Like Any Other Night...

Crystal lives upstairs.
Her hair has a lot of various colors in it, and she listens to music at incredibly high volumes.
Anyway.
She calls me yesterday evening.
Says she's freaked out because she's upstairs by herself and she 'could've sworn' she heard a noise in the kitchen.
There's a screen door there.
There is also a fridge.
So, I tell her that I'll drop up and check it out.
Because it's the sort of thing that a man is supposed to do. So says the handbook.
She lets me in and I check out all of the rooms of the house. Behind doors, that sort of thing.
I tell her that it's all clear, and that I'm gonna head back downstairs.
She thanks me.
I turn to leave.
Suddenly, this guy jumps out from behind the bathroom door and he locks me into this chokehold.
My breathing is cut off. Just like that. It's incredible how sudden the sensation was.
Crystal starts flipping out. Screaming and crying, but I can barely focus on that cause this guy's grip is getting tighter and my vision is starting to blur a little bit.
He smells of oil, and his hands are caloused and rough. He's breathing heavily with the strain of placing more and more pressure on my windpipe.
So, I start thrashing back and forth, but this guy outweighs me by fifty pounds or so for sure.
I throw my weight backwards, and he collides with the bathroom mirror somewhat, and I wrestle out of his grasp.
I hear the mirror shatter behind me, followed by the occaisonal sprinkle as pieces of the glass fall into the sink basin below.
I make for the living room, and moreover, the phone, but he tackles me from behind, and now I'm facedown in the carpet and he's on top of me.
My breath is shortened again as the full, hulking weight of him compresses me tight to the floor. HIs knee etches its way into the small of my back.
He grabs my hair and starts ramming my face against the floor.
Repeatedly.
With each blow I can hear the muted thud that my own face is making, and I can taste bits of carpet fibre sticking to my tongue.
I can taste blood in my mouth.
Then Crystal hits the guy with one of these silly potted plants that Melissa adorns the common room with.
He rolls off of me with a lurch and a grunt, and I roll in the opposite direction and stagger to my feet.
Now he's turning on her, and he's stumbling towards her.
Instinctively, I grab this guitar that Glen always has propped up by the TV and I hit him in the back of the head with it.
Then I grab one of the guitar strings that's hanging off of the neck, which is now all busted to hell, and I wrap it around his throat.
He quickly throws me over his shoulder, though, and I slam through the pine coffee table that acts as the room's focal point.

He picks me up off of his feet, and I get my first look at this man face-to-face.
His eyes are wild and darting, spotted with green and blue. His teeth are bared like a hyena's may be, and they're yellowed and sparse, like corn kernals.
His face is hidden behind a full beard that is the result of not shaving rather than any sort of personal choice. His hair is a reddish blonde, reminiscent of marmalade, but his facial hair is brown and faded, like the boards of a weathered treehouse.
His clothing is filthy, and doesn't fit him properly. His shirt is buttoned improperly, and his pants are smeared black with oil or mud or God knows what.
He says nothing.
He throws me into the kitchen, and I slam against the stove, and then collapse.
He's trying to locate Crystal again, and while he's looking for her (the back of his head is sticky with blood, his hair's all matted and tangled) I grab the chef's knife out of the cutlery drawer and I yell, "Alright fucker! Stay right there!" My voice shakes from the situation. My throat is hoarse and strained-I barely recognize it.
He wheels, shoves his way past me, and he goes out through the screen door, presumably the way he came, into the dark, and up the bank towards the highway.
I let the knife clatter to the floor.
Crystal is whimpering softly in the living room and I have blood flowing from my nose and into my teeth. I can feel a welt forming on my forehead, just above my eyebrow.
I'm dizzy.
I ensure that Crystal's alright.
I wash up my face and hands as best I can.
My arms criss-cross with scrapes and cuts.
Crystal suggests I get a shower.
I do so, watching trickled blood and flecks of my own skin circle down the drain.
When I get out of the bathroom, I find Crystal in her bedroom, entirely nude.
She suggests I come into bed with her.
We please one another sexually.
I go back downstairs.
I make tea.
It was quite a night.



...

April Fool's!
The guy actually left through the front door.