Chapter 11 Cracks
CRACKS
KAT
Ithink the trees are whispering my name. Katherine. Katherine. Come lay with us.
Their sound is beautiful and soft. I can taste the sweetness of the wind in their branches. But then, the trees extend their roots, growing long and unnatural. Their tangled knots unfurl toward me, pinching and ripping at my skin. They reach out and push on my head… my head throbs…
My eyes open with slow, painful blinks. I’m on the hard, wet ground in the alleyway, propped up against the brick wall in a seated position.
My head pounds. Looking down, I notice that my trench coat is securely fastened and belted tightly across my waist once again.
My eyes raise and meet two pools of the deepest blue. Devastatingly deep blue.
Zayn.
“Hi. I think you fainted there for just a moment,” he says, “I sat you up, hope that’s ok.”
“Ugh,” I mumble, pressing my hand to my head, and swaying a bit.
“Whoa there, Doc,” he says, grasping my upper arm tightly. “Move slow. Are you alright?”
“Y-yes,” I stammer, “I think so. The back of my head hit the wall. It just kind of hurts is all,” I explain as I rub my hand across the back of my head.
The bitter taste of vodka lingers at the back of my mouth, and I have the sudden urge to vomit. I swallow it back and look around the ground. My black bag lays just to my left, and I see my cell phone beside it, covered in fat droplets of rain.
Before I can move to grab the phone, Zayn snatches it up and presses it gently into my hands.
“Here, you dropped this,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply, noting long cracks running over the screen in several places. There are about a dozen missed calls and texts from Bea. Shit. I was going to have some serious explaining to do.
Zayn slowly helps me to my feet, taking care to stabilize me underneath each elbow.
“I think we should call for law enforcement, and probably get you to a hospital,” he says, collecting my bag from the drenched ground.
“No,” I say firmly, “no police, no hospitals.”
I’m not entirely sure where the hard edge in my voice comes from or why it’s there in the first place.
My attacker was Josh. I was sure of it. I had looked directly into his eyes.
I could identify him with no problem. And sure, I could press charges for assault and battery.
Spend hours at the station, under a fluorescent light with an uninterested detective, who will tell me there’s no evidence it was him.
I could make a scene and probably get myself back on the news.
Christ. No, that would not be happening.
And yes, I could go get checked out for a minor concussion at the hospital and pay a hefty bill for it. But to what end, though? I’m fine, after all, aren’t I? Zayn had come just in time. I’m just shaken up.
No, what I needed now was to be safe at Bea’s, resting, and sobering up.
I pull up the map app once again on my phone and see that I am a mere two minutes from Bea’s apartment. The pads of my fingers snag over the cracked screen and I wince a little, looking up to face Zayn.
“I’m, uh, going to walk to my best friend’s house.”
“The fuck you are,” Zayn replies, his mouth a flat line.
My brow furrows as I retort, “It’s fine. She is literally just around the corner from here.”
“I don’t care. You were just attacked, Katherine. At the very least, we need to get you to a hospital to get properly checked out.”
“I’m fine,” I argue, “look…” I gently tilt my head side to side and flex my arms and hands.
“You’re not fine,” he answers back.
“Look, you don’t know me. I’m tougher than I seem, alright?”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt about that. But you’re not walking anywhere else alone tonight.”
“Well, you’re not stopping me,” I challenge.
Zayn surveys me closely for a moment, the briefest look of something flashing across his eyes. It’s gone before I’m even sure it’s really there. Admiration, maybe? Then, slowly, he hands me the drenched leather bag.
“Then let me escort you there,” he counters.
Escort me? What the fuck? This isn’t Derbyshire in 1812 for crying out loud. I’m fine.
A hiccup tasting faintly of vodka threatens to bubble up from my throat and I swallow it down painfully.
“I-I really don’t need all that. I promise,” I assure him.
