by Conn, Claudy
“Look, I’m begging you for a truce. A real one. Can’t we just be a man and woman, well two friends,” he quickly interjected, “one person helping another, for tonight? Forget we know each other. See me as a stranger who came to your rescue; one you conveniently know isn’t a serial killer.”
He was out of the room before she could respond. It was a good thing though, because for once, no witty comeback was coming to her, nice or otherwise, that she could actually say out loud. There had to be something in that serial killer remark to build off of, but exhaustion setting in fast was wearing away at her defenses, and she simply wanted to accept Mr. Hero’s olive branch in the worst way. Her head just hurt too much not to.
Hearing his footsteps moving fast through the house, doors slamming, Rachael looked around to assess the room she half sat, half lounged, although tensely, in. Her vision was returning enough to see the room as man cave if she’d ever laid eyes on one. She’d only been in his kitchen and bathroom before, on a working session prior to them reaching adversary status. The night had been nice, the flirtation dangerous, so the look of the house had been the least of her concerns at the time. After all that had been said since then, could they really go back to such a state, new co-workers whose only gain could being working together? It would take some work on both of their parts, and damn if he didn’t seem willing. Well, she could one up that. Maybe she could look at it as a competition, who could be nicer in this moment, when the gain was just surviving this storm together.
He’d laid her on a heap of oversized pillows on the floor, set up against a stone ledge around his fireplace. Quite a seductive set up he had going here. A bar sat directly across the room, all dark wood, he’d set up with glasses of all shapes and sizes, some hanging overhead, someone shelves behind, along with bottles of everything from hard liquor to wine. While a fridge sat in the corner, to the other side he had quite a collection of imported beer bottles. Turning her head slowly to avoid any sudden pains, she noted the room also had a warm leather couch and two matching leather recliners to her left. Again pillows, the colors of burgundy, hunter green and navy, were tossed here and there. On the opposing wall, floor to ceiling, were wooden bookshelves, which housed a plasma TV, stereo system, and other electronics. Sports stuff hung everywhere else, though tastefully done. Not fan insanity, but all antique looking stuff that fit, in a rugged, worn sort of way, meshing interior design with lived in and nostalgic. She hated to admit how much she liked it, how comfortable she could see herself being in this room.
Pictures tucked in all over the bookshelves caught her eye. Wrapped in the heavy masculine comfort of everything around her, Rachael squinted to make out what or who was in the photos, each framed and perfectly positioned. This slight female touch made her weary, made cracks in the male perfection of the room. A touch of estrogen in a world of testosterone. Each one was of a collection of females, seemingly three different generations. Family, she supposed. He had one. Either they meant a lot to him, or the women themselves had put up the pictures, and guilted him into keeping them up.
He returned and sat right down beside her. Immediately, he got to work, making her wonder if she was worse off than she felt. Fear was coming off of him in ominous waves, etched in the lines around his eyes and set in the grimace of his mouth.
“I accept your truce. Thanks. Just let me state for the record, though, that if you are not being genuine, paybacks are a bitch, Mr...” Rachael closed her eyes and grabbed her temples.
“Mr. What?” He seemed to encourage.
“I don’t know. My head hurts. Can’t you fill in the blanks for me this time.”
“Sure,” he laughed, “No problem. I call myself names all the time. Actually, you know, those names you call me are often the highlight of my day. I file them away, and then journal about them, exploring every aspect of my personality, so that when the right woman comes along, I will truly know myself.”
“Really?” she gaffed. “So how is the psyche degree, coming, Doctor?”
“Well, that was sort of a name. Hey, I have two sisters. They love to tell me what I need to change. They have suggested numerous means for me to grow up and gain a wife. A man doesn’t need a psychology degree when he has such well meaning, and loving sisters. At least, that is what they tell me they are being.”
Well, that explained who was in the pictures, just not how they got there. She gave him a faint smile with her eyes closed.
