Prologue

We had no business being at a club in downtown Chicago; we had no business drinking ourselves silly. We had no business acting out like the teenagers we no longer could be. Emily had flown up to keep me company during the beginning part of treatment, but I had already been out here for a little bit to grow accustom to this new life in the city. I wouldn't lie, I needed support, but not just any support. I needed hers; I needed her mother hen-ness and overprotectiveness, that sometimes could be overwhelming, but never failed to be stirred inside of that woman when one of her "ducklings" were hurting. She decided to step out of her comfort zone to drag me out drinking like the days of old, or something.

She kept the drinks flowing and kept the laughter on loop. Em had been right: it did in fact get my mind off my worries for a little while. Emily was one of the few who knew the reasoning behind me taking up residence in Chicago. I trusted her with my life, and she wouldn't stray from that trust. We had been allies for years. Sometimes, it had been us against the world, but you grow up. You get graduate, you get married, you move on with your life… or you're me.

Emily Halbert was a stunning red head with eyes fiercer than her impossibly perfect curls that reached her waist. Emily worked two jobs to stay afloat, but you'd never hear her utter a grumble. When I mean stay afloat, I only mean in her heart. She was a world-renowned biologist focusing primary overseas on, her favorite, big cats' settlement in Africa. With all the chaos in her world, yet, here she sat across the table from me when I needed her.

When she got up to handle a few business calls, one could see ogling from all the men in the club as her hips sashayed away. I stifled a snort into my beer, very unladylike; it was that way whenever she went. I bet her military tank of a husband would kick their asses. I noticed my drink was running low, and I didn't want to ruin my buzz. So, I snatched up my bag and headed to the bar to order me another. The music was blaring and it drowned out all the nonsense in my mind.

I didn't feel my worse that night, but certainly not my best. I hadn't lost all my hair yet, although others voiced that I should get it over with. Instead, I cut it little by little; they said it could make the transition smoother. Or some other bullshit like that. I'd lose my hair on my own terms, so I went out, got it cut, and dyed: a beautiful navy with it barely brushing my shoulders as it framed my face. I would enjoy my hair for as long as I could.

And Emily took the opportunity to find me a lovely dress for the night. Simplistic but it did give me confidence. I sure didn't have an excess of that, now a days. Who would have thought a little black cocktail dress with a lace back would raise this woman's spirits… or was that the spirits, ha? If anyone back home had seen me, I doubt wholeheartedly they wouldn't for the life of them recognize me.

A horrible smack of someone's nearby palm on the wood bar-top flung me back to reality as I glanced to the left. A big burly bugger was clogging up my vision. He was leaning in, too horribly close, and smelled of E-cigs and cheap cologne. You can put lipstick on a pig, but all it will ever be is a pig. I could physically feel my nose shriveling up and running away as it screamed bloody hell. I swallowed a disgusting cough that wanted to crawl up my throat as I attempted to step back for fresh air. The damn brute put his filthy hand on my arm, "Where do you think you're going, pretty thing?" OH, you have got to be kidding me. I couldn't let this guy ruin my rare good mood, so I tried to yank my arm away but the douchebag thought he could grab onto me tighter.

I saw the brown arch of the bartender's eyebrow reach for the skies, but I didn't need anyone's help and I wasn't going to start asking for it now, "Aye. Sir Douche A-lot, let go of me, will ya? Before you ruin my good mood and I beat the shit out of you."

Boy, you would have thought no one had ever called him "Sir Douche A-lot" before. He didn't take too kindly to that because the hand fell from my arm, snaked around my waist, and stayed dangerously low. He dragged me against him, and I was shoved into plastic muscles created by strawberry protein shakes. I was damn near forced to throw up. I didn't believe the smell could get worse. I decided my anger was more fun to focus on than that god-awful odor. However, before my favorite frat guy, Dave, behind the bar could step in, or I could…

A mighty hand slapped down on the Ugly Hulk's shoulder and spun him around. I tumbled back, finally, out of the jerk's grasp. Then I not only heard, but saw the earth-shattering crunch of the guy's bones in his face concave when the new comer's fist collided with it. The mountain of a boy, playing pretend in a man's body, came crashing down. I stepped aside, and I guess the guy decided to take a nap in the middle of the dance floor. He was out like a damn light. I admit, at first, I was a little scared… because if this new guy could knock that kind of human experiment out, it could only mean trouble for me. If this new guy had the same blatant lack of thinking like the one before him…

