CHAPTER 2
Thanks to Amy, Michelle, cohrent29, Emi, and Jan (woo Jan!) for the reviews! You guys rock. :o)
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And as always, much love to everyone else! 333
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Roger placed his empty coffee cup in the sink. He pulled his arms through his leather jacket and quietly attempted to open the loft door. He checked over his shoulder for Mark, and when he realized he could still hear him snoring in his bedroom, he was in the clear.
He scaled the stairs in no time, and was now on his way towards the park. Again. For the fourth time that week. Sometimes he'd even check twice a day for her. Julie. He didn't even know why he was spending all this time looking for someone who probably would never show up in his life again, but he figured that if she had walked through the park that one time, she'd have to go through it again. And when he found her, he'd get to ask her why she had said the things she did to him, and then he'd at least feel a little at peace knowing this girl was okay. She obviously had some issues, but didn't everybody at least have some issues of their own to work out? Maybe Mark was right. She could have been having a bad day, and he could pathetically be pining after her. But if it was going to make him feel better knowing that she wasn't in trouble, or upset, or hurt, then it was worth it.
He crossed the street and reached the edge of the park. The closer he got, the more curious he became about her. About her story. Most people mutter a "Sorry" or a "Watch where you're going" when you walk into them. But they don't ramble on about something the way she did and keep going.
Roger ran his fingers through his blonde tipped hair and passed the first set of benches. If he didn't find her today, he wasn't coming back. There was no point in him driving himself crazy looking for someone he didn't know a damn thing about. It was fucking insane, let alone pointless.
He scanned the faces of the people that passed him. They were scattered on benches, near the Man, sitting on the grass. Not one of them matched her description. He circled around and looked more carefully, pausing near the second set of benches. He sighed in frustration and was about to turn back when he spotted her. She was sitting at the edge of the bench, tucked in the corner. To him it looked like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Her knees were pulled to her chest and she was holding a cigarette although she didn't appear to be smoking it.
Roger hesitated before walking any further. Maybe he should just leave her alone? She obviously didn't want him around the day he met her, so why would she want him there now? She looked—well, young—but not that young. He figured she was at least in her late teens or early twenties. He approached her slowly and sat down on the opposite end of the bench. She didn't seem to notice at first, nor did she even bother to turn her head to look at him. She was completely out of it.
He didn't know what to do at this point. Should he take the initiative to say something to her? He sucked at shit like this.
"Do you make a hobby out of stalking people in the park?" she asked softly. So softly that Roger barely heard her, but he did turn his head and stare at her.
"I um—I just wanted to make sure you were okay?" he answered pathetically. "Julie, right?"
She shrugged and switched the cigarette to her other hand. "Uh huh." He looked down at the cigarette and realized that it was already halfway burned down in her shaking hands.
"Are you okay?" he added.
She shrugged and ran her free hand through her hair, which was twisted back today with a few strands framing her face. "I don't know."
Roger took of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Is that any better?"
"Maybe," she said. "But thanks."
He nodded and looked at his feet. "Can I ask you why you're sitting out here in thirty degree weather? Aren't you cold?"
She nodded and crushed the cigarette out on the bench. "Yeah. But I'm used to it." She turned her face away and coughed into her hand.
"Why?"
"I don't know. Things are just really fucked up for me. They always are. I can't do anything right."
He grinned at this. "Well nobody's perfect. And you can't be more of a fuck up then I am."
She turned her face up at him. "Uh huh." She pulled her one arm slowly through the sleeve of his jacket and sharply inhaled her breath.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I'll be fine. It's just—nothing. My shoulder's sore." She pressed her other arm into the opposite sleeve and sat there. Her hands were still shaking.
Roger frowned slightly at this and flicked the crushed cigarette off the bench. "Look, I know you don't know me and I don't know you, but if you want, you could come back to my apartment? Just to get something to eat and get warmed up. You could even take a shower. I could get you something of mine to wear. I just—don't think you should sit out here by yourself in the cold." He paused before saying anything else. "It's not safe."
"As opposed to having you take me back to your place? Is that safer?" she said sarcastically, but with a hint of a smile on her face.
"It's not much, but it'll make me feel better. Plus, I don't have any pets. Just Mark."
"Mark?"
"He's my roommate."
"Oh," she responded. "Thought he was a goldfish or something you kept next to your guitar case."
Roger glanced down at her. "How did you know?"
"That you play guitar?" She rested her chin on her knees again. "Your hands. The calluses."
