Beyond Touched

by Ashley Logan

  “You need a new hobby. Or a girlfriend. I told you that nurse-y chick would keep you busy. Have you found her number yet?”

  “Nah. She’s probably in prison or some shit.”

  “Well find out which one and bust her out,” I say, laughing - because that chick could totally be in prison. Pulling into a side street just down from the gym, I ease the car into the best spot for keeping hidden, whilst still maintaining a line of sight with the dance school.

  Brad turns to me expectantly as I shrug out of my hooks. “Now what?”

  “Now we wait. Once she’s inside, she’ll be in for roughly three hours. You can go to the gym anytime during that period.”

  “What about you? We can take shifts, because you definitely look like you need to beat the shit out of Jake for a while.”

  My phantom hands ball into fists and release again. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  One of the back doors opens and Sam climbs into my car, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “Good, you’ve still got the heat on.”

  Turning to say some smart-ass thing, I choke on my words. “Shit, Sam! What the fuck happened to your face? Are you alright?”

  Reaching up with a hand discolored by bruising across the knuckles, her fingers lightly test the swollen flesh around her eye and cheek. “Swelling’s going down,” she says with a shrug as she removes her hat and makes herself comfortable.

  Brad adjusts himself so he can comfortably see us both, takes a water bottle from his gym bag and rummages in my shoulder bag. Pulling out my Clorox wipes and a folded handkerchief, he sets about making a cold compress for Sam’s face after handing her the wipes. “Use Damon’s mirror to clean out that split before it gets infected. It’ll sting, but do it anyway. Then put this on to help with the swelling and stem any bleeds you open up,” he says, setting up a mini-medic station as he digs into my bag again.

  “Is this one of those aide delivery projects created to make cripples feel less fucked up?” Sam asks with a snarl as she does as he says.

  “Something like that. Why are you here?”

  Sam winces as she scrubs her cut with an anti-septic wipe. “To look out for Lex.”

  “I mean, in the car,” Brad clarifies, adding a tube of anti-bacterial ointment to the collection of first aid gear sitting on my center console.

  To me, he raises an eyebrow. “You’re a fucking walking first aid kit. How often do you have to get fucked up to warrant carrying this shit everywhere you go?” Adding some ibuprofen and a protein bar to the collection, he looks to Sam expectantly. “So?”

  “I don’t want Lex to see me either,” Sam says matter-of-factly, obviously having noted our covert status. “If she sees my face, she’ll freak,” she says by way of further explanation as she watches the dance studio through the windscreen now that she’s holding my handkerchief to her face. “How come you guys are banned from contact? She scared Kyle will beat your special-ed, crippled asses?”

  Brad and I look at each other and laugh. “We clearly have more faith in our crippled asses than you do,” I say, leaning back in my seat as Benji’s Mustang pulls up to the curb and Alexa climbs out. Thankfully, he waits until she’s safely inside and has waved him off before he slowly pulls away. We all stare at the dance school in silence for a while, and I smile when I see Benji’s car go by again. Bruno must have instructed him to do a perimeter search before leaving for good. Family cars, and kids with their parents start crowding the quiet street as the first dance class is about to start.

  “Okay,” Brad says, looking between us. “I’m already bored, and six eyes are no better than four when she’s safe inside, so if you’d be so kind as to retrieve my ride, I’m off to the gym.”

  Not breaking my gaze as I gesture for him to keep his eyes on the door, I don’t leave until he takes over. Setting his chair outside his door, I climb back in and resume my watch.

  When Brad leaves, Sam assumes his position in the front as she completes the treatments Brad prescribed.

  “If you have so much faith in your abilities, why do you carry all this shit?” she asks, swigging back some water to chase the ibuprofen.

  “I ride a unicycle,” I explain, not breaking eye contact with the dance school. “Sometimes I get distracted and fall off. I also live in constant pain, so I always have a stash of meds. I need the wipes to clean my hooks, like you’d wash your hands and I use handkerchiefs instead of tissues because they don’t blow away or rip as easily. And despite what Kyle may have done to the face of a very tough, though smaller, untrained girl, I sized him up in three seconds and could kick his ass across a room even if I wasn’t filled with rage at his existence. I imagine that in my current state, I could easily cause irreversible damage to his person and his ability to continue living.”

