Colours....

I swallowed hard, “Wh-h-ho are you?”  He looked so strange that my eyes were riveted to him.  Strange, but beautiful.  He had long hair, the color of snow, eyes the color of indigo, and a stone that matched his eyes placed in the center of a design, that looked like a tattoo, on his forehead.  Then, of course, there was that pink gunk that encapsulated his lips.  It looked like he’d had a fight with a Pepto-Bismol bottle.

“You don't remember me?” he asked.  He looked disappointed.  I wanted to wipe that disappointment away.  I wanted to see his smile.

“No,” I whispered.  I’m pretty sure that I would remember him if I had ever seen him before.  He definitely would stand out in a crowd.  If his face and hair didn't draw attention, his perfectly sculpted body would.  He looked as if he went to the gym every day.  Then there's also that glowing jewel on his forehead.

“I was in the acne trial.  I pointed to the guy who was worried about the study,” he answered.

Realization dawned on me.  Lilith had said that they mutated.  He looked completely different.  But he didn't look scary.  I thought that they would be terrifying.  “Oh,” I responded, “you don't look anything like yourself.”

Something beside me caught his attention because he was no longer focused on me.  He slowly reached up with his hand and touched his hair, then went on to finger the jewel on his forehead.  I glanced next to me.  He was looking at his reflection in the mirror.  Then his fingers slowly went to the pink around his mouth.

“Do you mind if I wash my face?” he asked.  There was something about him.  He seemed so wholesome and innocent.  He seemed embarrassed.

“Sure,” I agreed, “right this way.”  I showed him to the kitchen, wet a dishtowel, and handed it to him.  He swiped at his mouth roughly as if he was trying to get something disgusting off of his face.  Which he was.  He missed some.  I took the towel from him and finished cleaning his face.  It came off but left a slightly pink tinge on his skin.

“Much better,” I told him, mesmerized by those eyes, “it will have to do.  It stains a little.”

“Will you come with me?” he asked abruptly, “Jason plans on coming here.  He wants to turn you into something else.”

“Like you're something else?” I asked.

“Not like me.” He whispered.  His cheeks turned red in embarrassment, “You don't want to be....that.”

“I’ll go with you,” I answered, knowing what he meant.  I had seen enough on TV.

Something about him was so alluring.  I could look into those eyes forever.  I had a feeling that I would go with him wherever he wanted.

“Do you have any guns?” he asked, breaking the spell.  What's wrong with me?

“Yes, Jason keeps one in the safe,” I answered.  I grabbed my purse and went to the living room.  He followed me.  The television was still on.  It appeared that the camera may have been laying on the ground on its side due to the view.  There were no longer any screams, only the sounds of traffic from the nearby street.

I opened the safe and put the gun and ammunition in my purse.  I also took four bundles of cash and stuffed them in alongside the gun.  Jason calls it the emergency fund.  I would definitely call this an emergency.  He does always say that what's his is mine.  I shut and locked the safe, and we went back to the kitchen.

Upon entering, I knew immediately that something was wrong.

“Oh shit!” My perfect stranger groaned.

Standing with her back turned to us, eating my casserole, was a woman with wild green hair.  She was dressed in a metallic, copper colored, tight, short mini-skirt and a black shimmering tank top.  Her bare feet looked to be bleeding and sore.  She spun around to face us at the sound of his voice.  She had pink goo, mixed in with red, all over her smiling mouth, and green covered her bare legs and clothes.  Her eyes were yellow.  A yellow stone sat prominently on a design on her forehead.

“Who are you?” I asked without thinking.

“Roxy,” she answered, “and I’m going to rock your world.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” I said, and she took off running toward me.

“No!  Stop!” the man beside me shouted.  She made a mewling sound and stopped.

“Let's go,” he told me, “we need to get out of here.”  She moved a little toward us.

“No!  You stay!” he shouted.  She whined but stopped.

We gave her a wide girth as we went around her.  Her eyes tracked us the whole time.  I heard her cry out as we exited through the door.

Outside, he ushered me to a small red car that looked like it had seen better days.  He had me get in the back seat because the front passenger door was stuck shut.  The car was surprisingly clean.  Even the floor looked freshly vacuumed.  It smelled good, like strawberry.  He got in the driver's seat and started it.  It purred like a kitten.

I watched out the back window as Roxy came out the front door of the house and looked around for us.  Her attention was quickly drawn to my neighbor, Mr. Bradford.  She ran to him, jumped on him, and kissed him shamelessly.  He struggled then, after a moment, seemed quite into it and started unbuckling his belt.  So that's how it happens.  It's different when you see it in real life.

I felt sorry for him, then changed my mind.  I never liked Mr. Bradford anyway.  He was always complaining about something.  Does that make me a bad person?  I instantly felt shame.

I turned and watched out the front window.  Up ahead, I could see a police car coming toward us.  “Duck down,” Hot Guy told me.  He had already put on dark sunglasses, partially obscuring his face.  I leaned down in the seat.

“Is it Jason?” I asked after a moment, “He's driving a police car.”

“Yes, it's him.  Stay down for a minute,” he answered.

After a couple of minutes, he told me I could get up.  “Where are we going?” I asked.

“To my apartment.  I have to change clothes.  These are too tight,” he answered.  He lit himself a cigarette.

“And the green goo,” I added.  He gave me a funny look in the rear-view mirror, then looked down at himself.

“Oh.  Fuck!” he yelled.