"Oh yeah. But do you know somebody that plays?"
She shrugged. He noticed she was doing a lot of that. "It's sort of common sense."
He looked over his shoulder. There was a crowd forming behind him, and he realized that the Man was only about fifteen feet away from the bench where they were sitting. But for eight in the morning, that was a lot of fucking people. He had never seen so many, especially in broad daylight. Julie looked in that direction, and turned her head back quickly. "Junkies."
It was more of a statement then a question. "Yeah," he said. "Well um, my offer still stands, so even if you don't want to come back to my place, at least let me walk you somewhere where I know you'll be okay?"
"Your place is fine," she spoke up before standing. "If that's okay with you. I usually leave when they come around." She pointed over her shoulder and Roger nodded.
"Yeah, I don't blame you."
They stared walking down 11th street, side by side. Neither one of them attempted to make any conversation. Roger led her up to the fourth floor of the apartment building and dug out his key from his pocket. "It's not much of anything. It's a piece of shit." He opened the door and let her walk in before him. He shut the door and locked it like he normally did whenever he came home.
Julie stopped and surveyed the loft. Her eyes wandered from the small living room and the beaten couch, the kitchen with the barstools, the two bedrooms and the extra spare room, the infamous bathroom—even the rusty windows. It wasn't the greatest place, but it was better than what she was used to. Her eyelids were starting to get heavy as she realized she hadn't slept for more than four hours in days.
Roger watched her as she did this and pulled off his boots. She was still standing there in his leather jacket, just staring. She still looked very cold, but she seemed to have relaxed more so then when he found her in the park.
Surprisingly, Mark still wasn't up yet. He usually was up way before Roger ever was. His light snores still could be heard through his closed bedroom door. "That's Mark in there. You'll meet him later."
She nodded. "Okay."
Roger uncomfortably shifted his weight. "Um. So." He paused.
She pulled off his coat slowly and handed it to him. "Thanks for your jacket. It helped some."
"Don't worry about it. So, do you want to take a shower or anything? The water heater sort of dies after about fifteen minutes, but if you run the cold water in the sink for like, five minutes before you go in it the water stays warm for an extra five," he grinned at her.
She smiled a little at this. "Let me guess, I have to flush the toilet three times, standing on one foot with my finger in the electric socket, too?"
"I'm serious! Me and Mark swear by it. It really works. I'll go run it for you now if you want." He walked into the bathroom and turned on the cold water faucet. "Just let that run and I'll get you a towel from the clean laundry in Mark's room."
She nodded and walked into the bathroom. A collection of razors, toothbrushes, hair gel, and shaving cream was scattered on the porcelain top. A handful of condoms were partially hidden behind the gel. Typical male bathroom.
Roger returned with a towel, a faded black band tee shirt, and a pair of his gray sweatpants. "If you need anything else just let me know."
She nodded and took the clothes and towel from him, setting them on the sink. "Okay."
He closed the bathroom door and waited for the sound of the water to start up before he did anything else. He hoped she hadn't locked it. How many times had he meant to actually remove the lock from the door? After April, he never locked that door. No one else did, either. But Julie could have easily locked the door and could be doing who knows what to herself right now. He even left the fucking razors in there! Good fucking job, Davis. Great, you bring some random girl in off of the streets, let her use your bathroom, and leave your razors in there, making it perfectly easy for this girl to slit her wrists.
He walked into the kitchen and sat down. He wasn't getting that vibe from her, though. She seemed to be holding a lot of things back, and the sarcasm just leaked out of her voice when she talked to him. But Roger figured that maybe she just needed her space and wasn't ready to talk about anything, especially something personal. He figured that she'd probably just take a shower, grab something to eat, and leave. He doubted that she'd stay much longer than that, but at least it made him feel somewhat better knowing that she was taking a shower and not sitting out in the cold.
Mark's door creaked open and he shuffled out in his pajamas just as Roger poured himself a cup of coffee. "Hey," he yawned. "Who's in the shower?"
Roger grabbed a sugar packet and dumped it into the mug. "Do me a favor and not make a scene or anything, okay?"
Mark shrugged and sat down across from him, grabbing The New York Times. "So are you gonna tell me who's using our shower? Let me guess, it's Maureen. Because she used up all the hot water in her place and came up to raid us of ours."
Roger shook his head. "No. You remember that girl I ran into last week? When I was coming home from work?"