  I can feel Sam’s eyes on me, weighing my proclamation with what she sees. “I agree. I think that’s why she liked you to begin with. Lethal guys get her lady juices flowing.”

  “We’ve discussed it,” I say with a tight jaw. “But even though I could kill him, I wouldn’t.”

  “Because then you’d be like the father she loves, but can never have?”

  “Precisely. I’ve had more time and distance from the original issue than he did, so I’ve had an opportunity to think rationally about it. I don’t want to be locked away from her. Her life would have been so much better if he was around.”

  “You think that’s why she pushed you away,” Sam wonders aloud before speaking to me. “So she wouldn’t lose you to prison too? You’re sure it’s not the fear of Kyle thing, or the fact that she’s trying to change what she hates about herself and you fit the old, tough-guy mold?”

  “I don’t fit any mold.”

  Sam considers me a moment longer. “Agreed. Well I hope you have a plan, my hand-challenged friend, because that girl deserves someone that she’d never go seeking. She doesn’t believe she’s worth a damn.”

  “She’s starting to believe.”

  Nodding, Sam smiles. “Then I’ll leave her in your missing, but apparently capable, hands.” Turning to open the door, she pauses. “Can I grab a few bucks? Larry got fucked up too, and he could use a few things. I don’t want to take your supplies in case you’re going unicylcing later.”

  “Go ahead,” I answer, not taking my eyes off the dance school. “There should be a few hundred. Take it all and get yourselves checked out properly.”

  “Thanks. And watch out for Kyle’s left, if he finds her,” she says, taking the cash from my wallet. “It’s just as good as his right.”

  Giving her a nod, I raise a stump in farewell as she exits the car. Checking the time on the dash, I organize myself for worst case scenarios and settle in. If Kyle thinks Sam knows where Alexa is, there’s every chance he’s been watching her movements.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ALEXA

  Struggling to keep my smile for the third and final dance class, I release a huge sigh as the last of the students leave and I check the time. I still have half an hour before Benji picks me up, and I plan to use it dancing. Not Beyond dancing, but private, mood dancing. Locking the door, I return to the studio and do a few quick stretches, because after three classes, I’m already quite warm. Reaching for my phone, I select some fresh music and turn it up loud enough to drown out my thoughts.

  Lost in the music and the movement, I let all my fears flow outward, leaving me filled only with what is left. Now that I’ve pushed everyone out, there’s not much left inside, but it’s safer that way.

  If the police don’t catch up with Kyle by the time I’ve passed my math test, it’ll be time to move on. I can’t risk anyone getting hurt because of me, and I’m strong enough to leave by myself now. I can go somewhere Kyle will never think to go, and I can get a regular job, because I’ll have an actual qualification. I can save up for college and do all those things I want to do. I can make my parents proud; make myself proud.

  My dancing gains momentum at the thought. Each movement take
s me further, stretching me to my limits and whipping me around with speed and strength. I can do this.

  “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find the best thing that ever happened to me?” Kyle yells over the music as he grins, leaning casually in the doorway of the studio. Behind him, the glass of the outer door lies shattered over the floor.

  Frozen momentarily, my mind screams at me to do something as the music blares. Dashing to my phone, I stop the music as I fumble with the screen to dial 911. Kyle closes in slowly, as if enjoying my panic and its contrasts to his apparent calm as he takes his time.

  A flash of movement appears behind him and suddenly Damon is there. Reaching for Kyle, he taps him on the shoulder.

  “It’s Kyle, right?” he says, showing no discomfort as he extends his stump in the manner of shaking hands. His smile is incongruous to the situation and I find myself wondering if any of it is real.

  Wheeling around, Kyle stops, looking confused by the oddness of the scene as he takes in Damon’s friendly smile and the absence of a hand to shake. Quick as anything, Damon lunges forward, leading with his head, and I hear a sickening crunch. Kyle brings his hands to his face as blood gushes from his nose.

