Protect Me (2 page)

“These two had so much chemistry, I'm pretty sure my kindle overheated.”
 

-Joanne Thompson
 

“Promise Me was a fantastic rocker romance. It was a love at first sight kind of book that makes a girls heart melt to read.”
 

-The Book Quarry
 

To Girls Nights!
 

Taryn, Heather, and Holly who unknowingly supplied me with enough juicy (and often dirty) stories to keep me writing for a long time. I laugh until it hurts when we’re together. I adore you all to pieces and treasure your friendship. And remember, if something happens to me, delete my internet browser and our group text history!
 

Beeping. Somewhere very distant, I hear the constant, dull sound of beeping.
 

Beep. Beep. Beep.
 

The rhythm is enough to try to lull me back into unconsciousness.
 

I struggle to open my eyes. They feel gritty and heavy like little weights are pulling down each of my eyelids. My entire body is…sore. Painfully sore. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. A very large truck. My limbs are heavy. My abdomen is tight. My head is foggy.
 

What the hell happened?
 

And then it all comes back to me.
 

I reach down and touch my ribs covered with a tight stretchy bandage underneath my hospital issued gown. That slightest touch is enough to send fire through my gut and pain shooting through my entire body. I turn my head to the side, fighting the urge to throw up. I know from experience that if I just breathe
deeply, in and out, and focus on the breathing with my eyes closed, the nausea will pass. Eventually.
 

After a few minutes, the first wave of nausea finally subsides. I crack open my tired, heavy eyelids and take in my surroundings for the first time.
 

Another hospital room.
 

My eyes quickly go to the chair in the corner which is surprisingly empty. As I scan the small, private room, lit only by a dull florescent light on the wall above the bed, I realize I am alone. My eyes quickly avert to the doorway, to the door that is closed all but a couple of inches. I wonder how long before someone comes in to check on me?
 

The clock on the wall next to the dry erase board with the name
Emily, RN
on it reads ten-fifteen. Ten-fifteen. The fundraiser ends at eleven. I am alone but only for a short time, and I know what I have to do.
 

With super-human strength I summon up from deep within, I swing my legs over the edge of the sterile hospital bed with rough, bleached white sheets scraping against my smooth body. I fight the returning wave of nausea as I sit on the edge of the bed.
Close your eyes. Breathe deep, Lia. In and Out.
 

It doesn’t take but a few moments and the queasiness slowly subsides. I gently grab a hold of the IV sticking out of my hand and give it a tug. It pulls free and draws just enough blood to turn my stomach again. I reach for the box of Kleenex sitting on the nightstand
next to the bed and apply a little pressure to the open hole that once held my IV.
Breathe in and out.
 

The hospital gown falls into place as I gingerly step down onto the cold linoleum floor. My ribs scream in protest by the sudden movement of my body, of the twisting and turning as I stand completely upright.
Fight the nausea, Lia.
 

My eyelids are still heavy and groggy, and the desire to climb back into bed and succumb to a deep sleep is great. I’m tired. I’m in incredible pain from the bruised and probably cracked ribs. Just the simple act of breathing seems to be the most unbelievably difficult task ever. But my quest for freedom is greater. My need to get out of here and start a new life is within reach. For the first time in my adult life, I taste it. All I need to do is get out of this room.
 

I head over to the wardrobe closet and find my dress. The long, black sequined dress that I had been wearing when I had this little “accident.”
Accident, my ass.
 

It takes everything I have to slip out of the large hospital gown and drop it on the floor. My stomach wants to retch. My ribs are screaming. The fog in my head is threatening to completely take over. I fight to keep the tears at bay, but a few slip out.
 

I grab the gown out of the closet and slowly - very, very slowly - start the agonizing process of dressing myself. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood
to keep from screaming as I slip the gown over my head and down my battered body. I contemplate calling a nurse in for assistance, but know that they will probably hinder my exit.
No, no one can know that I’m leaving.
 

After what feels like hours, I finally have the dress back on; the elastic wrap around my abdomen, still securely in place. The once beautiful dress is stiff around the high neckline, caked with dried blood. My own.
 

I try to reach for the black strappy three-inch designer heels that are sitting at the bottom of the wardrobe, but my ribs won’t have it.
Screw it. I don’t need shoes.
The clicking of the heels in the quiet, empty hallway would probably only draw attention anyway.
 

I long to slip into the bathroom and pee. Vomit. Pass out. Anything. Unfortunately, time is not on my side right now. Leave. Go. Hurry.
 

I take one last look around the small hospital room and snatch up my black clutch that is sitting on the bedside table. I know there isn’t anything in there of value, but at least I feel like I have
something
of my own. Especially since I can’t go back home to retrieve any of my belongings or the hidden shoebox containing enough money to live off of to get me wherever I’m going.
 

