by Daisy Jane
I tried not to stare at the clock on the wall, I tried not to glance at my watch, I tried not to look at the oven clock. But each direction I turned my head, I found the time and each one told me it was well after seven. Ten minutes past turned into twenty and anticipation quickly became nerves. Britta wasn’t a girl who’d stand me up, after all, she’d have to see me here next week when she worked. And she wanted me, maybe not me but she did want my body, and for that, I felt certain she’d return. Though she had my phone number, I realized I didn’t have hers. Just her address.
Drinking a glass of water, I pulled on my baseball hat and some sneakers and got in my car. She hadn’t come. I didn’t know her well enough yet, but something inside me told me this wasn’t normal. Something was off.
The drive to her side of town seemed to last forever and I recognized my impatience in dealing with the world while I tried to get to her. I’d never felt impatient or in a hurry to get to anyone before. Not even my ex-wife, or even Darcy. Hell, I was mostly impatient for her to leave.
The Chinese restaurant that her apartment rested on top of was alive with people, paper lanterns glowing almost magically around the arbor. The small window that belonged to her apartment was radiant, and though I didn’t know what room it led to, it gave me hope that she was home and okay.
Making my way up the stairs, I heard noises coming from outside the third floor where her cousin’s apartment was. Glancing up, Donny was there, looking down at me, a cigarette strangled between his lips.
“My man, you’re back,” he gave me a grin, and I wondered if I’d be paying him another $20 to find out what was going on with Britta. I’d pay him a million if it brought me closer to her.
“Hello, Donny,” I called up, pausing a few stairs below the second-floor landing. I’d almost made it to her door. Almost.
“You here for Britta?” he asked, taking a thick drag from the unfiltered cigarette, loose pieces of tobacco stuck to his lip. Who the hell else would I be here for? I internally retorted.
“I am,” I confirmed, and he nodded in approval, his chain clinking against the railing as he leaned forward.
“Alright then. So, did I or did I not see you?” his voice was lower and he rolled his head back towards his apartment, in acknowledgement of Melody.
“I didn’t know that not seeing me was something Melody wanted,” I admitted, and I could see confusion in his brow as he thought about what I said. “Does she not want me to come around?” I simplified.
“She doesn’t want you fucking around with Britta. Says you’ll get bored and leave her worse off than you found her,” he said, dropping the cigarette down, his high-top pressing the embers into oblivion.
“You tell her I was here, if you want,” I said, not wanting to lie, not particularly caring about Melody’s need to protect her cousin. She didn’t know it yet, but no one could protect and take care of Britta as well as I could.
“Aight then, see ya man,” Donny said, disappearing back onto the third-floor landing, the traces of his cigarette lasting in the air above me.
I knocked gently three times at Britta’s door before stepping back and waiting. There was movement inside, small but I heard it and I leaned in, waiting anxiously. She didn’t answer.
“Britta,” I called gently, hoping she’d open up. I needed to know she was okay.
Just as I was losing faith, I heard one lock click, another, the sliding of a chain and then that sweet and warm smell drifted towards me as she pulled the door open, slightly.
Her eyes were swollen, cheeks were tear stained, honey hair in a heap on her head. She looked disheveled and exhausted, distraught and concerned and still, she caused a heavy thudding in my chest. So fucking beautiful.
“Are you okay?” I was nearly whispering, my voice trapped somewhere in my chest at the sight of her.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, I’m sorry,” she attempted to close the door but I put my hand in, instinctively, so she couldn’t.
“Is this about today?”
Had I moved too fast? I wondered, since my hand was the only thing keeping me in her life at the moment. But she’d wanted it, she really had. If I’d been wrong, I’d been so far off-base. It had to be something else.
“Yes,” she nodded, not meeting my eyes. “I mean, no, not the part of my day with you,” she explained, and the simple clarification allowed me to breath. Thank god I hadn’t been the source of her current state but still, I needed to know what was wrong.
