9. Benji
Benji
The realization that I’d completely misjudged her – and the guilt that followed – hit me like a truck as we locked eyes across the bartop.
I’d been so sure I’d pegged her correctly.
The second I called her bluff on her name, she’d blanched, the paleness of her skin stark against her startled blue eyes.
The more I pushed, though, I realized her reaction wasn’t like someone who had been busted at her own game. It was like someone who had been caught trying to flee. It startled and, quite honestly, scared me.
“Please, don’t tell him I’m here,” she’d said. Who is ‘him’?
Is it possible that we’re both running away from different pasts, and we just happened to run into one another?
Either way, I need some answers.
Thoughts swirl in my head as I follow after her, willing the crunch of snow under my footsteps to soften.
She only makes it a block before she turns around a corner, tucking herself up against the building.
I slow, and her panicked breathing reaches my ears before I see her.
She has her arms wrapped around her middle, and hot breaths twist from her mouth into the cold air as she works to calm herself.
I halt, unsure how to approach now that she’s come to a stop. A few steps closer, and I realize she’s literally shaking, her eyes squeezed shut. Fuck. I did this to her, didn’t I?
I’ve been such an asshole, pushing her, questioning her to the point that she feels like this. My skin feels itchy, the guilt manifesting itself to the point of making me feel physically uncomfortable.
I throw caution to the wind and take the final few steps, reaching out for her.
“Lisa, look –” I begin. Even though I know it’s not her true name, it’s the only one I’ve got, and all I want is to give her a scrap of comfort.
Instead of reaching her arm, I run face-first into a wall.
No, scratch that – not a wall. Her fist.
“Argh!” I yelp, stumbling back and clutching the side of my face. The hit was surprisingly solid, given her tiny frame. I can already feel the start of a bruise blossoming across my jaw. “What the fuck was that?”
“Oh my god, oh my god,” she’s muttering, sliding further down the wall. She covers herself with her arms, hiding her face, knees pulled up to her chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
She keeps repeating those two words, even as they become muddled with her rapid breathing. Her whole body is moving, partly from the heaving breaths, and partly just from shaking.
I’m still standing here, unsure what to do next. Every fiber of my body is screaming to embrace her in an effort to comfort her, but a part of my brain – the one that’s been hit awake, now – lights up with a warning sign to pause and think this through.
I flip back through our brief interactions in my mind, pieces I overlooked before sliding into place: her tense posture in the elevator, the fear and panic when I confronted her with a raised voice, the way she flinches away every time I shift toward her.
Something is very wrong. And though I didn’t start it, I can see now that I haven’t been helping.
Instead of moving into her space again, I decide the safest option is to sit down across from her, crossing my legs and folding my hands in my lap.
I don’t speak, and I don’t reach for her again. I simply wait.
It takes a minute, but her breathing becomes ragged as her words dissolve into choked sobs. Slowly, her trembling lessens, her sobs becoming small hiccups. That’s when she turns her face enough to peek out at me from between her arms.
I give her a small smile. “Hey.”
She simply eyes me, saying nothing. Fair enough – I deserve her apprehension.
I motion to my jaw. “That’s a nice right hook you have there,” I say. “I can’t wait to explain this to the boys tomorrow.”
She shrinks back against the wall. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
“Nah. I had it coming.” I flash her another small smile, hoping it conveys the we’re chill message I want it to. “I shouldn’t have blindsided you, especially in the state you were in.”
She says nothing, and my mind races. I have so many questions, but clearly now is not the time to push it. Forcing these questions is what got us here in the first place.
Instead, I ask, “Can I get you anything? A water?” I hesitate. “A beer?”
She shakes her head and unfolds herself from the position she’s been wrapped in. “I just need to go home,” she mutters, and makes to stand, but stumbles back against the wall for a brief moment.
I’m up in a flash, ready to help her. She lifts a hand, stopping me with a quiet “please”, and I purse my lips. She can have her space, but I’m not letting her walk home alone in the cold and the dark, especially not in this state.
“Can I at least walk you home?” I phrase the question as lightly as possible, but she still hesitates before nodding and pushing forward. I follow along silently, leaving just enough space between us that she has plenty of room, but not enough that I look like I’m doing anything creepy.
