All of You

by Christina Lee

  I restrained myself from glancing back more than once to see if he was watching me. He wasn’t.

  Disappointment and indifference waged a war in my chest.

  ***

  Work was busy that day, between med counts, feedings, and bed changes. Sometimes I felt like a

  glorified chamber maid. Some of the elderly were downright nasty. Were probably always nasty, even

  before they became sick.

  And then there were gems like Mrs. Jackson. I’d become accustomed to seeing her kind eyes and

  soft wrinkles every day for the last year. I knew better than to get close to the residents, because I’d said

  my share of good-byes, usually to empty bedsheets and untouched trays of food. I wasn’t really one to

  build emotional connections anyway. But Mrs. Jackson had somehow broken through my barrier and

  befriended me.

  If I was being honest, she reminded me of my grandma, who died when I was twelve. Feisty,

  strong-willed, and never minced words. Total opposite of my mother. No wonder we seemed to

  understand each other pretty well. “Is that a smile I see on your face?” she asked as I entered with the extra pillow she’d requested.

  She could always read me well. I’d just been thinking about Hot Boy living in my building.

  “I wasn’t smiling,” I said, placing the pillow behind her neck. “You’re imagining it.”

  “Mmm-hmmm . . . Then why are your cheeks flushed?”

  “Now you’re just dreaming,” I said, filling her glass with fresh water. “I think the meds are

  affecting your brain.”

  “Don’t you play with me, girl,” she said in her spirited way. The bronze fingers of her good hand

  reached for my arm. I bet she was a pistol, a force to be reckoned with, in her day. “It looked like you

  were thinking about a man.”

  “No way. Never. Boys are stupid.”

  “Not all of them.” It was the same conversation, different day. Mrs. Jackson had a doting husband

  who had visited her every single afternoon since she’d been admitted after her stroke. He usually had a

  fresh bouquet of flowers or a Snickers—her favorite candy bar. She may not have had good use of her

  right arm or leg, but she was still lucid and could appreciate the visits, unlike many of the other patients,

  who were riddled with dementia or Alzheimer’s.

  “Unfortunately, you got the last remaining good guy in the entire universe,” I said, moving toward

  the door. “There are no more available. Maybe I’ll have to steal him from you.”

  “I may be old and sick, but I’d tackle you to the ground and fight you for him.”

  “I believe you would, Mrs. Jackson,” I said, waving. “I believe you would.”

  I loved our banter; it was the best part of my day. Mrs Jackson was in residence because her

  husband could no longer care for her due to his own medical problems. After her stroke, she’d needed

  around-the-clock care, which included feeding, changing, medication management, and physical therapy

  for her weakened limbs.

  Her children were grown with lives of their own, and Mrs. Jackson had hinted that she’d never

  burden them. They visited her once a week and you felt the affection rolling off of them in waves. From snippets of conversations I’d heard, they had all offered to take her into their own homes, but she fought

  them tooth and nail. Told them they couldn’t afford to lose their jobs or provide for all of her needs.

  Since her admission, Mrs. Jackson had also had two smaller strokes, called TIAs . Hopefully they

  wouldn’t lead to the big one—the mother of all strokes—anytime soon. I’d sure as hell miss her around here.

  Chapter Three

  I hadn’t seen Chivalrous Hot Boy Bennett since his move-in day, outside of the one occasion I brought

  my laundry up to the fifth floor for old times’ sake. I heard hammering behind his door. I figured he was

  affixing something to a wall—maybe a poster of a hot girl with dark hair and dark eyelashes, the exact

  opposite of me—and I knew going up there in the first place was a bad idea, too stalkerish. So after

  transferring my clothes to the dryer, I hightailed it out of there, setting a reminder on my phone to check

  back again in an hour’s time.

  Except I fell asleep reading my nursing textbook, and by the time I rushed out of the elevator to

  retrieve my clothes, I spotted Bennett pulling my red lace bra from the dryer.

  “Planning on stealing my unmentionables for your private viewing pleasure?”

  Bennett froze with my B cup dangling from his fingers, his expression unreadable, except for a

  twitch in his jaw. If this beautiful man could remain unaffected by sexy lingerie, then all hope for us was

  lost.

  He had on a pair of cut-off khaki shorts, and I scanned down his toned legs to his calves, which

  were rock hard. He turned toward me, a smirk hanging from his lips. “This belongs to you, huh?”

  “It does,” I said. I noticed how he took in my shorts and pink heart T-shirt, his eyes lingering on my

  breasts, as if imaging me in that red lace. “Care to borrow it—or maybe you want to see it on display?”

  “Now that would be a sight.” My cheeks became inflamed. Was Hot Boy’s flirting voice finally

  rearing its sexy head? “Why are you doing your laundry all the way up here?”

  “Habit I picked up while your place was vacant. The guy across from you is never home, and the machine on my floor is always broken,” I said, smoothing my hands down the front of my shirt. I

  noticed how his eyes carefully followed my fingers. “Why were you picking through my things?”