But, the man behind that wicked hit wasn't much taller than me. Even in heels with a normal height of 5'4", he could have only a few inches on me. He was in some loose-fitting jeans and a deep blue button up. Almost, the same shade as my hair. The jeans, however, didn't leave much to the imagination. On the contrary, they definitely clung to all the right places and those muscles weren't discouraged at all under those rolled up sleeves. And my defender had stunning brown eyes, rich as the finest mahogany, and stubble as if it were perfectly shaped by the Gods themselves. He had the kind of looks that, I'm sure, got him into all kinds of trouble with the ladies. He wasn't European but wasn't entirely American either. A touch of something across the water. I was stunned, for obvious reasons, until I noticed that he was out of breath and I couldn't stop a chuckle. My mind screamed to show my gratefulness for him having the gall to stop what could have gotten out of hand quickly. I never failed to get myself into trouble, I groaned, thankfully Emily wasn't around. She'd kill me.

I cleared my throat to not speak like mush mouth to the hero. I extended my hand, more confidently than I gave myself credit in the presence of such a magnificent piece of art, "Thank you."

He didn't take it. I would bet he didn't even notice my hand. He was still looking down on the child with a busted face curled up on the floor. Was a bar fight new for him? His appearance and muscles argued against that case, but there was surprise in those brown eyes. I wanted to ask, but I heard the anxious call of my name and turned on my heels completely forgetting what had only just transpired.

Emily explained she had to take off, something about Dean getting some leave, but would be back soon. A week or two at the most, she promised. She ushered in a thousand apologies but I reassured her I wasn't a child. There was no way I was telling Em about the Mountain; it would force her to have no choice but to stay in her twisted mind. I could find my own way home, no reason to worry her. I told her how much I appreciated tonight. My best friend wrapped her arms around me for, as always, a comforting hug and dashed off.

I contemplated having a few more drinks, but another hour had already passed, and the run-in had deterred me from staying any longer after Emily had excused herself. I gathered my stuff and thought that it would be better if I snuck out the back door. Knowing the owner and all, there wasn't any argument from the staff, plus it would save me from seeing Sir Douches A-lot again that night.

I hadn't expected a damn fight to be going on right outside the rear entrance. There was a hurdle of giant blockheads screaming and thrashing all about like a flock of seagulls. My gut told me to tuck my chin down, rush past them, and ignore their squawking… but that was before I saw Sir Douche A-lot among them. I knew he couldn't be up to any good, and stupidly, I thought it was of my responsibility.

However, I really shifted into high gear when I realized who the stupid excuse for men where surrounding: Mister brown-eyed knight. My heels clinked against the gravel, as I ran, my hand digging into my bag frantically, until my black fingernails wrapped the hilt of my gun. Before, I had planned for the Academy but was discharged for obvious reasons. That didn't mislead my heart as for what it believed to be my rightfully place in society, so, I ran with purpose.

I stopped right behind them, out of breath from years of unashamed lack of training. They didn't even notice my erratic huffing, and I couldn't locate my defender among their testosterone-filled bodies. My eyes flashed from person to person but my eyes couldn't see him. I prayed he was still alive. I might have been slightly ill-rational when I flung my gun into the air in that back-alley way and pulled the trigger. It did stop them and I got to witness a bunch of "men" piss their pants.

"Get the hell out of here, or the next one will be in your ugly faces." I ordered, meaning business. I wasn't afraid to hold it to their chests until the cops got there.

I couldn't doddle on how I could have easily been arrested for countless offenses: criminal threat of bodily injury, reckless endangerment, misuse of a handgun… the list goes on and on, really. Wouldn't the Chief love that? But damn, I have never seen "men" run so fast other than the track team competitions in high-school. I wanted to snicker and make fun… but what those idiots left behind was a true man folded like a beach chair with his nose in his hands. My eyes couldn't avoid the blood splattered jeans.

I stuffed my gun away and reached down to tap his shoulder with care. Thankfully, he didn't flinch. I worried he would be afraid of me. I mean, I did just discharge a firearm not even 5 feet from him in the city limits nonetheless! Dad is going to kill me, I screamed.