Her phone rings, and she digs in her coat pocket, fumbling for it. When she pulls it out, I see that it is in fact an old, clunky phone. Another piece of the mystery, confirmed. She flips the dinosaur phone open and answers.
“Hey, Andi,” she says weakly, and pauses to listen. “No, I’m fine, I swear. I just started to feel sick, so I dipped out early.”
Ah, so Andi is the friend from the bar. Clearly, she isn’t aware of Lisa’s situation and just now noticed our quick disappearance. I wonder if that meant her bold pickup line was successful with Grant. I make a mental note to bug him later to find out.
“No, no, stay,” she’s saying. “Have fun. I’ll see you at Punchline tomorrow.” She hangs up, and we’re smothered in silence for several long moments. I shove my hands in my coat pockets as we walk and let the silence settle over us, listening to the crunch of our footsteps to preoccupy myself.
Finally, she speaks again. “Can I ask you something?”
I glance her way, feigning nonchalance. “Depends. Can I ask something in return?”
She bites her lip as she considers, and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to the simple movement. “Fine,” she agrees, and I take a hand from my pocket, motioning for her to start.
“How did you know Lisa Graham isn’t my real name?” Her question is so soft I can barely hear it, as though saying it out loud will blow her cover once and for all.
“I have a private investigator that works for my family. It’s his job to find things out when new people enter my life.”
She frowns. “I didn’t mean to enter your life.”
“I know that, now. That’s on me.” I rub my neck, the shame coursing through me. “But when you’re… well, me, you can’t be too careful.”
“What’s it like?” she asks, and then flushes, as though realizing she’s become too eager with her questions. “Sorry.”
I bite back a smile. “Don’t be. It’s like…a big game of hide and seek.” When she shoots me a confused look, I clarify. “Someone can be staring right at you, but not really see you.”
“Sounds lonely,” she murmurs, meeting my gaze. Her eyes are still puffy from crying, but they’re wide and curious, the moonlight shining in them. There’s an understanding there, one that makes me suddenly uncomfortable. I blink and look away.
“I guess. But I do have my team.” I smile as I think about them, probably still licking their wounds at Wunderbar. Or, in Grant’s case, having his wounds licked. We walk quietly for another minute, and then I motion behind us. “So. Does that happen often?”
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she’s going to back out of our agreement, but then, she answers. “Every couple weeks. It used to happen more, though.”
I raise my brows in surprise, both at her honestly and the frequency. “And…what’s it like?” I echo her question from before.
She pulls her coat tighter around her as she thinks it over. “It’s like leaning back too far in a chair. You know, the moment when it starts falling backwards? That feeling? But then that feeling just… keeps going.”
I hum in response, taking in how truly shitty that sounds.
I can only guess that it wasn’t always like this for her.
Someone did this to her, took that safe space inside of her and twisted it to the point that this is her new normal.
I can guess, too, that it was the ‘he’ she was so worried about at the bar.
I’m burning with the need to know who she’s so scared of, but I clench my jaw and swallow the question back down.
I know I won’t get that answer tonight, especially because she already avoided answering it earlier.
Perhaps Jim can get the answer for me, and then I won’t need to make her relive the trauma.
We come to a stop in front of our building and turn to face each other.
“Are you coming inside?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nah. I’ll probably head back to the bar. Join the boys for another round.”
She looks relieved, and I try not to let that sting. She worries her lip back between her teeth and looks at the entrance of the apartment, then back at me. “If I ask why you were so concerned by the idea that I was stalking you, would you tell me the truth?”
My head jerks back in surprise. Damn, she’s smart. She knows there’s more to me digging into her than just covering the normal bases. “I’m…not ready to talk about that.” I let out a long exhale, then add, “At least, not yet.”
She nods, accepting the answer without question. I decide to push my luck, voicing my last question of the night. “If I ask for your real name, would you tell me the truth?”
She sighs, a frosty cloud billowing in the cold winter air. “Not yet.”
The answer should be a blow, but it feels like a bridge. For the first time, she gives me a small, genuine smile. It’s a sad smile, but it’s a start.