by Potter, LR
She rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the stress that had accumulated there. Untying her apron as she walked, she slipped it off and draped it over her arm, careful to ensure her bank and tips stayed within its deep pocket. She’d just turned the corner of the bar, when she noticed Blondie and his group standing about midway between her and the wooden staircase. The group of five guys were all similarly dressed in long-sleeved T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers – the standard apparel of college students. She hesitated only briefly. She’d learned a long time ago in her past to not show fear. Fear let others have control over you – it let them know they had control over you.
Keeping her head held high and wrapping her apron tightly around her hand, she continued forward, and giving a small nod to the group, she went around them, giving them a wide berth. She’d gotten one foot past them when she heard Blondie call out. “Hey, Tate, we were hoping we could convince you to come with us. We’ve been waiting patiently for you to get off work. What do you say?” he asked with forced casualness while leaning against the wall of the bar.
“No thanks. My family awaits,” she said as she kept walking.
Without warning, she felt her arm being caught in a vice grip, spun around, and then came face to face with Blondie.
“Now, don’t be that way. I’m sure your family is used to your late nights.”
Swallowing convulsively, Tate forced the panic way down in order to keep control... she’d learned self-defense just so this type of thing didn’t happen to her again. Moving one step closer to Blondie as if to whisper in his ear, she waited until he leaned into her before jacking her knee into his groin. She stepped back quickly, but not quick enough to miss the downward movement of his head as he bent swiftly at the waist to gasp in pain. The hard knock of his head against her head caused her to fall hard on her backside. Before she could scramble up or away, she felt hands grab both her arms. Her apron fell from her hands and went sailing, sending her money flying up into the air and settling on the ground before the wind caught the bills and sent them blowing away. With panicked eyes, she watched her hard-earned tips and bank fly around on the breeze.
She tried to shrug out of the hold on her arms, but they were just too strong. Using a different tactic, she dropped her center of gravity by dropping to the ground, hoping to throw off their balance, but they just tightened their grips until they were holding her off the ground. As she replaced her feet on the ground, she lifted her head just in time for it to snap back as Blondie’s fist caught her jaw with an uppercut.
“You bitch!” he screamed.
Tate stumbled back, but remained on her feet due to the tight hold on both arms. As Blondie stepped forward menacingly once more, Tate closed her eyes in preparation for the next hit. She exhaled when she heard a voice coming from the back of the bar.
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Jace shouted.
The guys hesitated for only a moment before shoving her to the ground and sprinting off. Over his shoulder, Blondie shouted, “Next time, babe.”
Tate sat for a second, trying to unscramble her jarred brains. Remembering her money, she tried to scramble to her knees, but found the action almost impossible due to the rattling in her head. Sluggishly, she rolled to her knees and began trying to retrieve all the bills she could catch. Jace raced up and knelt down in front of her.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he ran his hands gently over her face and down to her shoulders. Her shoulders sagged as the adrenaline, which had kept her going, exited her body. Taking several deep breaths to tighten her rioting emotions, Tate rolled to her feet and began to rise. She swayed slightly from the sustained hits from both Blondie’s head and his fist. Jace grabbed her arms involuntarily in an effort to keep her on her feet.
She shrugged out of his arms angrily. “I’m fine, thanks,” she said more abruptly than she intended. She immediately felt ashamed; she wasn’t angry at him – he was just a convenient scapegoat.
She began to search around and gathered up more of her bills. After a moment, as he had with the water, Jace began to help her pick up the money. She took a deep breath as her anger quickly deserted her, leaving her feeling exhausted and vulnerable.
“Don’t worry about it, Jace. I got this. I’m fine, you can go. Thanks for your help,” she said woodenly.
Turning his head to glance over at her, he said, “Don’t be silly. I’m not leaving you out here alone. Come on. I’ll help you gather what we can then I’ll walk you to your door.”
As Tate lowered her body down onto her haunches to continue gathering up money, the quick descent caused her stomach to roil nearly uncontrollably at the motion. Rising, she stumbled over to the trashcan near the exit of the bar, lifted the lid, and began to heave. She was startled when she felt cool hands pulling the hair that’d escaped her elastic hairband away from her face. Her face flamed in embarrassment.
Without lifting her face, she mumbled, “Jace, please leave. I’m fine.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Tate, I’m a doctor. Trust me when I say, you are not fine. You’ve received blows to your head and now you’re throwing up. In my profession, we call this not being fine – in fact, it’s the exact opposite. You need to be lying down. Come on. We’ve gotten all the money I can see. I’ll help you upstairs.”
She lifted a hand and wiped the back of her trembling fingers against her lips. She almost declined his offer, but truth be told, her limbs were trembling so badly – probably from delayed shock – she didn’t know if she could make it upstairs without his help. With a slight nod of her head, she allowed him to wrap his arm around her waist and walk her up what felt like a thousand steps to her apartment. She reached down to her apron to get her keys, when she remembered she wasn’t wearing it.
Heaving an exhausted sigh, she lifted her eyes up into the questioning eyes of Jace Staton’s.