“Can I come in?” I lowered my head, tilting it slightly, trying to force her to look at me. She still wouldn’t and her hesitancy sent a panic through me. This can’t be it.
“I don’t think so,” she said, an uneven sob breaking free from those pouty lips, her bandaged hand covering her mouth as she did.
“Britta, please, what’s going on?” I found myself needing to know what’d turned this beautiful young creature into such a mess. What, or, as I was about to find out, who.
“I like you,” I said, my fingers curling around the doorframe, pulling myself a little closer to her. “If you want me to go, I will.”
Finally, she looked up at me. The tip of her nose was red, like her eyelids, and her bottom lip trembled before she tucked it under her teeth, pulling the door open to let me in.
The apartment was tiny, nothing but a couch and a small table, adorned with a lamp. It was the end of summer, the evenings beginning to cool off, yet the apartment felt stuffy and warm. Paint chipped from the walls and the floor was bubbled, lifting from water damage throughout. It smelled clean, like my house - she had clearly tried to make it as nice as she could. She settled onto the couch, covering her body with an old, multi-colored afghan, drawing her knees to her chest underneath.
“May I sit?” I motioned next to her on the couch and she nodded, her hair wobbling on top of her head. I hated myself for it, but my cock stirred at the sight of her under the dim light, how innocently she wrapped her arms around her blanketed legs, resting her chin on her knee. Those wide green eyes so bright, despite the sadness around them.
I sat on the couch—which also looked old and worn—and another wave of sickness washed through me, that this beautiful woman had to live like this. She deserves so much more.
“Please, Britta, please tell me why you’re upset,” I spoke softly, reaching out, resting my palm on her exposed cheek, my thumb sweeping her smooth skin, finding some dampness there.
She lifted her head to the comfort of my hand, and I felt pride that I gave her that feeling. That meant something to me. I was merely a stranger, still, and I made her feel safe. How badly she needed someone, safety, love. I had to fight the urge to scoop her up off the couch, into my arms, and cradle her against my chest, plant kisses in her hair and make it all okay for her. I had to take my time; I didn’t want to scare her.
“Please,” I coaxed, and then there was a sharp knock at the door, and Melody sailed in, hands on hips, concern and fury twisted on her face.
“What are you doing here?” she looked directly at me, and I looked back at Britta, unsure if she had shared with her cousin what transpired between us today.
I wasn’t sure what to say and it was unlike me to be speechless. I didn’t want to admit to Melody that Britta had planned to see me, not if she didn’t want her cousin knowing. The last thing I wanted to do was cause her more grief. I looked back to Melody.
“What’s going on?” I asked, rising to my feet, wanting to cut through the veil of bullshit. Something was clearly wrong.
“Did you tell him?” Melody questioned, walking past me to take my place on the couch next to Britta.
She shook her head.
“Tell me what?”
I had to know now. Because clearly, I hadn’t been wrong. Something had happened. And it was bad enough to make Britta this upset.
I took a breath, their nervous eyes on me, both of them silent.
“Look, I understand you both want to keep your jobs and you don�
��t want to say anything that could jeopardize that, but if—” Britta leapt off the couch, the old afghan puddling at her feet. Then Melody was on her feet, too, with Donny lingering in the doorway.
“Some fucking guy said some nasty shit to her at work today, he touched her they took off,” he said, pulling the loose cigarette out from behind his ear. “There, now he knows what’s up.”
“Donny, what the fuck!” Melody hissed, rushing to his side, grabbing him by the arm like a mother scolding her child in the supermarket. It occurred to me right then that Donny had taken a liking to me for some reason or another. He had to have, after all, he was helping me.
“What?” it was a cross between a shout and an accusation, aimed at no one and everyone at once. Immediately, I knew. Sickness brewed in my belly as I remembered that I’d driven her there. I’d taken her to him. Ted Nolan. My hands rolled into tight fists at my side. Inhaling, I knew I needed composure. Rage and anger would not help Britta to feel better. I took a steadying breath.