Focus Nikki, he is bleeding for God's sake. I crouched down, deliberately not getting too close, "Hey, can you hear me? Are you alright? I'm going to get someone, ok? Stay right here. I'll be right back with help." I shot back up with my mind, for once, focused. I was about to run back inside when a seemingly small, yet, firm hand wrapped around my wrist.

"Don't. I'm good." The words came out a little wet, and I reminded myself that I am not of the squeamish type. I begged for myself to stay together, but I wanted to panic. I hate blood. It probably appeared like more blood than it really was, my mind promised… I didn't feel uncomfortable being near him so I let my wrist stay in his possession and hovered over the gravel in front of him.

"I feel so damn bad, let me get a look at your nose. My mother was a nurse." I urged, and a first, he seems reluctant. Then, both hands fall away, "Thank God." I hadn't broken God's gift to humanity. I sigh and fall back on my butt with relief. Lifting my face toward the night sky and laughing with ease. The skin on his nose was cracked, don't get me wrong, it was a nasty cut. As, if one of those mobster rings sliced across the bridge of his nose. Nothing a little pop of the nose and a band aid couldn't fix.

"It's broken, isn't it?" He is dying to know and my smart-ass just can't ever take the day off. I don't even give him the courtesy of holding eye contact. The stars are too bright tonight.

It falls from my lips with complete seriousness, "Crushed to pieces. They are gonna have to saw it clean off, and give you another one," I shrug like we are arguing over the price of movie ticket at the matinée, "You're ok with a rubber one, right?"

He looked like a child when told Santa isn't real and I maintained that emotionless expression until it was simply too much. Those big brown eyes swollen, as if the world was falling apart, were the worse, but the flies would have loved swarming that gaping mouth. My lips cracked into a smile and I fell out laughing.

"Oh, great! We got a damn comedian, folks!" He spats out a little blood swishing around his mouth, and I can tell he is completely upset. I went too far, just like always.

I backtrack quickly, but not quick enough, "Look, I'm—"

He uses the wall to help himself off the hard ground, and wipes a hand across his lips. It comes back red, "Forget it. You better be glad I'm not suing your ass."

My defensive wall comes rolling up and I give in to, what my father refers to as, the gunk, "Hey! No one told you to sucker punch douche-McGillicuddy then get your ass handed to you by his boy band!" It was as if I had been struck by lightning from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet, I was electrified. First time I felt that way about an argument, if I recall correctly. However, I really should keep my mouth shut at times, though… this wasn't one of those times.

"Excuse me? I came to your rescue!"

"Who said I was in the need of saving? Mmmh? Do I look like a damsel in distress? Look around, jack. I just saved your ass!" I didn't care for a response; I was fuming and the quicker I got away: the better. I wanted to strangle the pretty boy with bare hands. I shoved down my dress and stormed off toward the promising street lights, "If I had a drink to throw on you, I would. The pretty ones are always the worst!" I screamed over my shoulder but didn't dare lose my pace.

I couldn't call a taxi soon enough, get the me the hell away from here! The prettiest ones must also be the dumbest, 'cause my "rescuer" followed after me. Stupid, stupid, man, "Now you're just asking for it." I warned. I kept my back to him, I sure as hell wasn't afraid of the likes of him. I had seen worlds meaner and certainly uglier.

I noticed and filed away his almost reach out to grab ahold of my arm, not angrily, but out of instinct, "Do you know who I am?" He stepped back and inquired, and it only irked me more.

"I don't give a damn who you are," Again, I should have kept my mouth sealed shut, but I spun back. Naively, and with a touch of pretentious, I deemed it necessary to jab a pointed nail into his bare chest. My fingers slipped right between the opening in his shirt after it came undone during the fight. I put on a stern face and ignored the feeling of his warm skin under my finger, "Whether you helped me or not, which you didn't, you outta leave me alone, which you aren't and stop being so damn entitled, which you most certainly shouldn't. I could have handle the dick wad myself," I hadn't cursed this much in years, but this guy had a nasty effect on me and my way of speaking, "So thank you but why don't you take a hint from the other jackoffs and back the hell up."

