Emma
“I can’t believe I’m not gonna see you for six months,” I say through a pout as I wrap Santana in a hug. She squeezes me tight, and we both try not to cry. “The Houston Ballet though. That’s so awesome.” I know this woman has been working long hours, day and night, to get where she is right now. She’s been performing locally with the dance studio, Momentum, for six years. I think all of Miami heard her squeal when Sue Macintosh called to offer her a spot on their corps de ballet.
“I know, right,” she sings, popping up on her tiptoes as if her body is about to burst from trying to contain her level of excitement.
“Congratulations, Santana,” Bastain comments from above my shoulder. He’s got his hand perched on the small of my back, leading me into the living room of the girls’ home. He hands a card in her direction, but she nods toward a table along the back wall.
“Awww, thank you so much,” she says with a smile, “But if you leave that with me I will probably forget where I put it.” She holds up her drink as an explanation of her sudden forgetfulness.
My friend gives me a quick kiss on the cheek then lets us know we’re obligated to make ourselves at home. Kylee organized this party to celebrate Santana’s achievement, apparently making sure she invited everyone within a fifty mile radius. I didn’t know one house could hold so many people.
All the furniture has been removed from the living room, replaced with six-foot tables covered with white linens and decorated with bright green flowers and candles. Hanging from the ceiling are at least four dozen green, black, and gray balloons. Each table houses a different “station.” On one table there’s a cupcake station, and on another a Sangria station. There are martini stations and sushi stations. There’s at least ten tables scattered throughout the room, each one skillfully decorated and inviting.
“Wow. Your friends know how to throw a party,” Bastain says, as he guides me through the room. There are so many people here, and I don’t know a single one. My eyes scan the room for Kylee, but she’s nowhere to be found.
“Look, there’s the gift table.” I’m trying not to sound as out of place as I feel. In the five years I’ve been with Bastain, I’ve never really felt the isolation I’ve brought upon myself until this very moment. My world and all that is in it, revolves around him. I have two friends that I see for an hour and a half once a week. The woman I am now is a stark contrast to the woman I have always been. I’ve never had trouble making friends, and I’ve never felt out of place in a crowd. More and more, that woman is seeping away, replaced by a quiet wallflower that prefers to remain invisible. I sweep my anxiety under the rug for now and take the card from his hands then place it on the table. With a painted smile on my face, I look up at Bastain. “So, what’ll it be? Sangria or martini?”
I end up bumping into Kylee somewhere after my third glass of Sangria. She grabs my hand and forces me into the middle of a line of people doing the Cupid Shuffle in her dining room. I shrug at Bastain as he looks on then walks away to make himself another drink. Before I can catch up with him, Kylee has me in a corner introducing me to her new boy toy, Zach. He’s explaining to me the awkward situation in which he and Kylee first met. I laugh at the idea of my friend, who openly despises the thought of walking barefoot in public places, breaking a heel and asking a perfect stranger to give her a piggy back ride to the nearest shoe store.
Where is Bastain? It’s been at least thirty minutes since I saw him last. I excuse myself from the two lovebirds and make my way from room to room, hoping to find him. Faces I don’t know smile at me as I walk by. They’re all starting to blur together thanks to the wine. I have a glass or two a few times a week, but other than that I’m not much of a drinker. I try to remember what he’s wearing. Maybe if I go outside and get some fresh air...
