Haze (13 page)

I half expected him to pause at that moment, but he didn't. He charged straight into
battle, guns drawn and
ready to kill
.

"You're a fucking slut, Effie. That's all you are. I come all the way here for you, and you repay me by fucking some guy you just met off the street." I seemed to have made him unable to make eye contact, at least during that awkwardly tense moment when it would have made his words that much more effective.

His acid tongue burned, that was for sure, but I fought to ensure he didn't hurt me with his irrationality. I had never so much as even
considered
cheating on him while we were together, making this all the more idiotic. I took a deep breath and sighed, trying not to escalate the situation any further, but also trying to speak with finality. I couldn't leave him with any shimmering
one in a million
chances that he could cling to.

He was dangling from a cliff—and I had no interest in saving him.

"Timothy, you're obviously upset, and frankly, you're being really offensive. I don't want to see you ever again. You blew your chance." It was so raw, but dammit, it was the truth.

"You don't get to make that decision, you
slut
." Timothy had never been the religious, purity-seeking type. Had he suddenly converted to
something
? Church of
Hate
was my only guess
,
if one even existed. "You're a whore."

Why the hell did he care so much about my sex life? It was really freaking me out.

I couldn't restrain myself any longer. "We
broke up
, Tim. It's over. It's been over. You're too stuck living in your own deluded mind to figure it out. You can't just hit
play
again and expect me to go along. And enough with the fucking
slut
talk."

By this point, he looked a cobra, ready to strike and deliver a fatal blow. "Fuck you, Effie!"

I stood up."I'm not taking any more of this from you. You're acting like a child, plain and simple. Coming here to talk to you was a big
mistake
."

"Sit the fuck down," he snarled. "You're going to hear me out—or
else
." His eyes remained fixed on me with animalistic rage, like something infected with
rabies
.

Oh, shit.

I paused, realizing he might indeed be threatening me. "Or else
what
?" I had to feel this out, had to see what options were available and satisfy my own morbid curiosity. As it turned out, I had none.

"Sit the fuck down!" He
screamed this time and lunged at me from across the table, his full weight knocking me down into the chair. It tipped backward and I fell onto the floor, my head striking the ground with a hard
thud
. Tears immediately started spilling from my eyes as the world began spinning.

Fuck you, Timothy
. It was the first thought to arrive on the scene.

There was one of those moments, the moments that you see in movies where time seems to stop. The main character (me) was reflecting on her life, thinking about the choices she had made. There was her past—bold flashes of memories involving adolescence; warm, inviting memories only—and then images of her time with her romantic interest (Jack). I suddenly longed for him, wishing more than anything that I had never left the safety of his arms this morning. My mind had that one, singular focus—Jack.

This had been such a stupid mistake.

When I returned to reality, I half expected Tim to jump on me and attack me further, to bludgeon me with literal and figurative insanity. That's not what I saw, however. Hell, I didn't
feel it
either. I guess the fall hadn't killed me.

Although I was a little disorientated, I heard a
very familiar voice
shouting along with Tim's. And then Tim was being dragged outside. Several people came to my aid, helping to lift me off the ground. "Are you okay?" Everyone had the same question and they wouldn't stop asking it. Was I really that fascinating?

Attention was always nice, but then again, this wasn't the best situation.

"Dammit," I muttered, straightening out my hair as I also felt the back of my head. I curiously checked my fingers after rubbing the point of impact. They were blood-free. I sighed a monumental sigh of relief, one of the biggest ever in my life.

"Seriously, are you okay?" An older man was lowered to his knee, staring into my eyes. I was magically sitting up now, the chair presumably lifted by this kind stranger. By his professional demeanor, I assumed he was a doctor.

"Yeah, yeah," I said mechanically. "Where the hell did
he
go?" I noticed what sounded like a commotion, but hadn't put two and two together.

"That
guy
pulled him outside. I guess they're fighting or something." The people that had come to my rescue were now watching the front window like it was the season finale of
American Idol
. "You need to relax for a second," he said after noticing I was about to leap from my seat, fueled by adrenaline.

Guy? Fighting?
I turned, my eyes immediately gravitating toward the bright light of the outdoors—and just in time to see a fist connect with Timothy's stomach. He keeled over and then fell against the solid glass of the coffee shop before tumbling to the ground.

"Don't ever go near her again or I'm calling the police!" That familiar voice warmed me instantly like that first sip of coffee on a winter morning. Stupidly relevant, especially since I was in a coffee shop.

Yeah, it was
Jack,
and I had no idea what he was doing here. Had he followed me here? Shown up at the perfect moment like my own knight in shining armor? I watched him run in front of the building until he was at the door again. The world seemed to skip like a scratched DVD and suddenly he was right there in front of me.

"Effie! I'm so sorry," he said, his voice exasperated and desperate.

"For what?" I leaned into his hug, allowing his arms to wrap tightly around me. It was exactly what I needed. All eyes were on us—and that felt just fine. Business had ceased for several minutes, but things were slowly easing back into normality. At least there was something vaguely resembling a
happy ending

"I encouraged you to meet that
psychopath
. God, what was I thinking?"

"He wasn't a psychopath before." It was the truth. "But he's was crazy
now
, that's for sure."

