Cara
I face the lift with utter dread. The anxiety climbing in my gut and turning my sandwich to a lead brick is kicking my behind and pissing me off.
I hate this. Hate I can’t even take a lift without freaking out. Since when did I become so pathetic? You can do this. It’s only a lift, for Christ’s sake.
I run my index finger around the back of my shirt collar, hating the moisture gathering there. When the doors ping open, my heart sinks further. Three large men fill the few square feet, all wearing suits, all laughing and talking loudly. Great, as if small spaces aren’t enough of a challenge these days, now I’ve got to step into this airless box and be crammed against three big blokes. I don’t do being in confined spaces with big men. Not since that day.
I eye the stairs to the right of the lift for a moment—only two flights up. Trouble is, my leg still hasn’t fully healed, and it throbs enough without the added effort of stairs.
Come on, bitch, grow a pair. I clench my jaw and make my feet shuffle forward into my own special version of hell.
Small spaces have become my nemesis the last few months.
As I press the button for floor three, a man stalks across the lobby and into the lift, making it officially crowded. I don’t even look at his face, but his height and broad build add to my nervousness.
Since when did I fear men? I need to get a bloody grip.
The doors slide shut and I take a deep breath in. I do okay at first…at least until the doors seal and the lift jolts upward.
One of the group of men lets out a harsh bark of a laugh and punches the other on the shoulder. It sends him into me. A split-second of contact only, causing me a minor wobble on my feet but it’s enough. Too much like what happened before.
Panic takes over. My breath hitches and I can’t seem to get any air in. My throat won’t cooperate and loosen, and my heart’s starting to hammer.
Oh, great! I cannot be about to have a panic attack before the first lesson of the new term. With shaking fingers, I pull back the zip on my bag and look for the small bottle of pills I carry for these occasions. They’re only herbal, but I swear they help. And they are so tiny I can swallow them without water.
My fingers brush clumsily over my small hairbrush, my chewing gum, and my little leather purse. Finally, they land on the herbal valium. The downside is the time they take to kick in.
I shake out a pill and swallow it. I shake another out and keep it in my hand.
God. What if this damn thing breaks down and I end up stuck in here with these guys? One of them looks at me, and I want to hide from his full-on, confident male gaze. Something flickers in his eyes, like a recognition of my distress. And his lips twitch in amusement. Bastard.
The friend pushes the guy again, and once more he stumbles into my space.
“Hey. Quit fucking around.” The gruff voice startles me. I turn to see the big guy who stepped in last talking over my head to the idiots clowning around.
Oh, no. Please don’t let there be a fight. I glance at Big Guy’s face, and he’s calm enough, but deadly serious. He’s also astonishingly good looking. Like the sort of man you see in high-end aftershave ads. There’s a hardness to him, though. Not in his features as such, but in the set of his jaw, and the cold in his eyes. Almost as if a granite shell exists around him that screams, don’t fuck with me.
The idiots don’t say anything. One of them rolls his eyes, but they all seem to take the measure of the man, and decide to tone it down a bit.
“Are you okay?” Big Guy asks me.
I nod, because I can’t speak right now. His eyes narrow a tiny amount, but he gives me a short nod in return and stares at the doors.
Finally, the damn lift judders to a halt and the doors slide open. I rush out of there and head straight for the big window in the hallway. I lean on the ledge, looking down at the sodden grey town below, and shove the extra pill, still in my hand, into my mouth, and swallow.
The rowdy guys stay in the lift. Tall, Dark, and Pretty gets out, but heads down the hallway away from me, without even looking my way.
I want to get as far away from the whole experience as possible, so I walk to the end of the hallway and push open the door to the ladies’ room. My face is pale, my eyes wide as I stare at my reflection.
I’ve weathered a lot in life. Losing Mum and Dad young didn’t break me, but then Dane, my ex, nearly did. And to add to the pile of steaming crap, a few months ago, my friend, Tristan and I were attacked by some thugs on our way home.
