“I’m not here about the case, Kaci.”
My lips turn down in a frown. The tactic she’s using by saying my name isn’t lost on me either. It makes the conversation more personal, a way to draw in the person you’re speaking with, provides a familiarity that isn’t actually there. It’s politics and interview techniques 101, and I’m not falling for her shit.
“I don’t need you checking up on me.”
“Who hurt you?” I don’t respond, just like the first fucking time she asked. “Does this have something to do with what happened back at that house?”
“Listen, Abigail,” I spit her name out turning the table back on her, “I don’t need you coming here to check on me. I’m fine.”
“You look it.” My swollen eyes turn to slits when she glances over my body. Her head angles toward my right arm. “Did you go to the hospital for these injuries? Report the attack?”
My eyes follow hers, and for the first time, I notice the gauze taped to the back of my hand.
“Am I under arrest?”
“No. Why would you think that?” Once again, I don’t respond. “Do I have a reason to arrest you?”
Her foot blocks the door once again, and it takes everything in me to hold back a growl.
“Unblock my number, Kaci.”
“No thanks.”
“Then I guess I’ll need to keep swinging by to check up on you then.”
Her threat is a challenge, and I get the feeling she’ll do exactly what she says she will if I don’t comply.
“Fine,” I huff, but this time when I close the door, she pulls her foot back and lets it shut in her face.
“Be safe,” I hear her say on the other side before she walks away.
One glance in the bathroom mirror is all it takes for me to turn out the light before stripping all the way down. It’s been years since I looked this battered, and as much as I normally revel in my injuries, I can’t stomach the sight of myself today. The memories that guy brought back are enough to suffer through without the visual reminders.
My hypersensitive skin burns with the rush of the water, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I want the pain to go away. It’s too much this time. I took it too far. Either that, or he didn’t take it far enough. Once again, I’m teetering on the edge with no end in sight.
I know TJ brought me home last night, or at least I think he did. His soft voice is like a mist in my head when I close my eyes, but that’s how it usually is. I have no real, clear and cognizant memories of him. All I have to focus on are the ghostlike whispers and the soft brush of his skin on mine. He can’t be real. A real man wouldn’t take care of me. Real men damage everything they touch. Real men torture with words and threats, knowing that the promise of injuries is just as damaging as the blows with their fists. It’s all real men have ever done in my life, so the angel that doctors me and gets me home safe must be a figment of my imagination. It’s the only explanation.
It's this realization that makes the tears form in my eyes and mix with the hot spray of water as it cascades down my battered face. Only in my dreams and fantasies would someone like him exist. I hate that I’ve conjured him in my mind because I don’t deserve the reprieve from the pain he brings when he shows up to nurse me back to health.
With my demons fed, I opt to order delivery rather than using the energy it would require to walk down to Tito’s. When the food arrives, I find out quickly just how damaged my lip is because it’s too painful to chew.
I give up on the food and try to numb out to the TV, but I can’t think of anything other than TJ. Against my better judgment I reach for my phone, and the slip of paper Xena gave me with her number on it. I spend the next hour typing out messages, each one more ridiculous than the next before giving up on the idea altogether.
The TJ from the bar and the man that protects me can’t be the same guy. I’ve somehow managed to transform them into one singular person, but that can’t be right. One I was warned to stay away from, and the other protects me like it’s his job.
Sighing with frustration, I toss my phone to the floor and try to sleep. I’m used to being alone, used to making sure I’m on my own ninety percent of the time, but it’s the last thing I want right now. I want my protector here with his arms around me, or even better I want to feel the tip of TJ’s blade slicing my skin after he makes me come with the tip as he had promised.