“I will try not to hurt you too much, but this cut looks nasty.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Go ahead. Enjoy every minute of this. Sure you have imagined hurting me before. I’ve said some nasty things to you that I’m not proud of. For all you have done to get me out of that car, and help me here, let me wipe the slate clean by saying, sorry.” Despite her trying to be nice to him, Rachael vowed no tears were going to fall from her eyes, no matter how bad it hurt. She steeled herself to make that truth, doubting even her own bitchy resolve when it came to keeping up her tough demeanor. Nice she could risk for a time, but not weakness.
“Yes, and I have said some nasty things right back. I apologize too. If I seem mad at all now, I get that way sometimes when I’m worried.”
“Worried?”
“Yes. I’m worried about your head. My nerves are shot from the weather and the accident, and you...”
“Me what, Mr. Words?” she asked, wanting him to say something nice to her in the worse way, offer some piece of comfort before he cleaned her up, hurt her.
“Ah, another name. I’m less worried now.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a good one.”
“Still. It’s close.”
Rachael wanted to press, to ask him what he was going to say about her, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t let her guard down that far. Begging for compliments was not her style. She wasn’t going to change that now.
“Hold still.”
Beyond the contradiction of his tough-as-nails, yet, still shaky voice, one of his rough hands cupped her cheek lightly. His touch made her bite her lip before he could inflict a moment’s worth of new pain on her. With his other hand, he brought a warm and wet towel to her head. Both touches were as gentle as a lover’s. His breath was coming in pants against her face, and it smelled of mint and sweet coffee as usual. She hated to acknowledge how much she liked the scent. But she did.
As the pain set in from the touch of the towel, Rachael blew out a breath between clenched teeth.
“I’m so sorry. There is so much blood. I hope the butterfly bandages I have will close it enough. But, I have to get you cleaned up first, or they won’t stick. Once I get done, I will get you aspirin or something and some warm tea or booze. Whiskey maybe. A Crown and Ginger if you prefer. I believe it numbs the pain and prevents infection.”
“You are not going to pour it on my cut, are you, like they do in the old movies?”
“No. I promise. I just meant, you can have whatever you want to drink. You’re shaking.”
“Planning on getting me drugged and liquored up. That’s sick, Mr. Faking A Truce For Personal Gain.” She hissed as he dabbed the towel at her head, suddenly pissy again for a reason she couldn’t put her finger on.
“Sorry. And yeah, that’s the plan unless you start bleeding again. In that case, I’ll go with plan B.”
“Which is? You have a playboy bunny next door?”
“Sure a snow…Wow, that was going to be a pathetic comeback. Sorry, not up to par here. So much for some kind of truce between us. Thanks for the name, though. At least I know you are thinking clearly.”
Glad you think so. She held her breath as he wrung out the towel, and then gulped in air as he brought it back to her head again. Of all the sadistic means of cleaning a wound, of course he wouldn’t have morphine or anything. My life sucks!
“Sorry,” he whispered in her ear, smoothing his free hand over her hair. “I really am.”
Or, maybe it doesn’t suck at all! Just maybe, I couldn’t have asked for
a better savior.
“Stop. Apologizing. And. Thanks. For taking…care of me. I think.” The words came out intermittently between sharp intakes of breath.
“You’re welcome. This is nice, well, some moments. We can go back to fighting again tomorrow if that makes you feel more comfortable.” He laughed, although the sound was short-lived.
She forced a smile without opening her eyes. “Sure, now you are talking.”
The entire time he worked on her, so compassionate and considerate, kind and diligent, the urge to cry kept returning. She cursed her female side up and down. Not here, damn it! Not now, you bitch. I’m strong, Hercules even, and everyone is going to know it despite you.
“I think I have the bleeding stopped, and the drying blood cleaned up,” he said after a while. “I’ll be right back.”
It only took him seconds to return, or so it seemed. Giving her hushed directions, he helped her lift to take the offered pills and water. She could get used to this, just like a boy loved playing with a poisonous rattlesnake with a short, flimsy stick.
“Shit, your hair is a mess!”