I loved that shock expression on the smug asshole's face. I adored that I still had the power to stand my own ground. I relished in my newly regained confidence… until, he wobbled. I couldn't believe my eyes; he stumbled side to side and was about to smash his pretty head on the concrete. I immediately dropped my bag and grabbed ahold of him. We swayed but I mustered all the strength I could to keep us standing.

I really ought to start working out again, I thought furiously to myself for struggling so much keeping this guy on his feet. He was out cold, and curse my weak heart for instantly caring. I groaned, "Now, what am I supposed to do with you, huh?" I asked to the empty air. It answered with a crackle of thunder… then a damn downpour following it up. I screamed a little of my frustration out, but kept one arm around his very tight waist… FOCUS NIKKI. And the other arm pulling his arm down as it hung from around my neck. It was a balancing act, truly.

I couldn't put him down to search for some identification or address for the fear of not being able to get him back up on this slippery concrete. I didn't trust anyone else to help me handle him. Plus, I will admit it was partly my fault for getting the dude into this mess. Had he lost too much blood? Did he hit his head and I not know it? The fears ran crazy inside my mind. I hailed a cab with a very loosely strung together plan of attack, "Looks like you're coming with me, big guy."

A strange man from a bar in my apartment; dad is going to kill me. The snobby and sarcastic part of my brain answered with snippy laughter: Are you serious? What are you 16? Great, now I couldn't get my own mind to shut up. "I'm too tired for all this crap," I muffled screamed into my hands.

I left him in a wet crumple mess on my couch and ran to change into more effective, dry, clothes to check his wounds. I wasn't gone too long; my frantic mind wouldn't let me stay away. I flung on a tank top and some shorts. I'd worry about showering later. If this guy was really hurt, I need to get him some medical attention. No matter how much I may have learned from my mother. I still wasn't a trained nurse.

I slung open the medicine cabinets under the counter and raked out with an arm all that I could possibly need. I stumbled back into the living room with, literally, an arm full. He hadn't move. I don't know if that was a good or bad sign. I carefully and quietly dropped the first-aid makeshift kit onto my wooden floor, tucked my knees under me, and gently pulled him to lay face-up on the couch. In his unconscious state, there was a meaningful grunt and I took it as a warning to be careful.

Up close, the nose didn't look too gruesome, but man, was he a bleeder. "Put your big girl panties on, Nik." I commanded myself. First, I disinfected the area, checked for any major damage, and thankfully there was none. To be on the safe side, I put a small splint on both sides of the nose after I gently popped it back into place. Lastly, I applied a few, self-taught, tiny stiches to close the gap of skin. "They will dissolve on their own in a week or two. Three weeks at the most, nothing to stress about, pretty boy." I reassured the unconscious strange man on my burgundy couch. I wanted to slap a hand to my forehead.

However, this is where the rather difficult part came in. I had to make sure, without a doubt, he had only passed out because of his nose or exhaustion… I had to inspect his body, I groaned, this was horrific! "Why do all the good-looking ones have to be such ignorant blockheads?" Boy, if he had heard that, I'd be in even more trouble. Sure, it was one thing if he were pretty and not an evident jerk wad, but to know his true nature made him so less attractive. I was thankful for the button up so I wouldn't be forced to completely strip him.

Thankfully, I found no other damage: external or internal. Barely any defense wounds, other than the one set of busted knuckles from the punch that set this horrible night into motion. I disinfected and bandaged that as well, twice for good measure, but found no evidence of a fight. So, he hadn't fought back?

I slid into my chair across the room and with thoughtful eyes, I watched him. It seemed like he was sleeping soundly, and I hated myself for being fascinated by this strange man. Jerk or not, I didn't even know his name, yet he reminded me of an old song that held a locked chest of memories. I felt like I almost knew him, "That's impossible!" I would remember an entitled prick… I would, absolutely, remember a face or body like his too.

Oh, what am I? A blushing catholic school girl? "I need to find his license to get him off my couch and back to his place." I couldn't hop up this time, I moved slower than before. I wouldn't dare admit I was outright sad to see him go… but maybe, I wasn't ready to. Not just yet. He had offered a helping hand even if I hadn't asked for it.

