Chapter Three
It wasn't until Sophie got into her apartment that she realized that neither her or Doctor Romalotti had established when Victor's wound would need to be repacked, which would be at least twice a day, if not three. Locking the door behind her, she hurriedly dug out her cell from her purse to find numerous calls from the doctor himself. With her thumb she pressed the button to return his call, ignoring the opportunity to listen to his voicemails, and then moved into the bedroom.
"Sophie!" Francis answered, relief heavy in his voice, "Are you okay? I tried to stay, but-"
"I'm fine," she assured him, "home safely," moving around the room to collect her pajamas.
"You shouldn't be alone with that monster," he said gravely, and Sophie felt her eyes burn with what may have been tears, but her heart hardened at his words.
"I can make my own decisions, Dr. Rome." Sophie reminded him, and moving into the bathroom flipped on the light switch.
"I'm serious Sophie, don't get hard headed on me about this. He's dangerous, more dangerous than you know. He's the Don's guard dog, his executioner-...I...I shouldn't have said that…" the doctor ended with a whisper, "I shouldn't drag you any deeper into this."
Sophie looked at the dark shadows under her eyes, the blood on her scrubs and saw her lips move "I think that point is moot now, Doctor."
He sighed heavily, and she heard him mutter apologies as she gazed at herself, and wondered when her reflection had changed. Who was that woman in the mirror? For the past few years her life had been a routine that changed little, a life with no excitement or surprises, and Sophie had thought she had liked it that way. Now, as she gazed at herself in the mirror, she saw a pink tinge to her cheeks, a light in her tired eyes that hadn't been there before. Was she a secret adrenaline junkie? She could feel her heart beat a tireless rhythm under her breast, and although her conscience was burdened, her heart was light. Sophie wondered what she was becoming, or if she was simply seeing what had always been there, hiding in a complacent, dull life.
"Do you have a way to get a hold of Victor, Doctor?" she asked.
"I have a - why? Why do you need to get a hold of him?" the doctor demanded.
"We have to keep up on his dressing changes, " she reminded him, but there was a twinkle in her eye, a curve in that corner of her mouth.
"I'll find a way to get a hold of him," Romalotti assured her, a slight twinge of fear in his voice, "but Sophie, I don't want you caught up in anymore of this, maybe you should find someplace else...pack up and disappear,"
"Give up my life because I got caught up in your mess?" she scoffed, but really, what life had it been?
Silence was her answer, and she inhaled deeply, "I'm sorry Francis, I am. I will think about it, really. Just make sure you get a hold of him, we don't want to get in trouble, right?" she asked with a nervous laugh, and then they hung up.
Aunt Carol had told her where to go, the path to take to the school the night before and Sophie had replayed the words over and over again in heard all through the night so she wouldn't forget. However, by the time the sun had risen and Sophie had woken up to ringing of the alarm, pieces of the information she had been told were already gone. Her little heart raced in fear and she dressed hurriedly, grabbed the lunch that Aunt Carol had made before she left for work and walked out the door, remembering to turn the lock on the door before she raced out. Sophie looked in every direction, but couldn't see what looked like a school anywhere. Just when she was about to cry and go hide on the porch until Aunt Carol got back, the door of the house next to hers opened and a boy walked out. A small woman ushered the boy out, laid a quick kiss to the top of his head and then very quickly and very quietly closed the door behind him. The boy stood on the porch and looked at the door for just a minute, and then turned, walking away. He was silent, and might have looked her way once, before he was walking past her house and down the block. Sophie eyed his brown paper sack lunch, the faded red backpack on his shoulder and taking a deep breath, she decided to follow him and hope for the best. That day he led to where she was supposed to go, unknowing. The path they had taken was full of twists and turns and Sophie knew she would never make it there and back on her own, so she always looked for him in the crowd of departing students at the end of the day, and woke up early so she could be on the porch to watch him go, to follow him down the right path. The day he stopped halfway to school, she stopped as well, a visible distance behind him. He turned and had looked at her silently. Eyes studying her under the shadow of his eyebrows, under the ragged edges of his bangs.
Sophie twisted her little hands on the handle of her lunchbox, before walking forward and spoke to him softly, hopeful, but full of the fear of rejection.
"My name's Sophie, I live next door. Can I walk with you to school?"
He stared at her a little longer, before he nodded and turned, and this time his pace was slower, and they walked together.
Sophie woke tangled up in her covers and the buzzer going off in the living room signaling that someone wanted in. Blinking sleepily at the clock, she cursed softly before rolling out of bed and muttering about her day off.