The wind escapes my lungs as I’m shoved forward the moment I step onto the rear patio. My heart threatens to leap right out of my chest as soon as I lose my footing. Before I can turn around, another forceful thrust lands me face down on the concrete. Throbbing. Instant and unbearable. I try to catch myself with my hands but only end up scraping them against the rough surface. Oh, God. It burns. My eyes are watering, and my head is pounding as I work to lift it from the cold ground. Blood immediately blurs my vision, causing me to shut my eyes. I say a silent prayer that when I open them again my assailant will be gone. But mercy has no place here. Intense pain shoots from the top of my head all the way down my spine when someone grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls until I’m back on my feet. Wait. Stop. You have the wrong person. What could I possibly have done to deserve this? I try to speak, to yell or scream, but the pain makes me weak as I fight to remain standing. My whole body starts to shake. I don’t think my legs will hold me up much longer. I open my eyes long enough to see if there are any witnesses. I am torn between wishing someone were here to help and hoping no one’s here to see. Other than a few solar powered garden lights, it’s completely dark in the backyard. I thought I saw Bastain, but I had to be imagining things. He would have helped me if he were here. At this point I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. I just want to lie down. I’d welcome the cool firmness of the ground below in comparison to the agonizing pain of being held up by a few strands of my hair. My chest tightens and it’s getting harder to breathe. My hands grasp at anything close by, finally finding a wooden post. Maybe if I could turn around, let them see they have the wrong girl. Why is this happening to me?
As soon as I grab it, it slips through my fingers, leaving a trail of splinters tearing through my already wounded flesh. They’re going to throw me down. I’m going to hit my head. I just know it. I can feel it. Oh, God. Oh no. Not again. Please, not again. I’m being pulled backward. So hard. So fast. I trip over my own feet, causing another jolt to my scalp as I’m once again lifted up by the hand in my hair. It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad. Please, make it stop. I can’t see where we’re going. I don’t want to. It feels better when I close my eyes. Maybe if I just keep them closed this will all go away. Oh, God. My nose is running. Or is it bleeding? I bring my hand to my face to wipe it but the attacker grabs me by the wrist, pulling both arms behind my back with so much force my shoulders ache.
No. God, no. Here it comes. Please, no. Another blow to the head as my face is slammed against what feels like a brick wall. The taste of copper coats my tongue, and I feel more blood trickling down my chin. Who is doing this to me? Why? Why aren’t they saying anything? My knees buckle when an elbow digs deep into my back, forcing every nerve below my waist to go numb. A hard body pins me to the wall. I can’t fight back. I can’t even move. I just want it to end. I don’t even care how. Please, God. Just let this be over.
Then, just as quickly as it began, the attack ends. I fall to the soft grass beneath my feet, taking a handful in my fist as I land on my knees. Excruciating pain in my right hand jolts it back open. My body gives out on me, collapsing on its side. With my eyes still closed, I lie still and start to cry.
Silent tears.
Hopeless tears.
Fearful tears.
The earthy scent hypnotizes me, almost lulling me to sleep as the salty mixture of my blood and teardrops run down the side of my face. No. I can’t fall asleep. I have to get up. What if they come back? I can’t stay here. And I can’t go back in there. I can’t let anyone see me like this. I won’t ruin Santana’s party. I have to find Bastain. I just want to go home.
The pain makes it seem like hours since I stepped through the glass doors onto the patio, but in reality the whole incident probably only lasted about five minutes. Muffled music and laughter echoes from inside the house, and I’m thankful none of the party guests decided to trickle outdoors. I sneak out the back gate, hoping I can exit unseen. Bastain’s car is gone. He left me. He fucking left me. This never would have happened if he didn’t pout like a toddler because I spent five minutes with my friends. I’d have been with him instead of looking for him. And we’d both be safe at home right now.
I find a dark corner and lift my shirt over my head to wipe off some of the blood from my face, then I turn it inside out and start to pull it back on. It smells like Bastain. Why does my shirt smell like my boyfriend? The scent triggers something inside me, something terrifying. My blood turns ice cold as I am stricken with fear. The elbow in my back. The body pressed against mine, pinning me to the wall. The scent of his cologne. No. No, no, no. I am imagining things. I took a serious blow to the head. My subconscious is searching for something familiar because it’s in a state of trauma. That has to be it. Because any other explanation changes my entire world.
Alex
“All the way around. Shoulders back. Upper body straight. That’s it. Just like that.”
I walk the circuit of clients as they do walking lunges around the perimeter of the gym before tonight’s class. “It’s just one lap. You can do it,” I encourage. Most of them have been taking kickboxing classes with me for months, but there are always a couple of curious bodies popping in for a test drive. Even though it’s their first time, I don’t cut them any slack. My classes burn 1000 calories an hour. They need to know what they’re getting into.
