His Halo is a Lie

I push my doors open, and the familiar creak echoes through the apartment. My coat comes off next, but just as I stretch my hands to place it on the hanger, I freeze. 

Something isn't right in here. 

As an Emergency room nurse, I have learned how to pick up even the smallest detail because that might just be the difference between a dead and living patient. Applying it to my everyday life is easy, because I am almost always the only person I let into my space.

The coat hits the floor in a whisper as I let it go, then place one foot after the other, pushing further into my apartment. It is a tiny space above a bookstore, so it should take only a few minutes to cover every inch of it.

I can smell the perfume, rich and strong, with every step I take.

"Who is here?" I call, my heart thumping hard against my chest. "You better run away now while you have the chance. The cops are already on their way."

Silence.

With my trembling hands, I pick up the base bat that never leaves the side of the door. I walk to the kitchen first, finding it empty. But I know that there is someone in the house with me.

Giving the living area and the open plan kitchen one last sweep, I edge towards my bedroom. 

That is where I find it, my window broken with shards of glass on the floor.

"Oh no!"  I groan, my fear forgotten for a second as I calculate how much it will take me to fix it. I don't have that extra cash lying around to spare.

My fear gets replaced by rage as I stop by the door of the last room in the apartment. The adjoining bathroom. I nudge it aside and step in, my blood boiling and my hand about to hit the base bat on the head of anyone I find inside.

But I stop at once, my eyes widening in surprise, when I see the crumpled form inside my bathtub, red crimson everywhere.

Okay. Maybe crumpled isn't the best word to describe it, because this man is everything but that. My bathtub can barely contain his tall frame, with his long legs dangling by the sides, inches apart from each other.

He is bleeding.

The bat falls from my hands at once as I rush over. I notice him clutching his stomach, so I go there first, attempting to pry his hands away. 

A groan slips from his lips. "You're back."

"Who are you?"  I whisper, using my hands to block the bleeding, just as my eyes scan every surface of the bathroom, searching for the first aid box.

His eyes fly open, and I almost jerk back from their intensity. Two pools of icy grey eyes stare back at me in the dimly lit bathroom, framed by the most perfect features I have ever seen in my entire life.