Sophie pressed a finger to the button on the panel, "Hello? Who is it?"
Static and silence answered her. Sophie's eyes were heavy as she waited, then sighed loudly and pressed the button again, "Listen, you either identify yourself, or your butt can wait for someone else to buzz you up," she snapped.
"Summers," came the response, and suddenly the tiredness was evaporating. She pressed the buzzer to let him up and dashed back to her bedroom to grab some pajama shorts, and tugged at the t-shirt she wore to bed, running a quick hand through her hair as she dashed back to the door just as he knocked, loudly.
Hurriedly she unlocked the door and opened it, ushering him inside.
"Hey, I have neighbors you know, not so loud," she hissed, closing the door behind him and eyeing the door across the hall. Ms. Norris was a bit of nosey Nelly and also a frequent complainer to the landlord about anyone and anything.
Leaning against the door, she turned to look at him, the sunrise outside starting to leak through the blinds.
His hands were in his pockets as he stood there nonchalantly, once again in a professionally tailored suit and shining black shoes. He smelled fresh and clean, his cologne pleasant to her nose. His eyes were on her Gotham University black shirt, and the matching sunshine yellow shorts that peeked from underneath the hem.
"Romalotti told me I would need the wound re-packed two to three times a day depending on drainage," he supplied.
"Are we going to the...clinic?" she supplied, pulling back her hair and moving to the bedroom, willing her heart to stop racing.
"No time, this needs to be quick," he grumbled, following her, unbidden.
Sophie frowned, "Well I only have a small first aid kit, so I might have what we need if we're lucky. Go to the bathroom, sit on the edge of the tub," she commanded and finding a hair tie, she tied her hair back.
Sophie heard Victor's belt buckle as he slipped out of his slacks and heard the bathroom light go on, his movements quick and sure, like that one tour through her apartment had been cemented in his mind and he knew her home as surely as she did.
The boxer briefs were grey this time she noted quickly before ducking her head in the pantry and removing the first aid kit. Sophie washed her hands and then set about removing the old dressing and packing with nimble fingers, questions on her tongue, but willing herself silent as she assessed the wound bed and amount of drainage on the dressing.
Finding just enough gauze, she cleaned and then packed the wound gingerly and used the last piece to cover the wound and then placed tape over it.
"I'll have to go get more supplies," she said aloud, standing from her crouch, and watched his nostrils flare as he inhaled, but made no move to rise.
"I thought you were in some kind of rush," she said irritably, moving to wash her hands, her eyes flickering to him continuously.
He stared at her silently, and for just a moment she was whisked back to the guest bedroom in Aunt Carol's house and using a washcloth to blot the blood away from the cut above his left eyebrow. Her green eyes found the faint scar on his hairless brow.
"How about the incision on your chest?" she asked, and moved forward to inspect it.
He stood and waved her hands away abruptly, "It's fine," he said gruffly, and then moved to put his slacks back on. Sophie realized she should probably give him some kind of privacy, but instead she just crossed her arms and stared at him.
"I would try to favor that leg as much as possible," she said, and knew it was mostly for her own self, because wherever he was going, he probably wouldn't be gentle with anything.
"Today is my day off," she informed him after no reply, "So I will expect to see you twice more today, I'll be here," she offered.
"I will attempt to come here at least once more today," he rebuffed her, moving to stand suffocatingly close to her, to straighten his tie in the mirror and adjust his jacket.
She frowned and opened her mouth to scold him, but saw his eyes darkly reflecting in the mirror and closed her lips again.
"Well I work tomorrow, so I can't help you then," she muttered instead, and turned out of the bathroom, breathing quickly.
There was no answer as he followed her out, turning off the light behind them. His footsteps stopped in the middle of her bedroom, and she turned in the doorway, watching him look over the tangle of the white sheets and comforter on her bed.
"Do you remember that last night?" he said, his voice full of gravel, his eyes turning to her and glittering in the darkness of the bedroom. The sun was shining now through the blinds in the living room and silhouetted her.
Sophie thought on his words, searching her memory, the details, but she knew of what he spoke. She had never forgotten that night.
It had been nearly a week after he had voiced his intentions to kill his father that it had finally happened. A huge commotion had sounded from the Zsasz house next door, and Sophie had waited anxiously at her open window, eyes glued to the window directly across from hers, the phone cold in her clammy hand. Then silence, and it had been deafening.