Tristan was amazing and fought them off but during the scuffle one of the men tripped and fell on me, breaking my leg. It messed me up, physically and mentally. I think it did the same to Tristan, too, because he’s been kind of clingy since. Texting regularly and calling all the time. Wanting me to move near him. It makes me feel guilty to pull away from him, but some days he’s too much.
I’d already decided to try and cool the friendship as he’d grown more controlling and…well, weird, as the friendship developed. But then he’d basically saved me, and how do you end a friendship in those circumstances? Now I still see him, but try to keep it much less frequent than before.
I scrutinize myself in dismay. The dark circles under my eyes make me look way older than my years, and contrast nicely with the pale glow I’ve got going on. I’m a mess pretending to be all put together. And later this week I must walk into a room full of young, aggressive men and teach them. And not any men. No, these guys are guests of her Majesty’s prison system.
I’m terrified it will take one look at them, sat there in the depressing, sterile classroom, and I’ll finally lose it completely.
I sigh, splash my face with water, dry it off with a paper towel, and exit the bathroom.
When I reach the classroom, I open the door to rows of empty seats. I want to kiss the boring blue carpet in gratitude. With an empty room, I can take a moment or two to compose myself before the class begins.
The room the university uses for the adult education group is airy and bright, and I let myself have a moment of I can do this ra ra ra shit as I come down from the anxiety attack. I walk to the window, legs more solid under me now, and look out over the rain-covered streets below.
The stone buildings of Harrogate shine as the weak sun hits their wet sides. No matter how long I live in Yorkshire, I think I’ll always be struck by the solemn beauty of the place.
A bright red shape cuts through the gray suited men and women below, and I smile when I look closer and see my colleague, Laura, rushing along, head down. Her umbrella shines out as a beacon of primary colored fun in the gloomy day. Red and covered in bright green apples, it always makes me smile.
Laura isn’t simply my colleague, she crossed the line to friend years ago, and sort of semi-adopted me, along with her partner Mags.
I know she’s worried sick about me. I don’t want her to be, but I can’t seem to get myself back to anything approaching normal. This time, working with Laura for the university, offers me a sorely needed haven from the stressful work at the prison. I don’t want her to try and make me take some leave from my job here so I act as if I’m okay. Trying to paper over the cracks with smiles and pleasantries.
I need to focus, so I grab my bag and open it, shuffling through the papers there as I do. I try to focus my tired but wired brain. I’m not nearly as prepared as usual, somehow the week has run away from me again.
“Hello, my lovely.” Laura bustles in, shaking water droplets from her brolly.
“Hey, Laura. How are you?” I stand and give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Nice outfit.”
Her petite frame suits the purple artist’s smock she wears. As usual, an abundance of chunky silver bangles and rings shine on her fingers and wrists.
“I’m well, my darling.” She turns shrewd eyes on me and studies my face. “But the more pertinent question is, how are you?”
“I’m good.” It might be a lie, but I don’t want to admit otherwise.
“There’s no shame in taking time to get over these things. You were attacked, Cara. Out of the blue, and through no fault of your own.” She lays a hand on my arm. “And on top of everything else you’ve gone through over the last few years? I’m not surprised you’re struggling a little. Don’t try to pretend nothing happened. If you need time, you take it. I’ve seen far too many people burn out in this job, without the added stress of what you’re dealing with. And you might need to speak to your supervisor at the prison. I’ve always worried about the work you do there.”
I open my mouth to speak and she holds a hand up. “I get why you do it, lovey. I understand completely. And I think it’s great you care so much about justice and rehabilitation. But you might find it hard to carry on with all that’s happened recently. And a heads up to your supervisor will mean they can help, if you need it.”
She’s only speaking the truth, but I don’t want to think about it. Any of it. Not the attack, and not teaching at the prison.
I turn away from Laura and busy myself with some student enrollment packs. I don’t need this shit before a class, however well meaning. It’s taking me everything to keep myself going these days. To lock those memories out.