Opening her eyes, Rachael saw his hand stretched out in front of him, fingers splayed like he had touched something gross. “Truce over already? Thanks for the brutal honesty, Mr. Bedside Manners! Touching my hair didn’t give you a disease or anything, I can promise you! At least, no one has called me to say touching me put them in the hospital or had them quarantined.” Embarrassment overrode her pain, made her voice sound harsh even to her ears.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m bleeding! I cut my hand on glass in your hair. Don’t move. Hold real still so I can see if there is any more and get it all out before you cut your head again.”
Rachael did as she was told. The idea of pieces of glass in her hair totally freaked her out. Might as well have been a spider the way her heart beat, suddenly sped up, and her skin crawled as she waited for him to get back. Short breaths, nausea, were all present and accounted for. A strange reaction to such a predicament, but she sunk into the cushions, up to her neck, beyond judging herself suddenly.
“Look, once I get done here, we need to get you out of these clothes.”
“What?” She cringed as her head paid dearly for the volume of her shocked response.
“I’m not coming onto you. Stop flattering yourself…shit, sorry. We called a truce. All I am saying is, your jacket and shirt are covered in blood, and I’m sure your skirt and hose are as wet as my pants from falling on our asses in the snow. You’re shaking. Cold. Maybe shock. What do I know. But, one problem at a time. We will climb that insurmountable mountain when we come to it. Right now, I’m picking glass out of your hair, so hold still.”
She followed orders willingly, relaxing back into the pillows as much as she could, hoping a moment of rest would get her through changing her clothes all on her own. Hell would have to freeze over, at least she hoped, before she let him change her, truce or not. That had to be pushing things too far. And just the thought of being naked around him, it did all of the wrong, or right, things to her body. Her heart jumped and other places contracted just at the slight inkling of it.
***
“Rachael, come on, you need to wake up.”
“Huh?” Her head felt fuzzy, but she tried to focus on Aaron’s voice.
“Rachael, you fell asleep. I let you sleep some, but with your head injury, I was worried about letting you sleep too long. Possible concussion and all.”
Rachael opened her eyes and saw him sitting there, leaning over her. The ache in her head now a dull throb, it brought everything back all at once, the accident, him helping her, her mixed reactions bordering on a psychotic break.
“How do you feel?” He asked when she’d focused in on him.
“Better, I think. Head just aches, of course.” Her body hurt a little bit in some places too, but there was no need to go into it. Rachael remembered he had mentioned getting her out of her clothes before. With relief, she realized she could feel her now only damp pantyhose and skirt sticking to her legs and bottom. She tried to sit up, and her skin began to itch. Torture device these damn nylons. Always had been. Her day just kept getting better.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
“Yeah. You mentioned clothes before?”
“Yes, I got you a zip-up hoodie, so you wouldn’t have to pull anything over your head, and a pair of my sweats. But, when I got back you were asleep and I figured you needed that more.”
“Thanks. I need to use your bathroom, so maybe I can change in there.”
“Okay, let’s see how you feel once you get up.”
Rachael suddenly felt self-conscious under his gaze. She tried to stand, bracing herself and tugging down her skirt at the same time. She weaved to the side a little, her vision getting hazy again, and Aaron was immediately there to support her, his hands on one hip and one shoulder. Damn, the man was like an octopus. Always ready with the hands when she needed help. But, did he have to hold her so tight, so close that her impaired state had to fight for attention again? Intense throbbing, she had it in various places, all representing different reasons.
“Let me help you before you fall.”
“Okay,” she relented, having no choice in the matter really.
He tucked her in under his arm. Their movement out of the room, up the stairs and down a hall slow, torturously intimate. The whole time Rachael had to remind herself who was helping her before she luxuriated too much in the strong warm body against hers.
Finally, they stood inside his bathroom and she pulled away from his embrace, noticing his shirt. “Your silk shirt. I’m guessing the source of the dark red stain on it is my blood. I will replace it,” Rachael offered.