“I’d say so,” I commented.  Who am I to judge?  All of those women were willing and available.  I can't fault him for taking the opportunity.

He looked at me in the mirror again, cheeks the darkest shade of crimson, “We didn't.  She just rubbed all over me, and I threw her off!  Then…..”

“Then what?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment, then, “I told her to get Jason.”

I laughed then.  I should be jealous, but instead, I felt a sense of gratification, “He got what he deserved, then?”

“He definitely did,” Hot Guy said, smiling softly.

“Got one of those for me?” I asked.  He reached back and handed me the pack and a lighter.  I lit one and handed them back.  I used to smoke.  It's one of the many things that Jason insisted that I give up after we got together.  He waited until I had moved in and was dependent on him before he started gas lighting and bullying me.  Then there was the alienation from all of my friends and family.  I haven't spoken to my parents in two years.  They don't even know that I dropped out of school.  Jason didn't think that I needed school.  I wonder if my parents think that I’m dead.

“So, what's your name?” I asked Hot Guy.  I can't call him Hot Guy for forever.  He probably wouldn't like that.  I know that I wouldn't.

“Kane,” he answered.

“Kane what?” I asked.

“Kane Bryant,” he responded.

“It's nice to meet you, Kane Bryant.  I’m Colours Akron,” I introduced myself.

“Its nice to meet you,” he said, flashing me the most beautiful smile in the rear-view mirror.

“You should smile more often,” I told him, and his cheeks turned red.

“Kane, do you want to explain to me what happened?” I asked.

He went into a detailed explanation of what had happened, letting me know that he had the antidote should I get attacked.

“So, all of this is so he can get me to love him again?” I asked, “He is so twisted.”

“He's crazy,” Kane agreed, “You should've seen the look in his eyes.”

I’m pretty sure that I’ve seen the look.  It's just never interfered with his work before.  I’ve only seen it at home.

“Do those people bite?” I asked him, changing the subject.  I knew all too well about craziness.

“I don't know.” Kane answered, “Why?”

“That woman, back there, had blood mixed in with her Pepto Bismol mustache,” I answered.

“Oh, you mean the hooker.  I bit her tongue off.  I’m wondering how she can still talk,” he answered.

I cringed.  “You didn't get infected?” I asked, confused, “Do you know why?”

“No.  I’m so thankful.  I don't know why, but they don’t affect me the same way as they do the others,” he answered.

Could Jason have built in an antidote to Kane's injection?  Maybe he built it into some of the others, too.  Why wouldn't he have given it to himself?  He really is crazy.

We entered the parking lot of a seedy looking apartment complex and pulled into a parking spot.  I’m pretty sure that no one is safe here at night.  I chuckled to myself.  It's probably safer than my house right now.

“Stay close,” Kane directed me as we exited the car.  I followed him to the building and inside.  He led me down a couple of shabby, dimly lit hallways, past an elevator that had an out-of-order sign taped to it, and to the stairs.  We climbed one flight of stairs, then went down another hallway, and stopped in front of a door with C213 on the door.

Kane stuck a key in one of the deadbolts and turned, then stuck another key in a different deadbolt and turned.  The door came open, and I followed him into a small, dingy, dirty kitchen.  “Sorry about the mess,” he apologized.  He looked around and seemed disappointed.  “It's okay,” I tried to sound upbeat, despite the smelly dishes in the sink.  It's hard to believe that this mess belongs to someone with such a clean car.

“Hey, man!  Where have you been?” came a Male voice from the other room.  I heard a commotion as he rushed into the kitchen, “Have you seen the TV?”  He had dark unkempt hair and was wearing a dirty, faded shirt.  At least he was wearing a shirt from the looks of him.

“I didn't think that you took TV breaks from your games, Doug.  Is this something new?” Kane asked, locking every lock on the door.

“Funny, funny!  You know, you sound just like Kane, but look nothing like him.  What happened?” Doug asked.

“I don't have time to explain,” Kane answered, tearing what was left of his shirt off, “pack a bag and go to your parents.”  He threw his shredded shirt into a full garbage can.

“Nice tatts,” Doug said, “I hope you didn't blow the rent on that.”

Kane stopped and stared at him in disbelief, then looked down at himself.  He had strange black markings on his chest, back, and arms.  “I’m serious, Doug, go to your parents' now,” Kane repeated, not commenting on the markings or Doug's jab.

“The TV is saying to shelter in place.” Doug told him, “Besides my parents live three hours away.  How am I supposed to get there?  I have no money.”  Doug didn't seem worried, “I think that I’ll follow what the authorities say.”

“Just do it,” Kane disappeared into what appeared to be a bathroom and shut the door.

“Who are you?” Doug asked suspiciously.

“Colours,” I answered.

“What is going on?  He comes back looking like that, and now he's got a hot girlfriend named Colours?  So, not like him!” Doug exclaimed.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I mumbled, wondering what is ‘like' Kane.

“Whatever!” Doug exclaimed, exasperated, leaving the kitchen.

Not knowing what to do with myself, I cleared out a chair at the tiny kitchen table, sat down, and waited.  A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and Kane emerged wearing only a towel around his waist.

I felt my mouth drop in surprise.  He was such a magnificent specimen of a man.  The black markings only added to the allure.  Is he still a man?

“Colours?  Are you okay?” he asked.  It's like he doesn't even know.

“I’m fine,” I managed to say.

“Would you like to come with me or wait in this mess?” he asked.