I’m about to place my hands on the shoulders of a newbie who keeps leaning forward when something catches my eye outside the window. Total Boxing has glass all along the front, so it’s nothing unusual to look outside and watch the traffic as it flows or a crowd of people as they walk past. But it’s 10:00 at night and there’s a bloody hand holding up a weary body just outside the gym, which is far from usual. A platinum blonde curtain shields most of her face but there is something familiar about the woman propped up against the glass. “Excuse me for a moment,” I tell the class before stepping outside. Jake is at the front counter sorting through hand wraps, so I ask him to transition the class into the next part of their warm up.
I push the door open and approach the woman. Nonfat latte. No. Please, no. My heart drops to my stomach the second I see her. Passing traffic comes to a halt. The city lights go dim. And the world around us completely stills, as if the universe is taking its own personal moment of silence at the desecration of one of its angels. Or maybe that’s just how it seems because all I can see is her, all I can hear is her, all that exists is her and her utter brokenness. Jesus. What happened to you, love?
I can’t get to her fast enough. She looks up at me through swollen, tear-soaked eyes, but I don’t think she sees me. Her gaze wanders to the smear of blood on the window. “Oh no. I’m so sorry… I… I didn’t mean… I’ll have it cleaned. I just needed to rest...”
Are you fucking kidding me? She’s apologizing? Her beautiful, heavenly voice is frantic and weak. She can hardly hold her eyes open thanks to a trail of blood coming from a nasty cut on her left brow bone. Her cheek bone is scraped and bruising, and her upper lip is busted. Not to mention the nasty wound on her hand. And… her shirt is on inside out. Why the fuck is her shirt on inside out? Anger surges through me at what might have just happened to this woman. “Were you… Did s-meone…” I can’t even bring myself to say the words without bile rising in my throat. “Did someone hurt you, love?”
She opens her eyes all the way, looking at me for the first time, recognition apparent in her expression. She looks pained, ashamed. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, beautiful girl. Come on, talk to me. Tell me what happened to you.
She looks away before she speaks. “No. It’s nothing like that,” she replies. I close my eyes and regain my sanity. Thank fuck. “There was an accident.” I turn my focus to the street, looking for her car. “No, not that kind of accident,” she explains further. She keeps closing her eyes, as if the lights from the studio are piercing her skull. Her body’s starting to shake. I need to get her inside.
Without asking her permission, I bend down and take her in my arms. She doesn’t protest like I expected she would. Instead, she heaves a sigh of relief, like a great weight has just been lifted, and wraps her delicate arm around my neck as she nuzzles her face against my shoulder. My heart clenches in my chest as I look down at her right as she once again closes her eyes. Who did this to you? Who broke you?
Jake watches, along with the rest of the class, as I carry my battered angel to a training room in the back of the gym where we treat injuries. I give him a nod, a silent order, to continue taking over my class. “I’m going to put you down now, love,” I explain as I lay her body on the matted treatment table. A soft moan leaves her lips in response, as she rolls over on her side, placing her hands under her head and pulling her knees up like she’s just been tucked in to bed. I don’t know where she’s come from or what’s happened to her. I have no idea how long she’s been running, but one thing I do know is she’s tired. “I’m going to raise the top a bit, okay? We need to elevate your head.” She nods, but keeps her eyes closed.
I sponge the blood, some dried, some fresh from the cut on her brow. I want to ask her so many questions. Where did she come from? What kind of accident? What is her name? But right now, my focus is on getting her cleaned up and assessing her injuries. She flinches at the cool dampness of the sponge, but doesn’t open her eyes until I bring it to her mouth.
