended to use it on me.
Then John did something that I hadn’t expected him to do: he walked out of his room. Cautiously, I crawled to the edge of the dresser again and looked out, and then I heard it: the jingling. With a scream I dove further under the dresser just as Marco bounded into the room and started pawing at the dresser, barking and wining. John must have set him loose.
“Come on, Marco!” John yelled. “Drive the rat out so I can bash it!”
Oh, please, no! I crawled back as far as I could before hitting the wall, watching as those giant, clawed appendages tried to grab me. Terror like nothing I had ever felt before gripped me and I shook uncontrollably. My boyfriend was out to kill me!
“Come ON you stupid dog! Flush the thing out!” John said. I was screaming now, but either I wasn’t loud enough or Marco’s whimpers were drowning them out; John didn’t hear me. And then I felt something at my back. John had stuck a meter stick under the dresser and was pushing me with it, straight towards Marco. “NO! NOO!” I screamed as those deadly paws got closer. I was sobbing now, desperately pushing against the stick to get away, but I wasn’t strong enough and there wasn’t enough room for me to climb over or underneath it.
“Come on, boy! Get the rat!”
“John, please! No!” I wrapped my arms over my head, waited for those claws to pierce me, for those canines to slice me through, but then I stopped moving and I heard one word out of John’s mouth.
“Melissa?” He had practically whispered it, but there was no mistaking that he had said my name. I uncovered my head to look at him and see his face go from flushed with frustration to ghostly white. In an instant he stood up and grabbed Marco by the collar, dragging the wining dog out of the room and slamming the door shut. Marco barked a few times in protest, but John ignored him. He quickly got down on his belly with speed that startled me. He was looking straight at me and I was even more scared, more intimidated. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Horror was written all over his face and I knew that he knew what he had nearly just done.
“Oh God, forgive me, I am so sorry, Melissa!” he moaned. “Please, are you alright?”
I just nodded, not able to make myself speak. I stared into his big eyes, worry emanating from them in massive amounts. Slowly, very slowly, he began to move his hand under the dresser. I watched it, my heart pounding in my chest out of fear. As it neared me I backed away and John stopped.
“Please, Melissa. It’s ok; I will never ever ever ever ever hurt you. I promise.” A feeling rose up inside me when he said those words. Anger. He had nearly killed me! But no, that wasn’t his fault; he didn’t know. Marco probably wouldn’t have hurt me anyways; the dog was just trying to play. The anger inside me faded away, and truly I don’t think I was even fully angry at him in the first place, just more relieved.
I crawled towards his hand and placed my palm on his palm. It was warm to the touch and the soft beating of his heart through his veins calmed me enough so that I pulled myself all the way onto his hand. “Watch your head,” he whispered and curled his fingers over me. I ducked down against his skin as his hand began to move and suddenly I was being lifted into the air as John sat up and carried me up to his face. I looked into his eyes and gulped, knowing one of us would have to speak first.
~Torch~
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