All right, I've got the Caller here with me, and believe me, he is
absolutely gorgeous...
*the Caller coughs pointedly*
...oh, yeah, and he also wants me to point out that his character jointly belongs to Kiefer Sutherland, Joel Schumacher, Larry Cohen, and 20th Century Fox Productions, none of whom belong to me, and I'm not making any money from this. There, you happy now?
*the Caller nods and wanders back off into the story*
---
It's near eleven and I know I'm not getting any sleep tonight. Kate is here- -in my apartment--curled up on the couch and bundled in a ragged old wool blanket. I'm lying in bed and staring at the white ceiling.
Without my glasses, everything is blurry. The streetlights outside are hazy splotches of light and the dresser across the room is a fuzzy shape. I roll over and try to bury myself in sleep, muffling my face in the pillows.
Split, swollen lip, bruised cheekbones, torn ear, traces of blood around her mouth and nose. Some of her hair's been torn out at the roots. A low growl builds in my chest and rumbles through my throat, stifled by the sheets.
I close my eyes for a moment, remembering the way her slight hand curled around mine, the warmth of her fingers. When I open them again, it's morning and pale gray light is drifting through the window.
Kate lifts her head as I creep cautiously into the living room. Her hair is tousled and her clothes are crumpled; the faded blanket is still draped around her shoulders. The bruises all over her face and arms have darkened to an ugly purple-black shade, and she's still somewhat pale.
She's also the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.
"Didn't mean to wake you up," I say quietly as I cross the room and stand over her, feeling awkwardly shy. "Are you hungry?"
"No, thanks," she says groggily, sitting up and drawing the blanket closer. "Your apartment is really nice."
My apartment has been called cramped, crowded, dirty, uncomfortable, and a hell-hole--mostly by me--but never has it been called nice. Once again, I find myself taken aback. "What's so nice about it?"
"That blank wall over there." She nods in the direction of the wall, covered with chipped white paint, adjacent to the window. A small smile is stealing across her lips. "I could paint something spectacular on that."
My throat tightens and I sit down beside her, careful not to disturb the blanket or cushions. "If you stayed here, instead of going back to the shelter..." Please, I pray, please say yes.
She looks down at her feet, swallowing hard and rubbing her eyes. "I don't have anywhere else to go. That guy we met, Steve, he--"
"Steve is dead," I cut in. "I made him confess a week ago and then shot him."
Kate closes her eyes and bows her head, letting out a shuddering breath as tears slide down her cheeks. The crying of Steve's girls, the ones that I phoned, mostly annoyed me--some made me want to laugh long and derisively-- but this hurts me more than I could have imagined. I reach out and she burrows into my arms, sobbing quietly, "He's gone?"
"He's dead," I repeat, stroking her hair. "He can't hurt you anymore."
She shakes her head. "He was there, with his buddies..." She spits out the word. "They grabbed my arm and slipped a needle into it, and then they dragged me into their van... I tried to fight them off, but they beat me up and tore my clothes. I couldn't do anything to stop them..." She is trembling with fear and rage, and if I hadn't killed him before, I would have gone out right there and then, found him, and put a bullet through his brain. All I can do now is hold onto her and make soft shushing noises as she cries.
Finally she calms down, scrubbing at her eyes and sniffling. "You're safe," I insist. "You can go anywhere. You can go back to the shelter, if you want- -"
She raises her eyebrows, smiling weakly. "You don't have an extra bed here. Are you going to keep me on the couch if I stay?"
"No, I--" I realize what I was about to say, and crimson floods through my face. "I--I mean, you could keep the bed, and I'd sleep on the couch, and..."
She lets out a low, warm laugh and then looks at me with bright eyes. "I love you. And if you want me here, I'm staying."
---
*the Caller coughs pointedly*
...oh, yeah, and he also wants me to point out that his character jointly belongs to Kiefer Sutherland, Joel Schumacher, Larry Cohen, and 20th Century Fox Productions, none of whom belong to me, and I'm not making any money from this. There, you happy now?
*the Caller nods and wanders back off into the story*
---
It's near eleven and I know I'm not getting any sleep tonight. Kate is here- -in my apartment--curled up on the couch and bundled in a ragged old wool blanket. I'm lying in bed and staring at the white ceiling.
Without my glasses, everything is blurry. The streetlights outside are hazy splotches of light and the dresser across the room is a fuzzy shape. I roll over and try to bury myself in sleep, muffling my face in the pillows.
Split, swollen lip, bruised cheekbones, torn ear, traces of blood around her mouth and nose. Some of her hair's been torn out at the roots. A low growl builds in my chest and rumbles through my throat, stifled by the sheets.
I close my eyes for a moment, remembering the way her slight hand curled around mine, the warmth of her fingers. When I open them again, it's morning and pale gray light is drifting through the window.
Kate lifts her head as I creep cautiously into the living room. Her hair is tousled and her clothes are crumpled; the faded blanket is still draped around her shoulders. The bruises all over her face and arms have darkened to an ugly purple-black shade, and she's still somewhat pale.
She's also the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.
"Didn't mean to wake you up," I say quietly as I cross the room and stand over her, feeling awkwardly shy. "Are you hungry?"
"No, thanks," she says groggily, sitting up and drawing the blanket closer. "Your apartment is really nice."
My apartment has been called cramped, crowded, dirty, uncomfortable, and a hell-hole--mostly by me--but never has it been called nice. Once again, I find myself taken aback. "What's so nice about it?"
"That blank wall over there." She nods in the direction of the wall, covered with chipped white paint, adjacent to the window. A small smile is stealing across her lips. "I could paint something spectacular on that."
My throat tightens and I sit down beside her, careful not to disturb the blanket or cushions. "If you stayed here, instead of going back to the shelter..." Please, I pray, please say yes.
She looks down at her feet, swallowing hard and rubbing her eyes. "I don't have anywhere else to go. That guy we met, Steve, he--"
"Steve is dead," I cut in. "I made him confess a week ago and then shot him."
Kate closes her eyes and bows her head, letting out a shuddering breath as tears slide down her cheeks. The crying of Steve's girls, the ones that I phoned, mostly annoyed me--some made me want to laugh long and derisively-- but this hurts me more than I could have imagined. I reach out and she burrows into my arms, sobbing quietly, "He's gone?"
"He's dead," I repeat, stroking her hair. "He can't hurt you anymore."
She shakes her head. "He was there, with his buddies..." She spits out the word. "They grabbed my arm and slipped a needle into it, and then they dragged me into their van... I tried to fight them off, but they beat me up and tore my clothes. I couldn't do anything to stop them..." She is trembling with fear and rage, and if I hadn't killed him before, I would have gone out right there and then, found him, and put a bullet through his brain. All I can do now is hold onto her and make soft shushing noises as she cries.
Finally she calms down, scrubbing at her eyes and sniffling. "You're safe," I insist. "You can go anywhere. You can go back to the shelter, if you want- -"
She raises her eyebrows, smiling weakly. "You don't have an extra bed here. Are you going to keep me on the couch if I stay?"
"No, I--" I realize what I was about to say, and crimson floods through my face. "I--I mean, you could keep the bed, and I'd sleep on the couch, and..."
She lets out a low, warm laugh and then looks at me with bright eyes. "I love you. And if you want me here, I'm staying."
---