I rolled my own eyes at myself, and decided it best to shut my mind off. At least, this way I could get some peace and quiet. The only viable place to store a wallet would be in his jeans, and thankfully, I found it in one of his pockets easily. I flipped open the black leather wallet with some sort of initial embellishment on the outside but I ignored it. My patience was wearing thin, and it got impossibly worse when I found his identification. My fingers gripped the plastic impossibly tighter.

"This cannot be happening! I want no part in this! No! Shit, I'm in so much trouble… No one can know about tonight."

The clack of phone keys in a dark apartment and a hushed, yet frantic, voice whispers into the receiver, "Look, I don't want trouble. 6 am, you'll find him outside the building of 1804 Park Ave… Yes, the one downtown. He isn't hurt, but he needs some rest. I'll take him there before he can wake up. It will be up to you to get him, after this, none of this is on me, you hear me?"

"He has already been here twice this week—"

"Peter, don't fret. It will blow over soon, I promise." All I got was a huff of disbelief, and the red head scooting further down the bar. I saw him moving about in my peripheral vision, but I made sure to avoid his intense blue eyes. Peter was certainly easy on the eyes… but was also the same guy to shove two chopsticks up under his lips to get a laugh out of me. A lovable little brother type, utterly platonic, he just happened to be a really good-looking dork.

"He sent his assistant here this morning; you just missed her." I bit down on my straw with a clank of my front teeth. Crap, really? Finally, and defeatedly, I glanced up from my numerous paperwork and books. It was a never-ending pile of work to get done. I rubbed my temples and Peter watched every little movement intently, "I see you changed your hair, again."

I stuck my tongue out rather childishly, but Peter grinned as he resumed wiping down the bar-top. In an unstable situation it was best this way, I coaxed my restless mind. "Can't find a bluenette without blue hair," I shrugged, and my blonde faux locks bounced, "I won't be scared off my favorite bar… or my favorite bar owner." I winked, and as I hoped, that toothy grin of his came running back. Peter stepped back over and lifted a glass up to the light to remove its pesky water spots. I placed a warm hand on his arm to gather his full attention, "Thank you…I am really sorry to put this on you."

Peter shrugged like what else had I expected? Peter and I met one faithful day, a while back, when I was looking for a place to relax and drink some coffee early one morning. Instead, I stumbled in on an empty nightclub with the owner doing stock at the bar. The rest was history; several days a week I come to unwind and keep him company, and a few nights a month he treats me with new cocktails if I come out. Peter wasn't completely aware of what happened last week, because he had been out at a business dinner. I had told Peter only what he needed to know and he understood it was in my best interest if the staff had no recollection of a young woman with blue hair being at this place of business last week… or ever. Peter in the utter sense, didn't care what had happened, I had asked for his help and he would do nothing less.

Across town, at the same time I was conversing with Peter, I was fading further and further from someone's mind, "You do not have any identifiable information to make it easier to locate this… imaginary… person?"

"No! Ok? I hit my damn head too hard. All I remember: this massive dude putting his hands on a girl at the bar and I clocked him. Hence my hand," He held it up with pride, but his words came out nasally from the stinted nose, "Then she ran away, till she found me outside later that night. I can't even remember what she was wearing or what she looked like. All I know is she had blue hair, I swear, Melissa."

"Great. Let me get this right, you want to sue a gothic tween for beating up some jugheads for you? Wonderful… Or worse, this 'she' could be a man! This individual did have the physical capability to carry you. What were you thinking to get into a bar fight? The press would have a field day! I can see the headlines now: 'Local Girl Sued for Saving Famous Vlogger'!" Melissa, a straight business woman with all her collars buttoned at the neck, if you know what I mean, swiped her recently manicured hand through the air as if hovering over the headline itself.

"I didn't say I was going to sue her!" He still hadn't dropped his hand, but he did stop waving it around to inspected it thoroughly, while mumbling to himself, "It had to be nasty to clean up. She took care of me… And I was no better than those boys putting their hands on her. Look at my nose! She performed a low-key surgery on me and I screamed like a lunatic at her."

"Yes, and you're lucky I didn't find you skinned in a bathtub somewhere with her using your face as a mask to rob a bank." He grunted, but Melissa didn't lighten up, "Leave the poor girl alone, could you? I don't want to hear anymore of this. I am your assistant, not your matchmaker. If we do not hurry, you are going to miss the returning flight to Los Angeles, Mr. Fisher."