"Victor," she had whispered, "Victor!"
Sophie had pleaded, begged God that it hadn't ended the way she had feared it would, begged that he was alive, that he was alive.
Tears welled in her eyes as nothing in the house moved, and still the silence reigned. She hiccupped with grief and looked down at the phone in her shaking hands, and with a sob she quickly dialled the numbers and brought the phone to her ear. It rang for an unbearably long time, and just when the other line clicked to life, she saw him move to stand on the other side of his window. Sophie quickly hung up and tossed the phone away, leaning out the window, a smile on her face, and tears of joy replacing her ill-placed grief.
He lifted his window in a smooth movement and slipped out with a familiar grace. Sophie's eyes saw the dark black shadows left behind on the white window sill in his wake, saw the shadows that were not shadows on his face, his body, his hands as he walked to her window, calm and quiet. Her stomach twisted, but her lips only whispered his name again, "Victor, I'm so glad you're okay!"
He no longer had to jump and scramble up to her window, but instead he stood there just outside, cuts on his face and an eye the was already swelling shut. His breathing was ragged, but his face was calm despite the abuse that had been patterned there.
Sophie leaned further out the window, resting her abdomen on the window sill, and reaching out to lightly graze her fingers down the injured side of his face.
She held out her other hand, to help into her window, but he made no move to accept the gesture. He stared at her in silence, but she could hear the phone she had dropped ringing, and sirens were coming their way.
"I called, I thought...," she supplied, and felt so ashamed, "I'm sorry," she whispered, but his face remained impassive.
He placed one glistening wet hand on her windowsill, and the other on her cheek, and she gripped his arm and shoulder tightly, fear filling her heart.
"Victor?" she inquired, "It's over, it's all gonna be okay now," she said, but it sounded hollow to even her own ears.
Victor Zsasz, a few hours shy of his sixteenth birthday, pulled her face down to his, and pressed a tender kiss to her lips, her first kiss and his.
Butterflies became a hurricane in Sophie, and she wanted nothing more to pull him through her window, and let him kiss her some more, do what teenagers full of hormones and adrenaline do, but instead he continued his tender kiss until it became firm and she felt like she was gonna die from lack of air, when he pulled away.
"Goodbye," he said breathlessly, and with one last look, his hand slid from her face, and he turned, running away into the night. Sophie watched as his shadow disappeared, and then moved to the bathroom where she turned on the light and saw a bloody handprint on her face. She grabbed a wash cloth and scrubbed her face raw, the sirens sounding like they were almost right outside her door now. Sophie rushed to her window and scrubbed at the bloody handprint on her window, but a smudge remained, so she raced to the laundry room and grabbed the bleach, and utterly ruining the washcloth she moistened it with the harsh detergent and scoured the windowsill.
They were outside her house now, Aunt Carol would be home in a few hours, and Sophie sprinted to the laundry room, replaced the bleach and threw the washcloth in the trash, and quickly washed her hands before racing to the front door just as the first knock came.
"This is Gotham City police, we received a 911 call from this address," the cops began, and Sophie opened the door, and found she was shaking from head to toe.
"Next door," she croaked, "Something has happened next door. There was a lot of noise, and I'm worried about the boy next door, his dad, he hurts him," she said, tears filling her eyes, feeling her face redden and obscuring the cover up of her crime from their eyes as the red and blue lights flashed over her and the inside of the house.
"Please, help him," she had begged the officers.
"I remember, " Sophie whispered.
Victor Zsasz came up close to her then, his chin in her line of sight, his body a melting heat against her own.
"So many opportunities wasted, climbing through your window seeking only shelter," he rumbled, close to her ear, and lightning seemed to coarse through her, making her chest tingle, the juncture of her thighs tremble.
"Victor," she whispered, and her eyelids lowered, hoping, needing him to kiss her. He pressed her against the doorframe, roughly and firmly, so that could feel the hardness of his body, the muscles that rippled under those nice suits of his. One of his hands was curving her hip into his pelvis, and the other was angling her jaw up to his. This was kiss was rough, full of demanding and want. She ached for him terribly, and her hands trembled as they smoothed over his chest, down to his sides.
When he broke away, her nipples ached and pressed against her shirt in a way that should have made her feel terribly embarrassed, and her legs quivered as she used the doorframe to keep her upright.
In a flurry of movement he was whirling from her and stalking out the door, slamming it behind him, and she was left sliding down the door frame, her fingertips on her bruised lips, marveling.