A Five-Minute Life

The man grips Brett by the collar of his shirt with both hands, swings him—like a shot-putter—and sends him crashing into the dresser. Wood splinters and shatters. He’s not jutting now but flaccid and trying to climb to his feet.

“M-M-Motherfucker,” the man in black cries.

Brett holds his hands in front of him. “Jim, wait…”

Jim doesn’t wait. He grabs Brett around the shoulders and drives him out into the hallway. I hear another crash and then a smack of fist against flesh. I crawl farther on the bed, curl up against the wall. I pull my knees to my chest and hug my legs as there is shouting and an alarm sounds.

“What did you d-d-do to her?” I hear Jim shout. “Tell me!”

“Nothing! Jesus, I didn’t fuck her, and it’s not like she’d remember anyw—”

The voice cuts off with another smack of Jim’s fist.

The alarm goes silent. I hear a woman crying.

“I’m sorry,” she says tearfully. “I had no idea. I must’ve dozed off.”

I hear a buzz of static, followed by another man. “Hey, it’s Hank. We got a situation. I got him contained but call 911.”

More people talking in low voices and then the man in black—Jim—comes back into the room. His silhouette fills the doorway, hands still clenched into fists. Gradually they loosen and his breath slows.

“Are y-y-you okay?” he asks softly. His tone is low and gravelly around the stutter.

I nod, yes. Then shake my head, no. God, the silence in my mind is so vast and deep. Like a desert. I don’t know if I’m okay. I don’t know if I should be afraid of Jim.

He saved you.

He saved me but I don’t know him. Maybe he’s just as bad. Maybe he wants a turn.

But somewhere, beneath thought, I know that isn’t true.

I don’t want him to leave.

Sobs pour out of me, and I bury my face against my knees.

“Thea…” Jim’s voice sounds like it’s breaking.

He knows my name.

He knows me.

I peek up through strands of hair and blurry tears. Jim’s taken a step closer but no more.

I hold my shaking arms out to him. I don’t know why. I need him. I need someone so I don’t feel this alone. Jim sits on the bed. Gathers me to him. I climb into his arms. He smells clean. Warm. Hard and soft. Hard leather and a soft shirt. Hard muscles of his chest under my cheek and his soft hand that strokes my hair, and it’s so easy to feel the difference between him and Brett; his every intention is in his touch. This man would never hurt me.

Jim holds me tight as I tremble in his arms. And then he begins to sing. His low and gravelly voice rumbles beautifully under my ear. I feel safe enough to slip my hand into one of his. Big. Strong. Scarred along the knuckles. Red and swollen now. Because he fought for me. Saved me.

Other figures fill the doorway, other people talking, but Jim keeps singing to me. The silence in my mind is defeated by his voice. My eyes close. I’m so tired. It’s safe to sleep now because Jim is coming with me.

He’ll follow me into the dark.

Chapter 15

Jim

Thea’s sobs quieted. The rise and fall of her chest against mine became deep and even, and at last, she slept. Gently—reluctantly—I laid her down on her pillow and covered her with her thin blanket, then slid to sit on the floor, my back against the bedframe. I couldn’t hold her anymore, but no way in hell was I leaving her room.

The staff saw what had happened. They all watched as I held Thea and sang to her. They knew I wasn’t going anywhere without a fight and there’d already been enough violence for one night.