Micah (Damage Control 1)

I grab my tools and turn to look at the reception desk, trying to remember what I’m supposed to be doing here—then Zane takes my arm and shoves me out of the shop.

“Go home,” he says, sounding as tired as I feel. “Get your head straight. No inking when you’re lost inside your mind, fucker.”

Maybe he’s right, but I could have used the distraction. So instead I walk more. I walk and walk, trying to feel something, anything. Even my anger has leeched away, leaving behind an aching cold.

Don’t trust anyone. Don’t believe things will turn out all right. Don’t expect anything. Not if you want to survive and remain sane.

Night has fallen, thick and heavy. The air smells of rain, and then it comes, pelting down, drenching me to the bone, and still I barely feel it. The wet only adds to the cold inside, filling me up with nothingness until I’m close to bursting. Like a balloon. Like a soap bubble.

This doesn’t feel real. I’m not really here. I don’t know where I am.

I glance around and try to orient myself. The rain is like a great plastic curtain, blurring the streets and buildings. I think I’m not far from home, and I force my steps that way. A wind whips down the street. My teeth are chattering. A coughing fit grips my chest, and I bend over, hacking.

“Micah?” a woman calls. “Micah!”

Goddammit, I’ve really gone around the bend. I’m hearing voices. She really sounds like…

Ev. I straighten. She’s hurrying over to me, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes luminous in the faint light from the lamppost overhead.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice hoarse and my head throbbing.

“I need to talk to you.”

I want to yell at her, shove her away—but her face is so sad I just can’t. Bes

ides, I don’t feel the anger. The cold has filled me from side to side.

She seems to sense something is off because she tilts her head to the side and studies me for a long moment. A frown creases her brow, and she reaches for me. Her fingers close around my bicep.

“I reported him,” she says. “To the police. Not sure what they can do, but maybe if Seth can testify… Maybe they can get him.”

I stare at her, uncomprehending. I lift a hand to her face, and it’s shaking like an old man’s. My nails are a deep shade of blue. Pretty color.

“Shit, you’re freezing,” she hisses, and it’s funny that she cusses like this. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her cuss.

I chuckle and brush my hand over her smooth cheek. She flinches, and my grin falls.

“Micah.” She takes my hand and her touch burns. “You’re ice-cold. Let’s get you inside.”

“Gonna save me again?” I whisper.

She doesn’t reply. Maybe she hasn’t heard. She’s tugging on my hand toward what I realize is my building. It was closer than I thought.

I dig in my pockets for my keys, then fumble with the building door and drop them. Ev grabs them and opens. The air in the lobby feels unbearable warm. I let her pull me up the stairs, let her open the apartment and drag me inside.

I drop onto the couch as she buzzes around, turning on the heater and bringing me a towel from the bathroom. When it drops from my hand, and I can’t find the energy to lift it, she takes it and climbs next to me to dry my face and hair.

“You should be careful,” she says quietly as she puts the towel aside and brushes her warm hands over my face. “You have this nasty cough, and it could get worse if you don’t get it checked out.”

“I’m okay,” I say, a bit dazed and already reaching for her. I need her. I know I should be angry with her, but right now I can’t remember why, and I need her like I need air to breathe.

“There was this man…” She pauses with her hands on my cheeks. The contact burns, but I don’t care. I want her touch. Need it. “A young man living on the streets. I met him only a few times. And the last time I saw him he was so sick… Pneumonia, I guess. I think he was dying. So I called an ambulance. I was going to go with him to the hospital, make sure he got through it. But a bike ran me over before the ambulance arrived. I broke my leg, and it was all hazy for a while.”

She’s talking about me. She remembers me. The thought slams into me like a bullet, and I gasp. Her face scrunches up in worry.

“God, you’re freezing and here I am, talking nonstop.” Her hands are all over me, stealing what little breath I have left, unzipping and pushing off my jacket, tugging on my sweater. I pull sweater and T-shirt over my head and off, throwing them to the floor.

My teeth chatter harder now, and I’m mesmerized by her hands on my chest, skin to skin. Her cheeks are reddening, and all I want is to kiss her.