What would happen?

This started from a very simple question, what would happen if I came home from work to find a man lying on my bed? It turned into this, and I still have no idea what I would do.

-

There was a man on her bed and he was bleeding onto her floor. Her new beige carpet. Her first thought was that he was dead. Then he moaned. Emmy grabbed the baseball bat from beside her bedroom door; she had been keeping it there for Harry. This was not Harry. This man had light brown hair and was dressed all in black. He was lying face down on her expensive flowery quilt, one hand hanging over the side, dripping blood onto her floor. He moaned again. She tightened her hold on the bat.

Slowly the man began to move, he put one hand down on the bed and then the other. He pushed himself onto his knees and looked down at the deep gash on the back of his hand. His hair fell into his face, obscuring it from her still. 

She shifted her footing, trying to get it right.

He looked up like a dog pricking its ears. His gaze settled on her, wide and staring. He looked at the bat, and then to her face. He was tan with large bright eyes, blue, maybe grey. But did it matter? His lips parted and he put a hand to his head, his hair was greasy so that when he pushed his hand through it it stayed sticking up. It needed a good cut.

‘I haven’t called the police,’ she said, wincing as her voice came out a little to high.

‘Thank you?’

‘So you can go, no one will bother you.’

He closed his eyes and squeezed his temples for a moment, when he opened them again there seemed a sheen of tears. She still had the bat raised. Was that what he was worried about? She began lowering it and he shook his head. She stopped.

‘What is it?’ she said, ‘You can go. I won’t hurt you.’ She let the tip of the bat touch the floor.

‘No,’ he raised his hand, ‘I think, you should stay ready.’ He said it with his eyebrows drawn together as if he were thinking hard on something. ‘I, I don’t know who I am. I could be dangerous.’

That’s for sure, she thought. He was large, big shoulders, square jaw, black tracksuit bottoms and a black t-shirt like some sort of gang member. And there was his hand, which he had rested on his leg. It still oozed blood when he moved it. 

‘You don’t know-’

‘No, I don’t know where I am, I don’t know who I am. My hand feels like it is on fire and I can’t help but think the bat is a good idea.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing.’

Emmy whistled through her teeth, ‘were you drinking last night?’

His brow furrowed again, ‘you mean alcohol? I don’t even know if I like alcohol.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you know if you like burgers? Because that’s what I was planning for dinner.’

‘Dinner.’ He still looked as if he was trying to concentrate. ‘What time is it?’

‘About half six.’

‘In the afternoon?’

‘No dinner is a morning thing.’

‘But it… Oh you were…’

She nodded.

He smiled a little and moved so that his feet were on the floor. She noticed that they were bare.

   

‘Dinner or tea?’ he asked.

‘Dinner. How do you know the difference?’

He shrugged, ‘I just think we are in the south.’

‘London.’

‘London.’ He rolled the word as if he had never heard it and was just trying it out. He looked down, his hair fell over his face again. It was then that Emmy realised that she should call the police, because, well. Wasn’t that what you did when random men invaded your home? 

‘Burgers could work,’ he said when he looked up. She noticed his injured hand open and close. He was shaking. Emmy did not want to give him over, not to them. They’d sooner lock him up for breaking and entering than help him. 

She set the bat down by the door.

‘Please, keep that on you,’ he said.