Mark nodded and scanned the headlines of the paper. "Yes. The one you ranted and raved about because you couldn't find her, or something. I blocked you out after Thursday," he laughed.
"Well I found her in the park. And brought her back here with me."
"You brought her back here? Is she okay?"
"I don't know," he sighed. "I don't think so. I haven't really gotten a good chance to talk to her yet. I'm working on it."
"Roger Davis, the psychiatrist. Who would have thought?"
Roger shot him a look. "It's not like that, okay? Haven't you ever been worried about someone?"
"Yeah. Someone I know. But you don't know this girl. All I'm saying is just be careful."
"I'm not a fucking two year old! I'm twenty seven years old, I think I know what the fuck I'm doing!" he shot back, angrily crumpling up the sugar packet.
Mark threw his hands up in protest. "Okay, okay. I don't care if she stays here, if that's what you're wondering."
"Not that I was really gonna ask you anyway," he grinned at him. "But thanks for the offer."
"Your laundry's in your room," Mark reminded him before getting his own cup of coffee.
"Yeah I know. I had to get something for Julie to wear."
"So that's her name?" Mark asked, clearing his throat.
Roger nodded. "Yeah."
"That's all you know about her, isn't it?" Mark smirked at him.
"I said I'm working on it, dipshit."
"Your definition of work is procrastination, buddy."
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Roger added sarcastically.
"Nope. Not really."
The bathroom door opened and Julie stepped out. Her wet hair was pulled back into a messy bun at the top of her head, and she was dressed in Roger's clothes. The sweatpants were huge on her small frame, but she had rolled them down enough so they fit comfortably. The band shirt was a little big as well, but Roger was a good foot taller than she was.
"Hi," she said softly.
Roger smiled at her. "Julie, this is Mark. My roommate slash best friend."
"Hey. It's nice to know you're not a goldfish," she added.
Mark stared at her, then Roger, confused. "Hi. Yeah, I guess that's a good thing?"
She sat down on the couch and pulled her knees up to her chest again. "Mmhmm."
"I'm gonna go see what Collins is up to this lovely, freezing morning. See ya later Rog. And it was nice to meet you."
"You too," she responded.
Roger walked over to her and handed her a cup of coffee. "I didn't know what you liked in it, so I figured that I'd let you decide."
"Black is fine," she shrugged.
"Wow. I think the only other person I know who can drink their coffee black is Maureen. She lives downstairs. She's a performer."
"Oh."
"I need the sugar in mine," he added. "I can't drink this shit without it."
"Yeah, well I don't really care either way." She reached over with her hand and started rubbing her left shoulder.
Roger eyed her as she did so and noticed that the edges of a nasty bruise were creeping over the neck of his shirt. The only reason he hadn't noticed it before was because her scarf was covering it. "That looks pretty rough. Do you want any ice for it?"
She shook her head. "No, it doesn't really help. I'm just kind of hoping it's not dislocated or anything. So far, so good."
"Want any Tylenol?"
She shook her head again. "No, I'm okay thanks."
"Yeah." Roger sensed that she wanted to change the subject. "So—do I get that last name now?" he asked.
She bit her lip and stared at him. "Segan. Julie Segan."
"Bond. James Bond," he joked. "Nah seriously, I'm Roger Davis." He drummed his fingers along the edge of the couch. "So why have you really been practically living in the park?"
Maybe he had pushed her too far with that question. She had resumed the whole 'deer caught in headlights' look, and her hands were shaking again as she gripped her coffee cup. "Um. I'd just rather not talk about it."
He figured that. "Alright. How old are you then?"
"Twenty," she answered. "You?"
"How old do I look?" he asked her.
She shrugged. "Maybe twenty four, twenty five?"
"Close. Twenty seven last week."
"Pushing thirty. Lucky you," she said, resting her head against the back of the couch.
"Do you want something to eat? I can probably scrounge up something around here, or I could always get takeout?" he suggested.
"I don't want to make you go through all this trouble just to feed me. Whatever's fine. I don't even have to eat anything."
"Okay. I'll see what I can find."
"Uh huh." She nodded as he stood up and walked into the kitchen. He spent the next five minutes searching through the cabinets for something decent. "We're definitely getting takeout."
He looked over to the couch. Julie had slumped down and fallen asleep. Her coffee mug was resting on the table, and the shirt she was wearing revealed more of her bruised shoulder. He grabbed the blanket off of the back of the couch and spread it out across her, making sure to turn the shitty heater up as he passed into his bedroom, and eventually fell asleep himself.
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