“Thank you,” I nodded to Donny and he nodded back, our allegiance silently substantiated.
“Well, fuck, you may as well just tell him now,” Melody hissed to Britta, her eyes still on Donny. “I can stay, do you want me to stay?”
Britta’s brow crinkled as she shrugged the offer away. “It’s fine, okay, I’m fine and it’s fine,” she said, her tone lacking life. She was exhausted, I could see it. It killed me.
“Call me when he goes,” Melody said, dragging Donny out by the arm.
“Later bro,” he called to me, and I raised my eyebrows in acknowledgement.
Once the door closed, my arms were around her, pulling her into my chest. I wanted her to tell me everything, I wanted to fucking kill that sick piece of shit Nolan, I wanted to make her quit and come live with me. But it was too much for her to handle right now, I could see that, so instead I held her as she wept into my chest, broken yet steady sobs.
“Come to my place for the night, please. I can’t leave you here. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I don’t want to be alone, either,” she admitted, “I didn’t think I’d sleep at all tonight.”
“What do you need?” I looked around the small space, wondering if there was a bag she needed to bring with her, and then I said fuck it. “Whatever you need, we’ll get you. Come on, I don’t want you here a minute longer.”
She pulled away, using the heels of her palms to wipe away the tears under her eyes.
“Here? I know it’s a shithole but you can’t rescue me from my life, Brooks. I live here.”
Fuck, I’d offended her. And I really hadn’t meant to come off condescending. I just don’t want her alone, in this condition, after whatever had happened today—which still had my blood boiling, rage clawing under the surface of my skin.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, reaching for her hands, taking them in mine.
“He just thought he could touch me. And it made me think, what if that’s how you see me, too?” her eyes dropped to my feet as she spoke and I could see the darkness inside of the confession. It had been eating her, tearing her ideas and beliefs about me to shreds.
I could’ve been outraged. I could’ve said I can’t believe you’d think that about me. But, to be fair, she didn’t know me that well. Not yet. And though I physically pleased her, that wasn’t emotionally reassuring. And that’s clearly what she needed now.
“Britta,” I said calmly. “I want you to know me. And I want to know you. And after that happens, you’ll see that I don’t see you the way that he sees you.” I pause to pull her hands to my face, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. “I see you. Let me prove it, please,” I pulled her back into me and she returned my hug but I could feel the hesitancy in her touch.
“Come to my house, we’ll eat, you can have a bath and sleep in the guest bedroom. It locks, I can stay away. But please, Britta, don’t shut me out. I don’t want you here alone.”
It was all I had, the only thing I could think to say in the moment. And just as the panic made its way up my throat, heart racing with the adrenaline brought on by her silence, her head nodded up and down against my chest.
“Okay,” she croaked out, her voice tiny and strained.
In my arms, against my chest, I carried her down the stairs and put her in the car, buckling the belt around her. Her eyes were filled with tears as she stared blankly out the front windshield. My heart strained seeing her that way. She’d gone through something awful which was bad enough but then her trauma made her rethink a very good thing with me and question everything.
As I walked around the back of my car, I couldn’t help but think of Nolan. At my age, you didn’t pop off and hit people—all that got you was injured and sued. But a spark was ignited inside of me, seeing Britta hurt this way.
Maybe I wasn’t too old to throw a good punch.
11
Brooks
She’s silent on the drive and I don’t press her. I hate that she’s hurting and that for some time she believed that I was part of that. I hope that she believes I wasn’t taking advantage of her, treating her like a thing to be used, like Nolan was. Then something burned hot under my skin, around my collar and I found myself uncomfortable, shifting in my seat. I had treated a woman that way, though, and it wasn’t that long ago.
