Rushed: Christopher (The Four 4.50)

“Where did you go just now?” he asked.

“Nowhere,” I easily lied.

God, I’d become way too good at that. Not necessarily telling lies people believed but being able to just spout one off without giving my conscience even another thought.

I could tell Rush didn’t believe me, but I was glad when he didn’t press the issue. He glanced toward the wall that separated the kitchen area from the dining area. “Are you remodeling?” he asked.

“Um, yeah… no… I don’t know,” I said with a laugh. “They make taking a wall down look a lot easier on TV.”

Rush smiled. “They do. My father would go crazy when he watched those shows. Kind of like when a cop watches a police show or something.”

“Your dad worked in construction?” I asked.

That sadness he’d been wearing when he’d talked about the table fell over him again, but there was also a lightness in his eyes as he confronted his memories.

“He was a contractor. Built his business from the ground up. He was hands-on, and he never left a customer unhappy. Didn’t matter how big or small the job was. ‘Treat every job like it’s the one that’s putting food on your table, son, because sometimes it is.’”

“Smart man,” I said softly.

“He was.”

“And your mom?” I dared to ask.

“Had him wrapped around her finger,” Rush responded. We both laughed at that, but then Rush went quiet again. “She worked in a nursing home. Even after Dad’s business blew up and there was enough money to do anything or nothing, she never missed a day of work. Every single one of her patients was family, and my mom never turned her back on family.”

The last few words of his statement caused a sharp pain to slice through my gut. Rush must have noticed because he said, “Fuck, Christopher—”

“It’s okay,” I said even as my heart dropped out. The mere fact that he knew why I was upset was telling. “He told you, didn’t he?”

Rush fell silent for a moment. “He told me you and your family aren’t as close as you used to be and that they’re all worried about you.”

What did you think was going to happen, Christopher? Rainbows and unicorns and some cheesy happily ever after?

I welcomed the ugly voice’s return. Cynical, bitter Christopher never failed to make his presence known if the old me tried to resurface for too long.

“Well, at least I’m getting something out of the deal,” I murmured as I glanced toward the new table. “Do I have to provide some kind of proof that I’m still the naïve, sweet kid I used to be, or will they take your word for it?”

“It’s not—”

I wasn’t interested in hearing anything else that he had to say, so I made a move to leave the kitchen, but Rush’s fingers closed around my left wrist. I hated the warmth that flowed through all the spots where his skin met mine.

“Let go,” I demanded, though I didn’t try to pull free of him. He was way too big and strong to risk pissing off.

“Your family has no idea I’m here.”

“I don’t care,” I said as the fear inside of me began to grow. If I couldn’t drive him away with my words…

“Christopher…”

“I asked you to go,” I repeated sternly as I leaned my weight away from him in the hopes that he’d get the hint and release me. He ended up doing just that, but I hadn’t really believed he’d give up so easily, so when he did let go, I lost my balance and fell backward. I threw my right hand out to catch myself on the counter at the same time that Rush made a grab for me. My right hand scrabbled for purchase when it hit the metal drying rack on the counter. Without thinking, I closed my hand around the highest part of the rack—the utensil holder— thinking it would somehow help me get my balance. Unfortunately, instead of the holder itself, my hand closed around the blade of the large knife I’d rinsed off and put into the holder blade up just minutes before Rush’s arrival.

The knife slicing through my palm took a few seconds to register. There wasn’t even any real pain. It was the blood that my brain was trying to adjust to. It flowed down my wrist and dripped onto the floor, leaving me in a dreamlike state.

It doesn’t look any different, I heard the old, logical Christopher say. I didn’t hear much from him anymore. I was kind of glad about that.

It wasn’t until I heard Rush say, “Oh shit, Christopher!” and felt his fingers closing around the wrist of my uninjured hand that I came back to the present. “Here, let’s get some water on it,” Rush ordered as he tugged me toward the sink. He had the water going before I knew it, and then he was reaching for my injured hand.