  And this is where Hot Boy Bennett became flustered. “I . . . uh . . . you . . .” He ruffled his fingers

  through his hair. “I was waiting to dry my clothes and I figured I’d just move yours aside until you

  retrieved them.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that.” I inched closer and noticed the stubble on his chin. It made him look more

  rugged tattoo boy, less clean-cut jock. “I fell asleep reading about the finer points of infectious

  diseases.”

  “That would be hard to stay awake for. My textbooks aren’t much better. Especially the

  Impressionist period.” His eyes scanned up my legs and stomach before landing squarely on my eyes. “I

  wouldn’t take you for a nursing student.”

  “Really. What kind of student, then?” I leaned against the washer and inhaled his faint scent of

  coconut. This one ought to be good. Not sure why his pause made my palms sweat.

  “Um, I don’t know. A business or marketing major; something more . . .” He trailed off and

  scratched the back of his neck, looking at the wall behind me.

  “More what?” What did Hot Boy really think of me? Maybe I should’ve just been happy he was

  thinking of me at all.

  “More aggressive, cutthroat, I guess.”

  My face fell. Right there he was telling me he knew I was after him that one night. And somehow I

  hated what he saw in me. I did not go after guys. They went after me.

  But he thought I was some sort of predator. And that made me want to prove to him wrong.

  I didn’t care about guys. Any of them. And I certainly didn’t care what they thought of me. Except

  for this very instant.

  “Nope.” I pushed off the washer and moved past him to my clothes, my hip brushing against his

  stomach, and my knees almost buckled. I hauled my undies and bras out at supersonic speed, wanting to get the hell away from him and how he made me feel. “Guess I’ve got a soft spot for the sick and

  vul
nerable.”

  “That’s admirable.” His voice was velvety soft, almost like a whisper. It rumbled up my spine to

  my hairline and I almost shivered against it. I didn’t say anything in response, because my mouth had

  trouble forming words.

  “So, um, anyway, sorry for touching your stuff,” he said, straightening himself. I could feel his

  body directly behind mine, and the heat rolling off of him. Normally I’d have a seductive or smart-ass

  retort for his comment, but nothing came.

  I left the dryer open and slinked past him to the elevator, pushing the down button a little too

  aggressively. “Good night.” When the rickety doors squeaked closed behind me, I let out the breath I

  had been holding.

  ***

  A scraping sound woke me out of a dead sleep. I blinked at the ceiling, trying to get my bearings. The

  noise was coming from directly outside my bedroom window. Shadows played across the blinds. I saw

  the outline of a head and shoulders, and my stomach seized up.

  Somebody was trying to break in, trying to pry open the glass. My heartbeat thundered in my ears,

  and my fingers slid like sludge toward my phone on the nightstand.

  But the rest of my body was cemented in place. I couldn’t move as sheer terror enveloped me and

  held me captive.

  Was this person going to rob me or rape me? My breath shot out in sputtering gasps.

  I’d taken self-defense courses three times over the last couple of years and knew how to respond in

  this type of situation. All I needed to do was reach for my phone and dial 9-1-1, then run like hell out my

  front door. But for some reason I could not get my body unstuck.

  I’d been in a similar heightened state of danger when I was sixteen and had fought back. This was the exact reason I kept my self-defense training sharp, so why wasn’t I able to respond now?

  Living on the first floor of this apartment building hadn’t been my first choice as a female resident,

  but it was my only choice at the time.

  The sound of my window popping and sliding open forced my heart to jam into my throat, and I

  gagged on my own saliva.

  All at once I heard a gruff voice shouting from outside. “What the hell are you doing? Get away

  from that window. I’m calling the cops.”

  There was a scuffling sound, a loud clunk, and then heavy grunting. All I could gather is that

  whoever was at my window had dropped to the ground and started running.

  I heard that same voice outside yell, “Son of a bitch! You’re not getting away with this!” and then

  heard panting like he was in pursuit of whoever had been about to break in.

  And still I was glued to my bed, my chest painfully throbbing from breathing so damn hard.

  Next, there was a voice beneath my window. “Avery, are you in there? Are you okay? It’s Bennett.

  From the fifth floor.” I hadn’t seen Bennett in a few days. What the hell was he now doing outside my

  window?

  I finally snapped out of it and bolted upright. The relief I felt caused my breaths to slide out of me.

  “Y . . . yes, I’m here.”

  “Someone was trying to break in through your window. I called the police.” He paused, breathing

  hard. I imagined him bent at the waist or leaning against the brick wall. “I’m coming around front. Can

  you open your door?”

  Holy shit. My legs were wobbly and I struggled to stand up. Bennett had run off an intruder. But

  what the hell had I done to help myself? Not a goddamn thing.

  I could have been robbed, or raped—or killed, even. So much for taking care of me.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I didn’t want to be saved—I wanted to knock that motherfucker out myself. “Avery?” Now Bennett was at my door, his voice low, his knock gentle.

  I stalked to the door completely pissed off at myself. I swung it open and Bennett charged inside,

  grasping at my shoulders. “Are you okay? Were you awake?”