“My keys are in my apron, down there,” she huffed.
Comprehension dawned. “You stay here and I’ll go back down, okay?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Jace raced back down the stairs and searched around until he located her black apron. As he made his way back, Tate glanced down at her shirt and was surprised to see red splattered on it. Raising a hand to her forehead, she felt the sticky substance on her fingertips as well as the huge knot there. She winced at the pain. As she glanced at the blood on her fingers, she once more felt her stomach clench. She raised her non-bloody hand to her mouth and swallowed repeatedly to keep everything left in her stomach down. She hated the sight of blood; especially her own. She felt dizziness wash over her, and slowly, she slid down with her back against the door until she was sitting. She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and leaned her forehead on her knees.
She heard Jace above her head unlocking the door, but didn’t lift her head until he knelt down in front of her and helped her to her feet. She felt beads of sweat pop up on her forehead as she stood and once again tried to stop the roiling of her stomach. Jace opened the door to her small apartment and ushered her in while keeping his hand firmly on her arm. He felt around the wall for the light switch and illuminated their path. He walked them through her compact kitchen into her even more compact living room. He sat her down in an old, box-shaped chair, covered in cracked brown leather.
Kneeling once more in front of her, he leaned over and snapped on the table-side lamp. With his cool fingers, he gently probed the knot on her forehead. She winced at his touch but said nothing. Instead, she concentrated on his scent; it was composed of male sweat, his own personal musk, and a tiny whiff of some slightly spicy cologne. Overall, it was a very tempting smell. She inhaled deeply, hoping to store the smell into the olfactory cells in her brain.
Placing his pointer finger in front of her eyes, he said softly, “Follow my finger with your eyes.”
“I’m fine, really,” she protested.
Placing his pointer finger against her lips, he said, “Shh. For once, please do as you are told, o
kay? I’m a doctor, I’ll decide if you’re fine, if you don’t mind.”
Lifting his finger once more, Tate followed his finger right, then left. Satisfied, he brought both hands up and reached behind her to remove the elastic band from her hair. With soothing hands, he gently ran his fingers over her scalp, searching for other bumps or lacerations. She closed her eyes at his touch and savored his nearness. His presence was a soothing balm to her dampened spirit. He made her feel safe… special even. A person set apart.
She couldn’t want this man. He would break her heart, of this she was sure. The image of the red-lacquered fingernails against his bicep filled her mind. Her eyes snapped open and she intended to pull back and ask him to leave. But as her eyes opened, she found herself staring into his magnificent baby blues. His expression was filled with compassion, tenderness, and sparks of desire. Her breath caught in her throat. As he neared, she closed her eyes in preparation of his kiss, but quickly snapped them back open and lifted a hand to his chest to stop him.
“I’m sorry, but well, ewww,” she grimaced. “I just threw up, for goodness sakes. I can’t do this. I need to brush my teeth and…”
As before, he pressed his pointer finger against her lips before placing a soft kiss on her forehead. After the brief contact, he pulled away and smiled at her as he tucked her hair behind her ears.
“Do you have any aspirin, ibuprofen, or anything like that?” he asked.
“In the bathroom cabinet, through the bedroom.”
He ran his fingers tenderly over the bruise starting to show on her jawline, and his lips tightened into thin lines. He went into her bedroom, then towards the kitchen. She heard a cabinet door open, then water running. Soon, he returned with a glass of water, the tablets, a wet cloth, and a glass filled with ice. He handed her the tablets which she placed in her mouth and washed them down with half the water.
She flinched when he took the cloth and gently cleansed the blood away from the knot on her head. When he was satisfied, he took the cloth, poured the ice into it, and placed it in her hand before guiding it up to the injury.
He lifted his hand to her, palm-side up. She placed her hand in his and he slowly pulled her up.
“I think it’s time I got you in bed, don’t you?”
Her face flamed and she stammered, “I… I… I don’t… I can’t… I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.”
Confusion flitted across his features before a smile broke across his face.
“Oh, but I think you can. In fact, as your doctor, I insist. I promise, it will be quite painless. In fact, I’ve heard many women actually enjoy it,” he said with a grin and a lifted eyebrow.
Oh, she didn’t doubt that at all. What kind of girl did he think she was anyway? Just because she was a waitress didn’t mean she fell into bed with just anyone and everyone – at least, not anymore. While she appreciated his help tonight, there was no way she was going to sleep with him! He laughed as her anger grew, which only made her angrier.
Pulling her up against his hard body, making her achingly aware of all she would be missing, he whispered against her ear, “To sleep – you need to sleep. I promise, you’ll feel better tomorrow. Okay?” he finished with a chuckle.
“Okay,” she whispered, as her face flamed once again.
He helped her to her room and to her bed with its cheap, white chenille covers, and set her down. He reached down and untied her black non-skid shoe, then the other, and let them drop to the floor.
Rising once more, he asked, “Can I help remove any other articles of clothing?”
Swallowing at his provocative words, she whispered, “No, thanks.”
“Okay, well, you finish getting ready for bed. I’ll be in the living room. If you need anything, just call, okay?”
