Anastasia’s POV~

“Hey, you!” I crane my neck out of the window of my car and shout at the car in front of me. “Move.”

I have been stuck in the traffic for at least fifteen minutes now, and the person in front of me just will not budge. Neither is he speeding up his car, nor making room for me to side step him.

More five minutes are spent like this, when the cars start to move. I thank the lord mentally and start the engine.

When I turn the road to my dorms all of a sudden an expensive looking car almost crashes into mine. I shriek out and turn my car sideways at the right time.

Good lord! That was close.

If today is my last day then please let me eat my chocolate cake. I do not want to die without having it. I used two hours in making that.

The car rushes past me In a deadly speed.

“Fool!” I curse out, furrowing my eye brows, glaring in the direction the car went.

I breath out in relief and close my eyes for a second. But my relief is short-lived as a loud noise breaks it.

I open my eyes, and the sight in front of me nearly breaks my heart.

A more expensive looking car is before me. We are face to face. And the front of the car is smashed into mine.

It is official. Today is ‘NATIONAL DEATH DAY’!

But why my car?

Leave him out of this. Just let me get out and then you can run over me. I spent a lot to repair this just a week ago.

“Fucking move!” The man in the driver’s seat yells at me, waving his hand from his window.

First he takes the wrong turn, crosses the speed limit, slams my car and after breaking all the rules mentioned in the traffic book he is yelling at me?!!!

The nerve of this stranger!

I turn off the engine and stomp out of my car. The condition of the hood is…never mind. I do not even want to start.

I will have to spend my whole pocket money to repair this.

“Stupids.”

“Are you deaf, girl? Move the fuck away.” The driver yells again.

I walk up to the murderer of my car and glare down at the driver. “Why did you do that?” I accuse him.

“What?” He says, looking bored.

“Attempt to kill me?”

“Kill you? Seriously?” He narrows his eyes at me. “I have better things to do.”

He is a bit intimidating, but I try not to look affected.

The man is holding his left shoulder with his right arm while talking to me. My curiosity gets the best of me and I squint my eyes to see clearly. The time being night does not help me much, but I can see a faint red colour between the gaps of his fingers.

And that is when it hits me. He is bleeding!

“Oh my sweet Jesus!” I cover my mouth with my palms.

“Now what?” The man asks, annoyed.

“You are injured.” I point at his arm.

“Five points for the information.” He rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, you should treat it.”

“I was going to do just that before you happened.”

I ignore his jab, and say “No, like right now.”

“Move.”

“Please, I insist.” I try to convince him.

“Move the fuck away, puttana.” He growls.

(Bitch)

I do not know what language he is speaking, but judging by the way he is looking at me, it can not be a praise for sure.

“Look, if you do not treat it now and wait for the hospital then it might get late. You might get an infection. If it is too late then they might have to remove your arm.” His glare hardens, but I continue anyway, “Which is not good. Considering your age, you surely do a job. How will you survive without an arm? How will your family survive without an earning member? And if it is too much late you might die as well. Which is definitely not good.” I nod my head to emphasise my point.

“Chiudi il becco.” He groans.

(Shut the hell up.)

“Huh?” I ask, not understanding his barbaric language.

“Just shut up.”

“Could have saved your energy by saying this in English.” I mutter.

“What did you just say?” He growls.

“Nothing.” I smile. “Did you consider my offer?”

“Will you shut up then?” He asks me.

“Yes, yes. Of course.” I reply eagerly.

I can not just see a wounded person, and leave him on the road. My parents have raised me better than that.

“Fuck, fine.” He curses, but gets out of his car nonetheless.

He goes to stand under the lamp post on the sidewalk, and I take out the first aid kit from my car.

I stand beside him under the light and go to take his injured arm, but he suddenly pins me against the post with his right hand. His fingers curl around my throat, blocking my air supply. My hands shoot out to claw at his hand.

“Do not try to be smart, or else…”

“Or else?” I manage to ask.