  I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t awake so he wouldn’t know what a goddamn wuss I truly was. I

  mean, shit, I could haul ass in my kickboxing class, but I wimped out in a real-life scenario?

  “Uh, yeah, the noise at my window woke me up.” He was squeezing my shoulders now, all boy

  saves-girl, so I backed the hell away from him.

  “He ran before I could get to him, but I got a good look at his face and the clothes he was wearing.”

  That’s when I heard the siren blaring in the background. Fuck, now the whole goddamn neighborhood

  would be woken up for this.

  “Avery, the police will be here any minute; maybe you should put some more clothes on.” I looked

  down at my skimpy sleep shorts and white tank top—no bra—my nipples standing at attention.

  And here was Bennett being a complete gentleman again. Shit.

  “Right, thanks.” I dashed into my bedroom, grabbed jeans and a black hoodie from my bedroom

  floor and slipped them on. I headed back to the living room and said, “Better?”

  He nodded. “Pretty sure the cops will be able to do their jobs with clear heads now.” My whole

  body heated at his comment. Even in the middle of all of this.

  “Bennett, how did you . . .” I moved to my bedroom door and glanced at my partially open widow.

  “Why were you outside?”

  He motioned to the sidewalk beyond our building. “I was walking home from Lou’s Bar at the

  corner of our street and saw him at your window.”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “This is so unreal. Thank you.”

  Most unreal was how I acted in this situation. Like a fucking damsel in distress.

  The lights from the police cruiser blinked eerie shades of red and blue against my apartment walls.

  “Guess we should go meet them outside,” I said. Bennett reached for my hand, and I resisted. His eyebrows bunched together, and I felt awful after

  all he’d done for me. So I let him lead me outside, his hand on the small of my back.

  The police were there for a solid hour getting our statements and a description of the suspect from

  Bennett. Our landlord, Mr. Matthews, showed up, too, and assured me he’d have a locksmith secure all

  of the first-floor windows in the morning.

  Most of the tenants went back to sleep, but Bennett stayed by my side the entire time. He asked the

  police pertinent questions for me, like how long it would be before I heard anything and how to contact

  them if I had any more questions. Like he was my flipping spokesman or something. Surprising of all

  was that I let him be.

  My head still swirled from shock and anger and, most of all, fear. Especially about falling back to

  sleep tonight. I’d decided right then and there that I’d be making my bed on the couch, close to the door

  and the knives in the kitchen.

  When all was said and done, Bennett walked me back to my door. “You gonna be okay?”

  I didn’t want my voice to deceive me so I just nodded and inserted my key into the lock.

  He must have noticed some hesitation. “Avery, are you sure you—”

  “Of course!” I snapped at him. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a long night. Thank you for everything.”

  “Sure. Good night.” He headed toward the elevator and I reluctantly crossed over the threshold to

  my apartment. I could feel him watching me, so I thrust my door closed and propped my weight against

  it.

  Suddenly my apartment felt different to me. Dimmer. Lurking shadows in the corners. Sinister

  creaks from the wind.

  There was a light tap, and I hea
rd Bennett clear his throat. “Avery?”

  I backed away from the door like I hadn’t been leaning against it that entire time. I took a deep

  breath and collected myself, then pulled open the door. “Yeah?”

  Bennett’s face creased in concern. He held out his hand. “C’mon.” “What . . . where?”

  “Up to my place for the night.”

  “No, I . . .” I sputtered.

  He stared at me impassively with his hand still stretched out for the taking.

  Was this guy for real?

  Going with him would make me look weak.

  Who the hell was I kidding? I was spooked from an intruder who had been almost a second away

  from dropping into my bedroom.

  His hand felt warm and protective. He held my fingers the entire time in the elevator and only

  broke away to dig out his key and unlock his door.

  He gave me a sidelong glance. “Had that happened to my mom or sisters, no way would I have let

  them sleep there—if that makes you feel any better.”

  So, he had women in his life that he cared about. My heart melted a little.

  He opened his door to dozens of boxes littered everywhere. “Sorry, I haven’t truly unpacked yet.

  Thought I’d get to it this weekend.”

  He glanced at the couch, where a huge blue bin took up most of the cushion. DVDs were piled on

  top and spilling over the sides. “Um, listen . . .”

  I was about to tell him it was cool, I’d go back downstairs, but then he grabbed hold of my hand

  and led me to his bedroom. It was the only room in the apartment not filled to the brim with boxes.

  A queen bed sat in the center of the room with a black and gray checkered sheet and comforter set.

  Very understated. Very cozy. Very male.

  “You can sleep in my bed.”

  I blinked back my surprise. Not that I hadn’t been in a man’s bed before, but this felt so different.

  Probably because this wasn’t under sexual circumstances. This was a caring and concerned gesture.

  He motioned to the living room. “I’m going to sleep out here.” “No way, Bennett, I’m not taking your bed.” I turned toward the door. “I’ll sleep out there.”

  “Please, don’t argue the point.” He back out of the doorway. “I’ll be close to the door, so no

  worries. Besides, we’re up on the fifth floor. Good night.”