When he woke again, he went into shivers right away, his body retracting away from the cold. Not that it was freezing in the room or anything. As near as Ron could tell, it was the same temperature it had been when he was knocked out, no change there. No,
he
was the thing that had changed - his work clothes had been pulled off, leaving him in nothing but a pair of blue boxers that fit fine last month, but were getting a size too small. It wasn't the most flattering look, but propriety was the last thing on his mind at the moment.
Where was she? Where was the Intruder?
He was staring up at the ceiling of his living room now, watching the ceiling fan lazily whirl about overhead. He sat up with a grunt, rubbing her sore neck as he went, only to freeze stockstill when he saw her there, sitting on his coach, her legs crossed. She'd moved around the furniture in the time he'd been knocked out, pushing everything to side until a space on the floor was clear, ten feet wide and long at the least. She sat before him like a queen, looking down on her unruly subject, contemplating judgement.
She didn't move. So still that he might not have enough known she was alive, save for the occasional blink. The room was quiet, nothing but dead air and the hum of the air conditioning. He stared at her, then turned his head just enough to eye his cellphone, sitting on his computer desk nearby. He looked at her again, bit his lip, and then he went for it, rolling to his knees and reaching out for the device and his salvation.
That was a mistake. He didn't know why it was a mistake when he lunged for the phone, but the reason become readily apparent when the Intruder burst off the couch and close in on him with three long strides. Her heavy steps made the room rumble, warning him of her approach, but he tried to block them out of his mind. All he had to do was pick the phone up, hit the emergency button and then-
Ron cried out as she gripped his hair hard, yanked him up, and slammed his face into the keyboard, hitting with enough force to knock off a few letters. He held onto the phone, defiant, but that changed when she grabbed him by the wrist and yanked it back in a tight hammer lock, wrenching his wrist hard behind his back. The phone fell to the floor and she kicked it back into the foyer a second later, as if his hopes needed anymore dashing.
She twisted around and sent him rolling towards the center of the room, tossing him like an overstuffed bag of garbage. Ron wasn't too agile at the best of time, but desperation spurred him on now, and he was quick enough to scramble up to his hands and knees. He was wobbly, still woozy from the blow to his head, but he moved as swift as he could towards the foyer.
She cut him off halfway, swinging her leg at him from the side and sinking her shin into his gut. The blow knocked the wind clean out of him and sent him flying back to the center, erasing all the ground he'd gained. That was where he stayed this time, coughing and wheezing on his knees, holding up a hand as she approached him. Slow steps. Stalking.
"Wait-" She didn't. Instead, she reached down, grabbed his head, forced it between her thighs as she stood, and then the pain started.
It was slight at first. Pressure, coming in on the side of his head. Strong, yes, but more of an annoyance than anything. If it was just that, it would've been uncomfortable, but nothing he couldn't endure. But then the leg grew. And grew. And kept growing. Her thigh, bare and soft, turned to steel around his skull. Unflinching, unyielding, unending, leaving less and less space between them.
Ron screamed. And squirmed. And kicked. He pounded away on the legs, hammering his fists into them, but it was like trying to hit a sandbag. There was no give, no real impact, and it just seemed to make her squeeze harder.