“Else I might be the last patient you treat.”

I nod my head violently, gulping. He looks into my eyes, squeezes my neck once and then lets go. I pant for air, holding my neck and glare at him.

“Get to the work.”

So much for helping a bleeding man.

“Your sleeve.” I point at his hand, and he rolls his sleeves up to the cut on his arm.

I take my water bottle and cup some water with my palms, then wash the cut on his arm with it. Then, I take the antiseptic cream and carefully apply it on the cut. He does not so much as bat an eye while here I am wincing badly.

I take some cotton, and press it on his cut. “Hold it there.” I tell him.

He holds the cotton and I wrap the bandage around his arm and then, tie it.

“Done.” I say. “This is not as good as a professional’s, but it will do for now. And you have to go to a doctor first thing in the morning.” I look at him as he brushes his fingers through his hair and I notice something.

“There is a cut there too. On your forehead.” I point my index finger at his forehead, not sure if he will let me treat that too.

He sighs and bows his head, making me surprised. I did not expect that at all.

I smile and stand on the tips of my toes to reach his forehead.

And did I say how insanely tall he is? Even with a six inch heel I will not get to his height. I try for some time, but still can not touch his forehead.

His hands go around my waist and he pulls me closer, chest to chest. My eyes widen in shock and he pushes me up. Then I realise he is helping me reach him.

I clean the cut like I did to his arm and put a band aid on it.

“Finished.” I say and he slides me down his body. I do not dare look at his eyes on the way down.

He sets me back on my feet and I run to my car to put the first aid kit back.

From the corner of my eyes I can see him getting in his car. The sound of his engine roaring to life comes to ears, and then it stops altogether.

“Cazzo!”

Looks like Mr. Stranger’s car is not working. Serves him right. He behaved so rudely with me when I was just trying to help him.

(Fuck.)

I smile at myself and start my engine. The engines purrs, but then, shuts off.

What the hell!

I try it again and again, but the same thing happens every time I go to start the engine.

I kick the car in frustration and get out of it. Mr. Stranger is already standing on the sidewalk, talking to someone on his cell phone. So I go and stand beside him silently.

He hangs up the phone, and gives me a look.

“Ummm…my car is not working too and the road is empty so I thought to stand here with you.” I say meekly.

He goes back to check his phone. “And you trust me enough to stand alone with me at night?”

“Not that.” I think for a while and then, wave my hand at his cuts. “But hey, I just treated your arm, and not to forget your forehead. You will think before doing something bad to me due to your thankfulness. Will you not?” I squint my eyes at him, questioning.

“You talk too much.” He groans.

I let his rudeness slip, and turn on my phone. Three percent battery. Fucking great! Why does it always happen to me?

Ten minutes pass like this, us standing in pin drop silence and a car pulls up in front of us. The window to the driver’s side rolls down, and a man pokes his head out from that.

“Hop in.” He says to Mr. Stranger I think.

Mr. Stranger nods his head at the driver, confirming my thoughts and gets in the back seat of the car.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” Mr. Stranger asks me.

“What?”

“Are you dumb too?”

“You are insulting me now.” I narrow my eyes at him.

“That trash of a car is not going to fly you to your destination. Get in. We will give you a ride.” He offers.

“You ran straight into my car, damaged it so brutally and now you are insulting my car as well?” I fume in embarrassment.

“Dalle dei soldi e falla stare zitta.” Mr. Stranger groans from the back seat.

(Give her some money and shut her up.)

“Then you do not know the definition of brutal, my dear.” The voice of the driver replying to my question, turns my attention to him.

I look at him, and see him smirking at me which makes me scowl in return.

Mr. Stranger slaps the driver at the back of his head with his right hand, growling, “Smettere di flertate con lei, Damien.”

(Stop flirting with her.)

“Do not call me dear.” I tell him.

“As you say, dear.” He chuckles.