Behind me, Laura lets out a deep sigh, and I swear I can feel her eyes burning a hole in my back. Shouldn’t she be doing something useful? I turn and give her a pointed look as I sort the packs. She picks up a bundle of them herself, and with a softer sigh begins to flip through them. My muscles relax as I understand she’s dropped it…for now.
I focus on the room and let the bland walls and soft lighting soothe me.
Safe. Here I’m safe. I can push all the other stuff down and away, and become the professional I always was before that night.
“Is this the teacher training group?” A quiet voice floats in from the door, and I glance up to see a plump woman who looks to be in her late forties hovering by the entrance.
“Are you wanting teacher training for those going to work in schools, or the class for the certificate to train adults in the workplace?” I offer her a smile and it feels weird on my lips.
“The adult training class,” she says with a smile of her own.
I gesture for her to come in. “Yes, you’ve found the right room. Come and take a seat.”
Ten minutes later, most of the desks are occupied, and I couldn’t be happier. There are two men, but they’re both in their late fifties, and seem quiet and earnest. The types who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, not the types to go out and get drunk and beat up on random strangers. Or get rowdy in lifts. And, yes, I’m aware that at some point I need to deal with this lingering distrust of the male of the species I seem to have developed.
“Right, let’s get this show on the road.” Laura beams at me and turns to the room, clapping her hands. The students mostly look slightly nervous, which is to be expected on day one. “Welcome all, to the adult education teacher-training course. If you turn to your packs and open them to the front page, there’s some boring paperwork we need to get out of the way, and then we can move on to the good stuff. Before we go any further, I’d like to introduce you to Cara.”
She points one long, silver ringed finger at me. “She’s one of the tutors on the course. You will be split into two groups. One group will be with me, the other with Cara. However, on occasion, we carry out joint lectures and tutorials, such as this. And, of course, you’ll all get to know one another a little better at the social next week.”
Laura grins and I hide a grimace. The social is nothing more than the whole group taking to the pub for week two’s lesson, getting to know one another over a pint, or three. Normally, I love it. These days I can’t stand bars and pubs. Can’t stand being around people drinking. Although I do enough of it home, alone, at night.
“If you’ll all please fill in your details on the front page of the welcome pack. Thank you,” Laura says.
The group begins writing, heads down. Peaceful silence fills the room, punctuated only by the odd shuffle of paper or quiet cough. Moments later the door opens and a young man walks in. I take one look, and a big part of me–the freaky, easily spooked, post-attack part–hopes the guy has the wrong room. He’s the man from the lift. Not one of the idiots, but my sort-of savior. The pretty one.
He doesn’t fit our usual cohort, so could easily be in the wrong place. He’s younger than most of our students, for a start.
Tall, broad, and dark haired, he’s wearing faded jeans and a fleece. And for the first time, I get a proper, lingering look at him. My first impression of him being stupidly good looking holds up, and then some. His hair and skin still sparkle with drops of rain, which only serve to highlight his striking features.
“This the class for work place trainers?” His voice sounds as if he’s smoked a pack of twenty and chased them down with a tumbler of whisky.
“Yes.” Laura runs a finger down her sheet. “Are you…Luka Anders?”
“Yep, that’s me. Sorry I’m late.”
He doesn’t sound sorry. My heart sinks further as I realize this brawny, confident male does indeed seem to belong in our cozy group.
“Take a seat, Luka. I’ll get you a welcome pack. I need you to fill in your details on the first page, and then tell us a bit about yourself on page two. You’re from a security firm, I read on your application?” Laura bustles about, grabbing the things she needs.
“Yeah. We’re taking on trainees for a course we’re going to run, and I got stuck with being the one to train them.” Luka sits behind an empty desk, near to the front, and I can’t help but notice how much room he takes up in the cheap plastic chair. What sort of security does he do? I’m itching to know, and stop my fingers from snatching his welcome pack back from him to read his application.