  Looking to me, Damon steps around Kyle, pushing him off-balance as he passes. Staring at Kyle on the floor, I look up when Damon stands in front of me.

  “It’s time to go Alexa. You can call the police outside.”

  His words sound like a reasonable plan, so I nod, but my feet won’t move. I look at them, still in their ballet slippers, and will them to move. Damon’s arm comes lightly to the small of my back and gives me a gentle nudge towards the broken door and it’s enough to get me moving. Then it’s just one foot in front of the other.

  Once outside, Damon stands between me and the broken door as he gestures to the phone in my hand. “What time did you tell Benji to pick you up?”

  “S-soon,” I reply as my brain grasps the simple question and my eyes drop to my phone. Once my focus is on the screen, I touch the last 1 I needed to complete the call and hold the phone to my ear. Looking from Damon to the studio behind him, I squeak. Kyle is climbing through the broken door.

  “Just make the call Alexa,” Damon says calmly as Kyle charges him. Stopping him mid-charge with a wild kick to his guts, Damon sends Kyle flying backwards. The emergency operator is talking in my ear, but I’m watching Kyle slowly getting back up.

  “Here,” Damon says, guiding me sideways and pointing to the fire escape above us. “I’ll lift you up and you’ll be safe. Ask for the police and tell them where you are; then listen to the person on the phone, okay?”

  “P-police,” I manage to choke out as he gives an encouraging nod and bends down to wrap his arms behind my knees. Lifting, he lets one leg go and taps his shoulder. “Stand here. It’s bigger than those tiny platforms you stand on. I’ll keep still so you can balance. You’re good at balancing. And this isn’t even upside-down. You can just step onto the platform and hop over the rail.” Somehow, he has this magical way of making me forget the bad stuff and do what needs to be done.

  “That’s it,” he says as I step from his shoulders. “Now finish your phone call and I’ll make sure Kyle is still here when they come.”

  The fear comes back and I lean on the rail, reaching for him in some stupid attempt of pulling him to safety that would never in a million years be possible. “Damon!”

  “Just trust me, Alexa.” Turning to face Kyle again, he dodges several of Kyle’s punches and even laughs when he shifts out of the way suddenly and Kyle hits the brick wall. Swearing and shaking his hand out, Kyle starts abusing Damon; taunting him about his hands. Grabbing at him, Kyle makes Damon laugh again when he keeps losing a grip on him.

  “Not so easy to hold onto an arm with no hand, is it Kyle?” he teases, twisting his body with the stealth of a practiced fighter as Kyle lunges for him again. Missing him completely, Kyle ends up on the ground again.

  But the thing about Kyle, is that he’s been beaten all his life. He can be close to death and still get up and deliver a deadly punch of his own.

  “Don’t trust him, Damon.”

  “Fear not, Alexa. I’d never trust this maggot. You’re meant to be on the phone, not offering me pointers,” he says with another laugh as he side-steps another of Kyle’s attempts and sends him sprawling. Remembering the phone in my hand, I give the operator our whereabouts and tell them to hurry before someone is killed.

  “Nobody is going to die, Alexa. I’m not your dad, and Kyle’s not... Bruno. Bruno could probably kill me in a fight. If Kyle was smarter, he’d try to run before the police get here,” Damon says as if watching the fight from a distance. “Of course, I’m quite good at running too, so it wouldn’t help him. It just pains me that he won’t even try,” he says sadly as he trips Kyle and takes a step towards me. “It means he actually thinks he can get you back,” he says looking up at me. “Maybe you should tell him if that’s a possibility.”

  Glaring at him, I look to Kyle, who’s getting up again. The murderous gleam in his eyes more intense than ever.

  “Kyle I hate you. I used you to protect myself from worse, and that was wrong, but it was all I knew. I will never forgive you for taking advantage of my pain, or for any of the things you did.”

  Crying out, Kyle lunges for Damon again. In a flurry of limbs, clothes and bared teeth, I hear a crack.