“La vuoi smettere adesso?” Mr. Stranger groans.

(Will you stop it now?)

“It is rude to talk in front of a person standing beside you in a language he or she does not know.” I interrupt their conversation.

“And did your parents not teach you, that it is ruder to interrupt people when they are talking?” The man in the driver’s seat turns to me with a raised brow.

I am growing to hate him now.

“Hey, do not go to my parents.” I exclaim.

“What…” He starts only to get cut off by Mr. Stranger.

“Get in if you do not want to get kidnapped at this hour.”

I contemplate my options for a while. My car is not going to fly me now as he just said, neither I have charge in my phone to call someone to pick me up. If I turn down Mr. Stranger’s offer right now there is only one option left for me. I have to walk to my dorms which is the worst option at this ungodly hour. So after having weighed my options in this situation, Mr. Stranger’s offer seems the best.

“Okay, if you say so.” I agree, and he opens the door to the back seat for me, behaving like the gentleman I know he is not. I get in and lock the door. “But my car?” I ask him.

“I will get someone to drop it at yours.”

“Okay.”

“Where to?” The driver looks back at us in the rear view mirror.

Mr. Stranger turns to me and I give him the address to my university dorms.

“A fucking university student? Really?” The man in the driver’s seat starts the car, and I bite my lip in awkwardness.

“None of your business.” Mr. Stranger growls.

“How did you get her?” The driver asks him.

“Ha curato le mie ferite.” Mr. Stranger replies in his barbaric, but sexy language again.

(She treated my wounds.)

“E che mi dici di quegli uomini?” The man in the driver’s seat asks back.

(And what about those men?)

“Non riusciva a prenderli con il mio braccio. Loro sono stati più veloci.”

Mr. Stranger answers him.

(Could not catch them with my arm. They were faster.)

“Non sei riuscito a prenderli? Vuoi che ci creda?” The driver laughs at Mr. Stranger, turning his head to look at him.

(You could not catch them? You want me to believe that?)

Mr. Stranger just stays silent, and leans his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

“Perchè ho la sensazione che lei c’entri qualcosa?” The driver smirks, looking at me and I narrow my eyes, even though I do not know what he said.

(Why do I have a feeling she has something to do with it?)

“Stai zitto e guida.” Mr. Stranger groans from beside me, his eyes still closed.

(Shut up and drive.)

I think all the blood he has lost is taking its toll on him now. I suddenly remember I left my purse in there, in my car and forgot about it in their continuous bickering.

“Stop stop stop stop stop!” I scream, waving my hands frantically, wanting to catch their attention.

The car stops with a screech, and the driver turns to look at me.

“Why did you scream?” He yells.

“It is an emergency.” I say.

“Cosa?” He asks.

(What?)

“I forgot my purse in the car. We have to go back.” I tell him. I may not understand their language, but I can understand that he is asking me why I told him to stop the car.

“Forget it. I am not turning the car back for a purse.” He starts the car again.

“Please please please.” I request him.

“No.”

“Please please.” I try to convince him.

“Urghh. Sei così fastidioso.” He mutters under his breath, “Ask him.” He points to Mr. Stranger relaxing beside me.

(You are so annoying.)

I call him softly, “Mr. Stranger? Mr. Stranger? Hey?” I poke him. “Wake up. I need you.”

He opens his eyes instantly, and looks at me in a weird way. “What do you need me for?”

“I forgot my purse in the car, and your driver here,” I look at the driver and then back at Mr. Stranger. “Refuses to go back.”

Mr. Stranger sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Was there something important?”

“Yes, yes. Very much.” I nod my head repeatedly.

He seems to think for a while.

“Please, pretty please.” I make the best puppy eyes that even the dogs have not seen in their history.

“Fine. I will have it dropped at your dorms along with your car.”

“Thank you.”

He does not reply to that, and stays silent the whole ride.

So, I cross my arms and look out the window to pass the time until I reach my dorm.