“You don’t need to stay, I’m good,” she protested.
“Medicine one-o-one, never leave someone with a head injury. Sorry, I took an oath. You’re stuck with me. I’ll just be on the couch. Unless, of course, you’d rather I slept here with you,” he said with a grin.
She grabbed a pillow and handed it to him. “Couch, please.”
Looking at the pillow, he said, “Is that your final answer?”
She glanced at the lonely side of her bed and hated her answer, “Yes.”
§§§
“Tanga, come on out, sweetheart. Let me see how you look,” she heard from the other side of the door.
“No,” came the abrupt answer.
“Come on, honey. You’re beautiful. Is it so wrong to want to share your beauty with everyone? Did you apply the glittery oil like I said?”
The young blonde tossed her curls over her shoulder and stared at the oil glittering on her forearms. “Yes,” she whispered.
“I bet you look amazing. Come on out and let Daddy see,” said the man in his kindest voice.
“I’m embarrassed,” she whispered as she leaned against the door.
“Honey, you have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. Come on now, let me see.”
“I’m scared, Daddy. Please don’t make me,” she whimpered.
“Tanga, you better get your little ass out here right now!” he ordered.
The young girl trembled at his tone. Daddy had a mean streak. As her face flamed, she slowly turned the knob on the door and eased it open. Dragging out the ‘reveal’ as long as she could, the young girl stepped through the door into the bright room and closed her eyes as shame washed over her. It wasn’t proper for fathers to see their teenage daughters naked – no matter what he said.
Grabbing her hand, he led her into the middle of the bright room. Even with her eyes closed, she felt him as he moved around her. From behind, he grabbed her shoulders and pressed himself against her. In her hair, he whispered huskily, “God, you are so beautiful. You will be worth your weight in gold. Of this I am sure.”
Her stomach clenched when she felt his hands slide down her arms over the oil. She kept her eyes clamped shut as tight as she could when she felt him return to stand in front of her.
With almost a choked voice, he whispered, “You missed a couple of spots, sweetheart. That will never do.” She felt his fingertips begin by her ears and travel down her neck, then still lower….
Tate gasped awake. No, no, no! She refused to be sucked back into that nightmare. It’d been such a long time since she’d had it. Why had it come back now? Then she remembered Blondie and the attack. Of course, fear. Fear had brought it back, it always did. She suspected retelling the tale to Dr. Randall hadn’t helped either. She turned her head and saw the red digits of her clock radio proclaimed it was four-eighteen. Her head was pounding. Grabbing her housecoat and the ibuprofen, Tate silently moved through the apartment, ever conscious of Jace sleeping on the couch. Creeping into the kitchen, she grabbed her glass from earlier, refilled it with water, and swallowed the tablets.
Putting the glass in the sink, she turned and gasped. Jace was standing in the archway, wearing nothing but his jeans.
He stood with his arms raised above his head, holding onto the top of the archway with his fingertips. She swallowed at the beauty of his body. It was obvious he spent a lot of time at the gym, as his muscles were well-chiseled and defined. He was just beautiful.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
“Just a little headache,” she murmured.
“What time is it?”
“Almost four-thirty,” she replied.
“Umpph. It’s a little bit early to be taking more ibuprofen. Don’t take them but every six hours, okay?”
“Okay.” Feeling awkward and trying to shove the remnants of her dream from her mind, she exhaled and moved towards him. “Well, goodnight.”
“What’s wrong, Tate?” he asked with his head tilted to one side.
She looked up into his brilliant blue eyes and grimaced. “Nothing. It’s just been a long night.”
“Come sit with me for a little while. I have to leave shortly for the hospital.”
; “Oh,” she said with disappointment in her voice.
He flashed a smile at her tone. “I don’t suppose you have any coffee?”
“The coffeepot’s ready to go, just turn it on,” she answered, thankful for the coffee packets she’d scavenged from the student hall.
He lowered his arms and leaned forward to flip the control button on the coffeemaker. Almost immediately, sounds of water being sucked up into the machine filled the room.
“Come sit with me,” he enticed.
Wrapping the edges of her housecoat more firmly around her body, she complied.
After they sat, she in the chair, and he on the couch, he slipped on his shirt and asked, “Outside of the headache, how do you feel? Any more nausea?”
“No, just the headache. You must be so exhausted. Do you always stay up till three a.m. then work at the hospital?”
“Usually. While my shifts change continuously, I normally don’t go in until nine on the weekends. But I have a patient who had surgery last night and I wanted to check on him first thing this morning.”
“Oh,” was the only comment she could think of to make.
“Tell me about yourself, Tate. It dawned on me after our lunch, that you never actually told me anything,” he said, propping his elbow up on the arm of the couch and holding his face up with his hand.
With a shrug, she said, “Not a lot to tell. I’m studying photography and graphic design, work at Zeal’s, and live in this apartment.”
He furrowed his brows at her answer. “I already know all that. Tell me other things, like where are you from? Are your parents still alive? Do you have any siblings? Are you from Gainesville? If not, where did you come from?”