I glance down at the tutor lists, and give a silent sigh of relief when I see Luka’s name underneath Laura’s. I won’t have to deal with the man much after today. These days, I like my life simple, and easy. Calm. I like things seriously calm. I don’t need scary-but-sort-of- hot men messing up my zen.
Five minutes later the forms are filled, and Laura asks the group to stand up and tell everyone a little about themselves. One woman is so nervous her face flushes and her voice shakes. Some are confident, others a touch unsure. But they all manage to talk about their current work roles and give us their brief work biographies. We’ve the usual mix, some librarians, a couple of adult education teachers, a young, glamorous beautician, two social works, and a solicitor. Then it comes to Luka’s turn.
He stands, back ramrod straight, and begins to speak in his husky voice. “My name’s Luka Anders. I work for a security firm here, we do close protection work and high-end surveillance and security, but we’re also expanding into training people to do more mundane security work. We aim to give them top class skills, so they are working to a high standard. That’s where this class comes in.”
He doesn’t sound happy about any of it.
“And what did you do before, Luka?” Laura asks.
“I served in the military–the Royal Marines, and then the Special Boat Service.” His chin juts a touch in pride.
I’m not surprised taking his build, stance, and the quiet air of confidence. Not that I’m impressed. I dislike war, all wars. I’ve been an anti-war protestor for years. Proper peacenik, me.
“You were in the army?” Sue, the lady who’d gone bright red, looks at Luka with a strange expression on her face.
“Yes, ma’am. Although the SBS are part of the Navy.” Luka smiles down at her, dimples appearing either side of his mouth, transforming his face and stealing a little of my breath.
“Of course. I should know as much.” Sue smiles and doesn’t say anything else.
Now I’ve got a burning curiosity about her, and a nagging sense of attraction to Luka, despite him representing everything I dislike in a man.
I don’t do the macho bravado thing. Even before the incident, I didn’t like those sorts of guys. I prefer my men to be intelligent, and kind. Nerdy truthfully. The opposite of the hulking specimen in front of me.
Except in my deepest darkest recesses where my unspoken desires lurk, and I have a vague lingering fantasy about some big, strong man overpowering me. Not raping me— because I want him—but being forceful. Demanding. It used to be a favorite of mine, but since I experienced real-life male aggression, it’s not somewhere I can go. Not even in my head. And it means my fantasy life has become as dull as dishwater.
Not that any of it matters, as Luka is a student, so even if I were attracted to him, he’d be totally out of bounds.
I’m also not the sort of girl most men go for. I’m often the one being teased for my red hair and freckles, while the guy in question tries to impress whatever friend I am with.
“Thank you, Luka,” Laura says, breaking into my train of thought.
We get on with the nitty gritty of introduction week, and the time flies, keeping my mind from dwelling too much on anything.
It’s soon time for a break, and I’m gagging for a coffee. Luka stands before any of the other students, and cracks his neck one side to the other.
I don’t like the way my gaze seems to constantly land on him. But he keeps catching my attention. There’s something infinitely sad about his face. He’s not handsome, either, as I’d first thought. It’s much worse than that.
When you look at him properly, he’s beautiful.
The sort of man who could bring any woman to her knees with one lingering glance from those soulful, strange eyes of his. They looked grey when I glanced at him in the lift. Then, when he came into the room, I realized they must be blue. But as the light in the room changed in response to the sun coming out, they warmed to an oceanic green. Like those tropical seas that can’t decide if they’re blue or green.
He unzips his hooded top and peels it from his body, revealing a blue t-shirt, cut high on impressive biceps. He waits for Sue and pulls her chair back out of the way once she’s stood, so she can more easily head for the door. Chivalrous.
I shake my head and look away. Once in the staff room, I make straight for the drinks tray and prepare a coffee. I’m feeling a bit off center, and not in the usual, nervy way, but something different. Something not felt in a long time. Almost a sense of excitement. The sort of feeling I had as a teenager when I crushed on some newly discovered pop sensation.