With just the corner, I start to wipe the blood from her top lip. Her hypnotizing golden-brown eyes meet mine, and I almost forget what I’m doing. She parts her lips and takes in a deep breath, never breaking our gaze. I have to touch her, feel her skin beneath my fingertips. I’m positive she can see the pounding in my chest as I drop the Avitene and bring my thumb to her mouth. As gently as I know how, I brush the pad of my finger across her broken skin. She exhales against my hand, sending a heat wave from the point of impact all the way through the rest of my body. Her lips are still parted and every instinct in my body is shouting at me to slip my thumb inside. To let her tongue slide slowly across the bottom before she pulls it all the way into her warm, wet mouth. I swallow hard and ease my hand over to cradle her cheek. She leans into my touch. Fuck. This woman is going to be my undoing. Injuries, Alex. Focus.
“We need to try to stop the swelling below your eye. I’ll be right back.”
Pulling my hand from her face was harder than I expected. I didn’t want to let her go. The magnetic draw I have to her is overwhelming. When I return from the medicine cabinet, she’s asleep. I think about all the possibilities of what she might have gone through and how exhausted both her mind and body must be. I set the gauze and ointment on the table by her feet, then place the enswell on her cheekbone. Gentle, yet firm, the cool steel of the instrument pressed against her skin will help with any more swelling. Her heavy eyelids flutter open, then close again. She startles awake when I take her hand in mine, examining the damage there. “Sorry, love, but I need to get this cleaned up, too.” There are at least a dozen splinters scattered across her right hand. Some of them are embedded in flesh wounds that carry tiny pieces of rock. She must have fallen somewhere and tried to catch herself. Out of all her wounds, this appears the most painful to her. The hands are sensitive, so I can understand that. “Nasty cuts there. You need ointment. And I need to remove these splinters before infection sets in.”
She fights to try to sit up, but I can tell it’s not easy for her. I can also tell she’s trying her best not to appear weak, so I decide to wait a moment before offering her any help. But she doesn’t need it. She uses the backs of her wrists to scoot herself all the way up on the table. “I was at a party. I had a couple of drinks. There was this… glass door. I didn’t see it…” Bullshit. A door didn’t do this to you, angel. I keep my mouth shut and continue to listen. “I’m sorry about your window. And for interrupting your class.” Why the fuck is she apologizing? She swallows back tears, leaving me in awe of her strength. I can only imagine the thoughts running through her head right now.
I carefully wipe the dried blood from the palm of her hand and her fingertips. She clenches her teeth as I pull out the splinters, one by one, but never makes a sound. I rub A & D ointment on her cuts, wrapping them in gauze afterwards. “It’s late. Let me bring you home.” There’s no way I’m letting her walk to wherever she was headed when I found her.
“No,” she answers, almost too quickly.
“I’m not letting you walk to God knows where, and there’s no reason to call for Uber. Jake’s taken over my class. I can bring you home.” No need to worry. I assure you, I’m less harmful than the wanker who did this to you. Miami isn’t known for public transportation, and even if it were, it’s 10:30 at night. Panic and worry overtake her features, leaving me to think fast before she hops off the table and makes a run for the door. “Or I can bring you to a friend’s house?” Or we can go to my place and I can spend the rest of the night giving you the care you deserve.
She brings her hand to her brow and then down to her cheekbone. “Is it bad?” She’s redirecting. I thought only lawyers used that tactic. Cute. I hold back a smirk and shake my head.
Not anymore. “No. I don’t think you need stitches.” Relief washes over her, and I wonder if it’s because she’s worried about someone’s reaction. She doesn’t strike me as vain. “But, I could take you to a hospital if you’d like. Just to be safe.” Please.
She purses her lips and looks around the room, as if contemplating her options. “Okay. But I just need you to drop me off. You don’t have to stay.” She’s got me by the balls. And not in a good way. I don’t like this option, but it looks like it’s the only one she’s offering. So, I make her believe I’m taking it.
“Deal.” I flash her a satisfied smile, earning one in return. This time it’s genuine, like she’s happy I found her.
I take a step forward and she holds up her hands, halting me. “I think I can walk this time.” I recognize the flirtatious glint in her eyes from the first time at the coffee shop and grin again. It seems I do that a lot with her. I like it. It brings me back to a time when I was unbroken.