“You just survived an attack, Katherine. Please allow me to make sure you arrive at your destination safely. If her place really is as close as you say it is, then it will be no extra trouble for me at all.”
I consider his words for a moment. I am cold and sore and embarrassed and kind of dizzy.
Not to mention still somewhat tipsy and currently fighting down the grossest-tasting hiccups.
Continuing to argue with him back and forth probably isn’t worth it.
Not when he so clearly has his mind made up to ensure my safety.
“Gah, okay,” I concede, begrudgingly.
I swallow down my nausea and allow him to steer me forward at a turtle’s pace. Together, we walk out of the alleyway and round the corner, Zayn’s firm grasp on my elbow never wavering.
Despite our slow pace, we reach Bea’s apartment complex in mere minutes.
I slide my arm out of his grasp and climb the short staircase to be buzzed in.
I catch his scent as he leans forward to assist me up the first step.
A mad surge of desire pools from my belly causing me to pause for a second.
Jesus. Meeting his eyes, the pool grows into a tidal wave.
I sway on the spot again, not sure if it’s because of the alcohol, the adrenaline drop, or… something else.
Zayn stabilizes me again and his warm breath across my face has my eyelids fluttering closed. I blink them open and pull away. Continuing up the stairs, I pause at the apartment call box and turn.
“Thank you,” I say, “for saving me.”
Zayn just peers up at me, his hands now in his pockets, waiting.
“You don’t have to wait f—” I start, but just then a loud buzzing sounds and I turn and reach for the heavy gold door.
I say nothing as I maintain eye contact with Zayn over my shoulder. His intense gaze pierces me as he watches me enter the building. The heavy door closes with a thud, but I can still see his tall form lingering through the frosted glass.
He had better not be planning to stay out there all night, I think.
And yet… I can’t help but feel cared for. Protected.
The image of Zayn standing there, tall and dark, stays seared into my head as Bea flies down the stairs and envelops me into a tight hug.
____________________
I sit curled up on Bea’s pink velvet couch, my chilly hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea.
I tell her the full story of the attack, with as much detail as I can recall in my vodka-drenched state.
With Bea’s input, we decide that I will immediately call the police if I ever see Josh again.
But hopefully, Zayn’s brutal beating would be enough to scare him off and keep him away for good.
God, he had been terrifying. An image of him charging down the alley, pummeling his massive fists into Josh’s face again and again eclipses my brain.
A shudder runs down my spine, and I clutch the hot tea in my hand tight. Bea leans over and gives my knee a gentle squeeze. I let my head fall back on the throw pillow Bea had put there, closing my eyes, and letting out a long breath.
In my explanation to Bea, I conveniently leave out the whole reason for my little jaunt into the city in the first place.
I tell her nothing about finding the note and hunting down Dad’s doctor.
I would tell her at some point, but I first need to make sense of it for myself.
I also conveniently fail to mention the details of Zayn’s little foray as “Mr. Dillon” in my therapy office.
The truth behind what Zayn is up to and who he really is needs to be my own, at least for now. And I know Bea will rush to my defense in writing him off as some crazy stalker. And I’m not saying that’s not exactly what Zayn is… but he is also something more. I can just feel it.
My head lifts from the pillow and Bea surveys me closely.
She knows I am keeping something from her.
She doesn’t press me though. Instead, she refills my tea, and scooches Ollie, her golden retriever, closer to me on the couch.
He snuggles in and I absentmindedly stroke one of his silky paws.
My eyes close as I replay the night’s events.
How had Zayn known I was in trouble tonight? The niggling question lingers in the back of my brain. He had appeared and come to my aid so quickly. Seemingly out of nowhere.
Mentally, I fixate on the image of him watching me while I waited for Bea to buzz me in—just standing there, like some stoic guard. A protector. A guardian.
A watcher.
Then, suddenly, it dawns on me. Like a key into a lock, fitting perfectly to reveal what’s on the other side. My eyes fly open, and the blood in my veins boils.
That mother fucker.