The last girl I dated, Darcy, she was a woman I signed a contract to have sex with, to have in my home, attachment free. I looked over at Britta, her knees pulled to her chest, her head resting against the passenger window, the moonlight drifting inside the car making her skin glow. I’d told her I didn’t see her like Nolan did—like a plaything for a wealthy person, as if her feelings made no difference—but if she knew I’d been paying a prostitute for months, she’d never believe me. She’d never trust me. But if I wanted her to trust me, I had to tell her.
Fuck. Why hadn’t I thought this far down the line before I paid a high-end hooker to sleep over twice a week for four months? Didn’t I think that if I ever had another real girlfriend, I’d have to come clean? Maybe somewhere inside I didn’t believe I’d find anyone.
I didn’t believe that now, though. Not now that I knew Britta.
I want to get her talking, get her mind moving, so she’s not focused on whatever the fuck that piece of shit Nolan said to her. I’ll get that out of her, I will, but I can’t push. And there’s still so much I want to know, though somewhere inside I know it doesn’t matter how she answers any of my questions. I fucking want her, no matter what. It’s primal and unstoppable, my starvation for her.
“Britta,” my voice is controlled and smooth, as to not feel dominant over her in her current state.
“Yeah?” she sounds so raw and I wondered how long she’d cried alone up there. I wished she’d have called me.
“Where does your mom live? You mentioned your mom before, the day you broke the glass,” I shift my eyes between her and the road, letting my car’s smart driving take hold as my eyes drift to her like a magnet. I can’t help but look, I want to see the expression on her face when she talks to me, so I can read her. I want to see the feelings there on the surface that she doesn’t want to put in words.
“She’s back home, a couple hours away. Small town, you wouldn’t know it,” she snuggles her chin into the crook of her elbow, still looking out the side window. “Well, her ashes are. She died three months ago. I came here the day of her funeral, after of course.” She went silent again, and held her legs a bit tighter to her chest.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, I’m sorry,” I wanted to hold her, kiss her head and tell her it would be okay. I remembered when my Dad passed away. The loss seems unbearable at first and you can’t imagine not having them there to talk to, share laughs with, get mad at—all of it. But we were driving and she was still purposefully withdrawn from me, and I couldn’t rush her. Especially since I knew at some point, I’d have to tell her about Darcy and the agency.
Not yet though. I just needed a few
more good times before that.
“It’s okay,” she turned to me, sending a stream of excitement through my core, like the cold water from a hose.
“I mean, I loved her and I miss her so much but I was taking care of her for so long and,” she paused, sitting up in the seat, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears. She looked so beautiful, I didn’t know I was even capable of seeing this type of life in someone, but I did.
I saw a new life, with her.
She’s so young, I’m old, I should let her have a full life with someone else. I don’t want kids, I’ve already traveled. It was just another sign that pointed to leave her alone. Let her go. But I can’t.
Knowing she will hate me when she finds out about my past, I can’t bring myself to make that hate come any quicker. She’s a new drug to me, I have to have her, she is vital to my existence now. I’m putting off withdrawal for another day.
“And?” I wanted to know the rest.
“And I just got so tired. And scared. Scared that I’d be too tired and I’d mess up in a crucial moment, like changing the IV bag or, or giving hers meds, you know? I was trying to balance school but then had to quit. But I had to work because... I’m sorry,” she covered her mouth with a closed fist, her knuckles pressed hard against her pink lips.
“I want to know, please, continue,” I caught her eyes across the cab, light flitting in and out of the moving car, and she smiled. Small, but still a smile.
“Well, she needed a kidney transplant but they wouldn’t give her one because her illness was related to her liver disease which was caused from the drinking. And she had it in her record she’d been an alcoholic for some time, so it was a preexisting condition. Made all chances at getting help from insurance nonexistent. I had to work to pay lots of bills, pay the minimums on the consolidated bills. I sold nearly everything except the couch I slept on, next to her bed, in the living room. Kept a table and the kitchen things we needed but the rest… gone.” She took a deep, pensive breath, her eyes fixed to nothing on the dash in front of her. Jerking her head up, she spoke again, looking at me this time.
