Fourteen #2
My body trembles with silent sobs. My legs feel weak. If I weren’t already sitting, I would definitely crumble to the floor. How can this happen to me twice in one week? What’s wrong with me? Is this what I’m destined to be in this life? A vessel to be used by shitty men?
“Look at me.”
I move my eyes to his, but I can’t focus. Everything is blurry. Nothing is right. He takes my chin in between his fingers. The contact makes my adrenaline spike, and everything slowly comes into focus.
He takes another deep, exaggerated inhale. This time, I make it to three before my breathing hitches.
“That’s better,” he soothes, and something inside me stirs at the praise. “Now, tell me three things you can see.”
My heart is still racing, but it’s not slamming against my ribs anymore. I open my mouth to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. My eyes lose focus again as tears build up on my lashes before silently falling down my cheeks.
“Come on, little rebel. Tell me three things you can see,” he repeats.
I wipe the remaining tears from my eyes and will my vision into focus.
His office is dimly lit, and the only source of light comes from a small lamp on the desk behind him.
The unlit, circular industrial-style chandelier casts an ominous circular shadow across the floor.
The walls are a dark green stucco, dotted with what look like Renaissance paintings.
Probably reprints, but they make the room feel fancier than it should—out of place in a rock bar.
The mahogany floors are so clean it’s almost distracting.
And it’s not just the floors; everything in this room seems like it has a place.
Nothing looks used, nothing looks messy, even the corners—the parts of the room that usually collect dust—are spotless.
His desk is completely clear. No papers, no pens, no coffee cups, just a framed photo sitting neatly on the edge, facing the chair.
I can’t make out who it is from this far away.
“Computer, chair, vanilla hand lotion,” I blurt out, suddenly realizing that my chest has loosened enough to speak.
“You notice that out of everything in this room?” he asks with a small laugh, his large shoulders rising and falling.
“I’m observant.” I shrug.
The room presses in. It feels heavy. Oppressive. It feels like the earth itself is closing in on me. My lungs tighten again, each breath shallow and uneven, but still controlled.
“You’re shaking,” he says, so quietly that it almost seems like he’s talking to himself.
My throat burns with the words I haven’t said.
“I froze,” I finally whisper. “I didn’t fight. I just… stood there.”
His body goes still, and his knuckles turn white as he fists the couch on either side of me. His face scrunches slightly.
“That’s not weakness, Kat. That’s survival.”
I swallow hard. His hand moves from the couch and rests carefully over mine where my nails are digging crescents into my palm. He gently pries my fingers open, his warm hands burning into my cold skin.
“You’re hurting yourself,” he observes, his thumb brushing over the new marks on my skin. “He shouldn’t have been near you, that was my oversight. And for that, I’m sorry.”
“How could you have known?” I ask, but he doesn’t reply.
We stay like this, with him kneeling on the floor in front of me like it’s the most natural position in the world, until my breathing levels to a normal pace again.
The buzzing under my skin fades to a low hum.
The darkness is still there in the periphery of my brain, but for now, it’s quiet.
Distant. The noise from the bar has disappeared, only the sound of distant sirens slips in through the crack in the window.
I glance at the clock above the door, and my heart drops at the time. “I should go,” I say as I stand. My knees wobble slightly before regaining their strength. “I should thank you. No one’s ever carried me before. You can take the chiropractor’s fees out of our next pay.”
He gets up from the floor, and my nervous laughter dies as his frame almost dwarfs my own. He stands mere inches from me, and I’ve never felt smaller. Silently, I chide myself for such a stupid joke.
“You are nothing to be ashamed of Kat,” he says, his eyes burning holes into my own as if he can see right through me. The air whooshes out of my chest at the directness. The heat of his body radiates into the chill of my own.
I take a step back and pull my phone out of my pocket. “I should call an U—”
“Absolutely not,” he cuts me off, reaching into his own pocket and pulling out a set of car keys. “I’m driving you home.”
I open my mouth to protest, but quickly close it again when the look in his eyes tells me this is not up for discussion.
He hovers his hand over the small of my back and guides me out of the door, and a slight shiver runs through me at the contact.
He leads me down the stairs and through the back entrance of Headstone.
At the end of the alley, I spot a beautiful black Porsche.
I almost miss it at first, the black paint blending into the surrounding night.
“Who’s driving a Porsche to a dive bar?” I ask with a small chuckle in an attempt to break the thickening tension around us. My smile quickly fades when Elias presses the button on his key fob and the lights on the Porsche flash.
“Me,” he says, and it takes everything in me not to shy away from his smirk.
As we get into the car, I’m careful not to scratch, touch, or otherwise ruin anything.
This car easily costs more than five years of my rent.
I tap my address into the navigation system, careful not to press too hard, as he peels away from the curb slowly so as not to spook me.
No one who owns a Porsche should drive this slow.
I watch the city pass by beyond the window, but it does nothing to quell the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
“What happened to Kirk?” I ask in a whisper, barely audible even to myself.
“You don’t have to worry about him,” Elias replies, finality lacing his tone. His grip on the steering wheel seems to tighten.
I don’t allow myself to think about his words, slamming the steel bars of my mind shut. We settle into a comfortable silence for a while before we arrive at my apartment.
“Thank you,” I say after a few moments.
His eyes soften in understanding.
I open the door and step out into the crisp October night. Hugging my arms around myself, I walk to my door, throwing a quick glance over my shoulder to find he’s still there. Watching me.
I lock the apartment door behind me and slump against it with a heavy sigh.
For the second time in just as many days, I’m left wondering: What the fuck happened tonight?