Scotia walked into the office in complete nervousness. She had a feeling that this wasn't going to be easy, and the décor just made it worse. Why did he always have to show off his money? She groaned.
"There you are."
She turned, not surprised to see Josef coming her way. "I was about to call again. Big building."
"Big career. Come." He offered his hand, which she took with only slight hesitation. He lead her up the elevator, through the hall, and into was appeared to be a very exclusive conference room. He let her take a seat before dimming the already soft lights. She frowned.
"You don't have to do that."
"Brightness annoys me." He sat down. "Now, I believe we have something to discuss." She nodded, but said nothing. "Should I begin?"
"It would be nice."
He looked at her. It would be nice. He leaned back in his chair. "First off Scotia, I didn't mean what I said about…it being an accident."
"I know."
"And as hard as it is for me to admit it, sometimes I speak without thinking, and though I like to think of myself as always right, I--" He stopped, a bit put off. "Did you just say you know?" She nodded. "You know I didn't mean it?
"Yeah. Your choice of words was an 'accident.' Accident forgiven."
"That saves be a lot of words, then." He whistled low.
She stared at him before deciding to ask him a point-blank question. "Have you ever been in love?"
"That's not really pertinent, is it?"
Yes." She wondered on how to go about this, but eventually found the right phrases. "You have an interest in me, that is, unless you're only being nice out of pity." She lowered her voice, ashamed to admit to herself what came next: "And I'm interested in you." 'Even if it's way to early for me to look at men like that again.' In her chest, her heart sped up. "If you were once in love, I want to know what happened to the girl. Why are you talking to her instead of me?"
Josef's eyes traveled to the ceiling, to the table, to the blue carpeting below him; anywhere but Scotia. His jaw clenched; never a good sign. "I've been in love. Once. It was years ago."
"You're not that old, Josef. Can I ask what happened?"
"You can if you don't like fairy tales; there's no happy ending." He cleared his throat. He'd never wanted to forget Sarah totally, but at most, she was in the back of his mind. He kept her in memory, but never brought her up. Now here was this girl that he barely knew, and he was about to tell everything. Everything that he could tell. "She died."
He heard Scotia give an unexpected gasp. At last, his sad eyes met hers. "That's, I mean, she wasn't like me, was she? She didn't--"
"It's not like that. There was a mishap." Again, he cleared his throat. He didn't think talking about Sarah would reopen so many old wounds--wounds that he wasn't particularly glad to face. "She was in a vegetable state until finally I had to pull the plug on her. The ceremony was short; she was the last left of her family. I always tell myself I'll go back to New York--she loved New York--to visit her burial site, but…" He shrugged, tailing off.
"I don't want to upset you, but… Please don't make me go through that again."
Numbly, Scotia sat there. She'd listened to his entire story, and the more he spoke, the more she wanted to reach out to him. Maybe she wasn't the only broken soul in the world; maybe she could help him while he helped her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "What was her name?"
"Sarah."
"I bet she was beautiful."
"I think I'm beginning to learn that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, as the old expression goes."
For a few moments, they sat there in silence before Josef brought up a new topic: "I know this might be a bit hard for you to talk about right now, but have you thought about pressing charges?"
"On--?" He nodded. She didn't know what to say.
"I have great lawyer. She'll probably take on the case, even if there's little or no evidence. She a wonder with juries and judges."
"I don't--I don't think I want that. I didn't go to the hospital after it happened because I just wanted to end everything. He hasn't tried to contact me, so I think it's safe to say that he's moved on. He got what he wanted." She felt like an old rag doll, used, abused, and tossed out once her use had been fulfilled.
"You don't want any justice? Mick could--"
"I just want him out of my life. I think he's gone back to France, anyway. I'm glad, but I'm going to have to move out of my apartment. I can't afford that place."
"You'll figure something out," He said, all the while thinking that it wasn't her that was going to be doing the "figuring."
"You know, it's good that we had this talk, but where do we go from here?"
"Where do you want to go?"
Biting her lip, she thought. She knew that she wanted to proceed slowly, but as for calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend, she wasn't like today's youth; she wasn't quick to jump into a relationship, especially right now. "Let me figure some stuff out," she concluded at last. "I have bills to worry about and medicine to pay for, plus I have to go back for another appointment to see if I'm healing. I am. I'm healing, but it still hurts." She rubbed her wrist, something that would now always be habit, with or without bandages. "Let me take of that."
And in a rare moment, Josef did what was right, not what he wanted to do: reaching out, he touched his hand to hers. "There are something's you don't have to go through by yourself."
"I'm not getting a therapist."
He gave a weak exhale. "No. No, and I wasn't referring to a therapist." He stood, giving the words a chance to sink in for her. They eventually did, but not before she was staring down at her hands, which were clasped tightly together. Inwardly, she was crying.
"It's just…we barely know each other. Why do you have such an interest in me?" Her eyes went upward to his. She watched him merely stand there clearly without an answer. "I'm not that interesting of a girl, and you can do much better. Undoubtedly."
"Your life's too short to overanalyze everything, but if you want to get everything squared away with yourself first, go ahead." Then, as a side note, he added, "It's not as if I'm dying anytime soon."
"Don't say that!" Scotia chastised, standing up now. "Don't. If I'm not allowed to talk about my death, no one's allowed to talk about theirs."
"Fair enough." He looked out the window to outside. The sky was turning a light pink, meaning that it was starting to get late. Scotia must have been thinking the same thing, for she told,
"I'm moving out tomorrow. I have a few days left for the month, but I'll be spending them boxing stuff up, so early day tomorrow. I need a full night's rest."
I'll take you home, then." He made up, "I've been meaning to talk to Mick, unless you drove here."
"Taxi."
"Good. Let me go grab my keys."
She waited. Once he was back in the room, beckoning for her to come, she followed, "So, are you going to help me move tomorrow or what?"