“No need.”
“I can get this on my own, there, Mr. Hopeful or Mr. Too Good To Be True Helpful. Oh, I don’t know what to call you anymore. I tried for funny, in line with this truce of yours, but it just isn’t working for me, I guess. I should shut up now, but I do appreciate your help, I really do. You have taken care of everything I needed, and then some. But, in here…I just need to do this alone.” She felt heat move over her cheeks.
He laughed, looking at the toilet then back at her. “Let’s hope you can. I’ll be outside. Yell if you need anything.”
“I won’t.”
His light laugh faded with the closing of the door. Curse the gods, she already missed his heat, wanted him back.
It took every ounce of strength she possessed to get through using the bathroom on her own. Rachael had to stop several times to lean against the wall or hang her head between her knees so she did not pass out. The thought of hitting the floor with her skirt, pantyhose and underwear down made adrenaline course through her system enough to get the job done, thankfully. She gave silent thanks for her body’s sympathetic nervous system.
Yet, by the time she opened the door, clutching the wall with her other hand, the sight of him right there waiting for her, brought a feeling of relief strong enough to cause her knees to buckle. Rachael grabbed for him at the same time he reached for her. Before she knew what was going on, after a fumbling of arms and hands, she was up in his arms and he moved across the room, to sit, still partially holding her, on his bed.
“Rach…sorry, Rachael, are you okay?”
“Yes. Wow, I never realized a simple trip to the bathroom could be so much work. I’m giving you lots of material for future verbal battles aren’t I?”
His chest rumbled under her head. “Maybe we should make tonight unusable as part of our truce.”
“You are truly my hero, now. Definitely, Mr. Too Good To Be True.”
“Wow. Nicest name you’ve ever given me. I’m not blaming that one on the head injury. I’m taking it!” He grinned down at her. “Well, listen, while you are thinking so logically, we should really get you changed.” He patted his hand against her wet pantyhose-only covered thigh. “I’m not being a jerk here, but I can help if you feel you’re going
to pass out. I wouldn’t want you to hit your head again. Surely you don’t want to stay wet… and bloody. My help has got to be the lesser of two evils there.”
“Let me think about it,” she snipped without really meaning to. She sat there, weighing her options – all of her options. His proximity on the bed, his body still against hers, had the effect of making her body forget who he was. He’s the enemy! Mr. Truce Tonight But Back To Competition Tomorrow! She reminded herself, forcing the remainder down to the tightness in her stomach and the tingling between her thighs. If anything happens, I’m blaming the head injury!
“We are both adults here, right? I will sit here, back turned, just in case you need me. Okay? How is that for a plan?” He laid her head back on the pillow, his chest against her side, his face hovering over hers like he was going to kiss her. “Just lay here a minute until I grab the clothes and a new bowl of water so you can wipe away any blood on your…your…” He sat up and waved his hand toward her chest. “Under your shirt.”
“Yes, Mr. Adult. They are breasts.”
“Yes, they are. But, they are on your body.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Mr. I Think You Just Criticized Me?”
“I don’t know. But, I didn’t. Good to have you coming back, though. I think. I mean, glad you are okay, but looking forward to the truce too, if that truth buys me anything. And, I’m talking just in kindness. I’m not coming onto you, Rachael, just trying to be your friend. Honestly.” He disengaged from her completely and moved from the room on a run.
Rachael tried to slow her breathing. Damn! And, double damn with a cherry on top! The thought of seeing her breasts seemed to make him nervous. Now what was that all about? He hit on everyone without discrimination. He had seen plenty of breasts. So, what was different about hers? And why did she want to get to the bottom of the matter so bad? The friend thing had actually offended her, or something equally unreasonable. She sighed, audibly, sick of her own thoughts, and tired of fighting them where he was concerned. The whole situation seemed lose, lose, no matter what she did. She’d be a bitch if she didn’t abide by the truce, but then again, too nice around this guy could lead to too many possibilities that would come back to bite her in the ass later.