  “Ooh, sorry Kyle,” Damon says as Kyle screams. Wrapping himself around Kyle in some sort of wrestling restraint, Damon keeps him helpless on the ground. “Try not to move it, so it heals better when they re-set it,” he advises as Kyle struggles against him. “And there’s no way out of this hold without breaking the other one, just so you know,” Damon informs his prisoner. “Maybe you could apologize to Alexa, while we’re waiting for the cops?” he suggests as Brad comes rolling slowly towards them.

  “Hey Alexa,” he calls up to me with a friendly wave. “I reckon you must’ve had the best seat for this show,” he says, sounding mildly jealous. “I had to wait in the alley and call the police if you couldn’t manage, but you did good, huh?”

  “Wh-what?” I ask, looking between him and the tangle of bodies on the sidewalk. “Why weren’t you helping Damon?”

  “Please,” Brad says with a chuckle. “Does he look like he needs help? My wheels would just get in his way. I did call a glazier to fix that door though.” Looking at his watch, Brad frowns. “He’ll probably be here before the cops. Did they say how long they’d be?” he asks as the sound of distant sirens gets louder. “Never mind. You coming down?”

  “Lexi you fucking bi-” Kyle is silenced when Damon tightens his holds.

  “Speak to her nicely, or you’ll never speak again,” Damon warns. “And I don’t mean I’d kill Kyle,” he says loudly, apparently for my benefit. “I’d just paralyze his larynx. Or maybe squeeze his balls to the point of implosion so he only has a high squeaky voice,” he says, laughing a little. “How about that, Kyle? That’d be pretty funny, right?”

  “Fuck you, asshole. You think I can’t see that you’re in love with her?” Kyle screeches, spitting blood on the pavement. “It’s what she does - makes you want her. Makes men think how good life could be if you had her, but you can’t have a normal life with her. She’s fucked in the head! She belongs with me. We don’t know how to love. Shit. You can’t even touch her without making her cry, and she’ll never fuck you back like you want, not unless there’s something in it for her. She’s broken, man. She doesn’t act like she should.”

  “Act like she should? She should only act like herself, Kyle. It’s who she is, and who she is, is beautiful. Even you know that, or you wouldn’t be here,” Damon says flatly. “I don’t want a normal life with Alexa. I want an abnormal, well-above average, extraordinary life with her, but I’m not going to force it on her. She deserves to make her own choices, and she doesn’t need assholes making her decisions for her, or taking them from her altogether.”

  Two police cru
isers pull up and Brad greets them with a smile and begins explaining the situation, for which I could not be more grateful, preferring to stay put on the fire escape and keep out of it all.

  Damon relinquishes Kyle to the police, advising them to mind his broken arm. Giving them all of his details, and my details, Damon insists we’ll be in to make a formal statement as soon as possible. The police officers eye me warily and ask me if I’m alright. I nod each time, but remain silent. They don’t seem to want to leave while I’m still up there and wave their hands around gesturing at me as to how I should get down, offering to come up and get me, which only makes me recede from the drop ladder further. Damon says something in the ear of one and displays his stumps. When the officer asks, if I’m happy to be helped down by Damon after the police are gone, I nod again and relax.

  Apparently satisfied, the officers get back in their cars and leave, taking Kyle with them. He watches me out the back of the window, mouthing things I can’t hear, or see clearly enough to understand, but the look in his eyes is one of sadness, which strikes me as odd. Perhaps I was expecting a reflection of my own hatred.

  Brad’s movement catches my eye as he wheels off towards a side street and I notice Damon’s car for the first time. He was expecting Kyle to find me. I expected it too. Not today maybe, but sometime soon. Shivering, as I think how lucky I am that Damon ignored my request for him to leave me alone, I look down to find him gazing up at me.

  “Ready to come down, Juliet?”

  Standing, I step to the rail, glancing at the drop ladder. If I release it, it’ll need to be reinstated, so I climb over the rail instead, lowering myself and dropping to the ground before Damon tries to catch me or something.

  “You’re very good at safe landings,” he states plainly, having stayed exactly where he was. “Did you learn that in circus class?”

  “Yes,” I reply, standing straight again so I can see him. Chewing the corner of his bottom lip, he looks as if he wants to hug me, but is holding himself back.