Jack reached over and shook the older gentleman's hand. "Thanks for keeping an eye on her," he said. "Are you a doctor or something? Is she hurt?"

"I'm fine, Jack," I blurted out.

"I'm
retired," the man said. "But I was a doctor." He smiled warmly. "There's no blood, and she seems to be coming back to her senses just fine. The rug cushioned her fall for sure. If she has trouble concentrating or has any serious headaches within the next couple of days, take her straight to a hospital."

"I told you I was fine." I said it again as if I was defending myself from another one of Timothy's verbal attacks.

"I'll take her immediately if anything changes. Thanks again, sir."

The man nodded and then stood up, returning to a table with what looked like his family. It made me wonder if Jack and I would ever have a family like that. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself, but in the aftermath of trauma, it felt okay.

Jack kissed my cheek repeatedly, running his fingers through my hair as he tried to cope with what was left of the situation. "It's not your fault," I said. "You saved me anyhow. He probably would have punched me or something."

"Thankfully, he's not a good fighter," Jack remarked. "I would have been done for if he happened to be one of those MMA guys. You just can't tell sometimes."

I started giggling uncontrollably. "Has someone surprised you with that before?"

He gave me a quizzical look. "Well, no. I just know MMA is popular, and so it would follow that there are probably fighters wandering around somewhere."

"Definitely not Timothy. You should see how afraid he is of centipedes. He almost started crying one time when one fell into the shower."

"I
hate
those things," Jack said. He shook his head and cringed. "Give me the MMA guy any day."

"But they eat pests!" I wasn't sure why I was defending the honor of
centipedes
, but it was fun. "Maybe you should go hang out with Timothy. You guys sound like you've actually got a lot in common." My giggles continued to erupt, perhaps because it was actually that funny—or I was just hysterical. Probably the latter.

"Whatever you say, Effie. I'm just glad you're okay. If he would have messed up that pretty little face of yours, I might have—"

I shot him an incredulous look. "You might have
what
? You really don't need to act like a tough guy around me."

"Yeah, I don't know what I would have done. I'm supposed to be a pacifist, and I just punched your ex in the gut. I'm such a hypocrite."

"My
hypocrite
," I said in place of the more common
hero
.

We stayed there together—Jack kneeling on the floor, me on the chair—until it had probably become awkward to watch. "C'mon," Jack finally said. "Let's go back to my place. I'll cook you something."

"Okay." After what had happened, it sounded perfect.

***

People had already forgotten about us by the time we finally left the coffee shop. This wasn't like the small towns of my past where this sort of event might have actually made the front page of the newspaper—this was New York City. Everything moved at light speed. The slate was clean almost before we had finished writing on it.

If it wasn't a terrorist attack or major natural disaster, the city had definitely seen more exciting things.

When we got back into his apartment, I collapsed on the couch and Jack climbed on top of me. His weight was incredibly comforting. I sunk into the cushions, surrounded by soft pillows and his body. He kissed me slowly, purposefully and gently, tickling my tongue with his own.

The warm gesture stopped abruptly. "God, I was so worried today." His expression was tense, vacant.

"I'm just glad you were there, you
stalker
." I smiled at him and kissed his stubble-covered cheek. "Where were you sitting?"

"I was just around the opposite corner. I snuck in after you started talking to him. Something told me I
just had to
." I was watching his mind wrestle with the day's events, his facial muscles displaying the score. I hoped he was winning.

"I didn't see you at all." I guess I had been just too entranced by Timothy's whirlwind insanity. It was like staring at a car crash or something.

"I really was worried, Effie. I don't know what I'd do if I’d lost you in there, if he’d really hurt you
or something. I couldn't live with it, especially not if it was my fault." His words were so big, so meaningful, expressing concepts that I could barely grasp at this point in the day.

I couldn't understand why I was coping with the situation so much better than he was. I mean, I was the one that had been under attack, not him. We hadn't even been seeing each other that long. And it all turned out okay in the end, thanks entirely to his unexpected intervention.

Now we were in the apartment together safe and sound, relaxing and having a good time. Trouble was behind us.

Questions popped into my head, going off like a chain of firecrackers. Were we moving too fast or something? Had I gauged him wrong? No matter what I tried to convince myself of, I just couldn't get past his authenticity—
something
appeared to lie beyond his surface, something significant that he was keeping from me. I immediately knew that it was that
something
that was weighing so heavily upon his conscience.

I held him tightly, clutching his body for dear life as we both silently sorted through our own emotional baggage. I had exhausted my vocabulary and been reduced to thoughts only.

In a way, I didn't want him to care about me so much. I didn't feel worthy of that sort of consideration. I frequently had those feelings of inadequacy, those erratic impulses that said
you're not good enough for anyone.
At my worst, I sometimes found myself feeling pathetic and used up, as if I had already passed my prime and was ready to be discarded.

Jack was rich and successful, with looks that matched or exceeded his success—and he had anything and everything he wanted. Today was just him being a Good Samaritan, that was all. I just got lucky. Somebody else would have come to my rescue if he hadn't. I was getting carried away if I assumed anything other than that.

But no matter how hard I fought, my mind kept returning to one thought, the impossible, the unimaginable, the unfathomable—maybe he
really did care about me
...