I sit and sip at my drink, and remind myself that Luka Anders isn’t some drop dead gorgeous singer. He’s everything I disdain in a person.
If Luka were in the Royal Marines he’d have seen action, maybe lost friends, but almost certainly killed the enemy. For me, it makes all the pretty on the outside irrelevant—because I could never be impressed with someone who’d taken a life.
The quiet of the room, and the dull ticking of the clock on the wall, soothe me as I sip at my coffee. If I take Laura up on her offer, I’ll be working in much nicer conditions than at the prison. The staffroom at HMS Wetherborne doesn’t have comfy chairs or plush carpets.
Part of me wants to stick the prison work out. After all, it used to matter to me. The guys aren’t serious offenders. Most of them are there for petty crimes. And I firmly believe that if you can catch those in the system for a first offence, and help educate them, you can cut recidivism rates. I have personal reasons for wanting to help. But now, my idealism is coming up against the cold, hard wall of my fear.
Fear’s a bitch, and she’s winning.
I head into the hallway and stop still when I see Luka stood by the window, looking out over the city. There’s a look on his face, and it’s one I’ve seen many times recently staring back at me in the mirror. I’d say it’s a look of frightened despair. He turns, sees me, and it’s gone. Wiped away, to be replaced by something like annoyance as his eyes narrow. I nod at him, and with what seems forced nonchalance, he nods back.
Maybe I’ve got him wrong. Perhaps there’s a lot more to him than meets the eye? Or maybe I’m letting his good looks provide me with the excuse to imbue him with all sorts of false characteristics. And I’m not that girl. Not the silly, giggly girl who loses it over a guy just because he’s pretty. But he is…pretty. Drop dead gorgeous, in fact. And something else, too. Confident in the lift, haunted here in the hallway. I suppose I see something of myself in him.
“You want a picture?”
His voice startles me.
“Sorry?” I’m not sure what he means.
“You’re staring at me. I can save you the effort, give you a picture if you want?” He smirks, and in a single second the spell is broken.
What an arrogant wanker. I shake my head, hating that I feel my face warm. “No thank you. I was lost in thought.”
“Clearly.”
“I didn’t even realize I was looking at you.”
“Ok.” He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
He’s made me feel like an idiot, and it pisses me off.
I rein in my annoyance, and turn on my heel to head back to the classroom. I vow to not even glance his way for the rest of the day.
Troubled by the day’s events, and my reaction to Luka, I take a back seat for the lesson. It won’t hurt to let Laura do the heavy lifting today. She loves this sort of stuff.
I decide to focus on the student packs that have been handed in. Signing off on them as Laura takes the group through a few exercises. The familiar rhythm of the paperwork lulls my overwrought mind, and I soon re-find my equilibrium. Seven o’clock comes around, and Laura finishes the lesson with a request they all write out their future goals in time for next week.
As everyone files out of the room, I breathe out and crank my neck side to side, wincing at the crunch of tendons.
“Luka, would you stay behind a moment?” Laura calls out.
I glance up, wondering what she wants with him. Luka nods, and when he’s finished shoving his pen and notepad into the sporty backpack he’s got, he saunters over to Laura.
She smiles at him. “I’d like to talk with you. About the placement you need to do for this course. I think you’d be perfect to work with Cara, on the prisoner-education initiative.”
Oh god! I try desperately to convey what a terribly bad idea this is to Laura, using only my eyes, but she seems willfully determined to ignore me. She rambles on, each word spiking my adrenalin levels. Telling Luka how well suited he’ll be for the class with his background, and how good it will look on his CV. I don’t want him working with me. Although, a small traitorous part of me says it might help my nerves to have a big, capable bloke like him around.
Capable. Yeah, the word fits. He’s clearly able to take care of himself. No one tells off three men in a lift if they don’t have confidence in their physical ability.
Perhaps, he’ll make me feel safer. More secure?
I hate letting my brain even go there, though. I narrow my eyes at Laura and think of ways I can get out of this.