I slowly pull the door open the rest of the way and peek out into the hallway. The hallway is fortunately empty though filled with the steady stream of beeping and low volume televisions from other hospital rooms.
At the end of the hallway is an occupied nurse’s station. The woman at the desk has her head down, vigorously writing in the chart she has laid out on the counter.
 

I take my first steps out into the hallway, away from the woman at the nurse’s station, and head towards my exit.
Fight through the pain. Fight it.
I keep my back hugged against the white wall. My shaking legs carry me further and further away. I fight the tears welling up in my dry eyes as my smarted ribs protest each and every step I take, the breath I fight to take getting lodged in my throat.
 

Finally. I reach the end of the long corridor. I glance to the left and then to the right, looking - searching - for my exit. And then I finally see it. Stairs.
 

I hold my breath as I reach for the metal bar across the door. It’s not a fire exit so there shouldn’t be an alarm. Just the thought of being this close to freedom and having it ripped away from me with some attention-grabbing alarm is terrifying. But’s also a necessary risk.
 

I give the bar a gentle push. It releases with a loud, echoing bang but I try not to dwell on it. I need to get out of here, and I need to go now. I step into the stairwell and slowly start my descent. My ribs continue to protest with each agonizing step, but I can’t think about that right now either.
 

Once I descend three floors of stairs, I finally find myself on the ground floor. Sweating and fearing that I might pass out, I contemplate momentarily if I
should head down another floor to the basement, but without knowing the layout of the hospital, I realize that it could slow down my exit considerably.
 

I glance out the little window on the door but don’t see anyone I know.
Thank you, God.
I slowly open the door, look left and right, and walk out of the stairwell and into the main hallway of the ground floor of the hospital.
 

The emergency room is to the left. I know because that’s where they brought me this evening after my little “accident.” The room where I pretended to sleep so that I didn’t have to answer any more questions or look into the gray eyes that have haunted me for years.
 

Beyond the emergency room is a large set of sliding glass doors. Daytona traffic buzzes by on the busy street out in front of the hospital. That traffic represents my freedom.
 

I slowly start to make my way towards those sliding doors. I try to walk as normal as possible even though my steps falter from the pain and lack of shoes, and my breathing is labored with exertion. Twenty yards.
 

As I reach the front counter, I see an older woman typing vigorously on the computer in front of her. She glances up as I approach her workstation. Ten yards.
 

I avoid eye contact as I do everything I can to
steer clear of recognition. I know that I must look like hell with my up-do no longer “up”, my makeup all but gone, replaced by swollen and bruised skin. Bare feet. The dried blood doesn’t help either. Five yards.
 

The sliding door begins to open as the woman finally speaks. “Miss, can I help you?” she asks with concern evident in her voice.
 

“No thank you. I was just leaving,” I reply, giving her the warmest and friendliest smile I can muster considering the situation, and continue to walk.
 

The woman stands up and looks around. I notice the security guard at the same time she does. He’s on the opposite end of the waiting room near the emergency department. I pick up the pace a little and start to walk through the opened doors.
 

“Miss, wait! You can’t just leave. Miss!” I hear her exclaim as the warm night air slaps me across the face.
 

I don’t stop, and I don’t turn around. This is it. My chance to escape. My freedom. I have nowhere to go, no money to my name, and no plan whatsoever. But I don’t care.
 

As I step out onto the sidewalk, towards the filled parking lot that leads to the busy street, I can’t help the smile that crosses my battered face.
 

I am free.
 

I’m finally free.
 

Why does the thirty-minute drive home always feel like an hour? Maybe it’s the fact that it’s well after six in the morning? Or maybe it’s the fact that I just got off another twenty-four hour shift? How about that I’ve had very little to no sleep? Take your pick.
 

I yawn loudly as I pass the warm “Welcome to Rivers Edge” sign. Rivers Edge sits along the Missouri River and is home to seven thousand of the nosiest people in the state of Missouri. Everyone knows everything about everyone. There’s no such thing as secrets in a town like Rivers Edge. Want to know something about anyone in town? Just walk up to the beauty shop or stop by the hardware store around three o’clock in the afternoon when the older men gather in the backroom for coffee. You’ll learn plenty about everyone in town, including yourself, that you probably didn’t even know.
 

But for all the gossip and drama that comes with a small, close-knit town, you also get plenty of positive. Neighbors who know your name and offer help no
matter what time of day. Local small businesses who support each other and strive to provide quality product. People who wave as you pass on the street or say “hello” as you pass on the sidewalk. Rivers Edge is a friendly community and for all the times I’ve thought about getting the hell out, I just can’t see myself leaving.
 

Which is why I drive thirty minutes one-way to my regular, full-time job. I am a Lieutenant with Company 732 of the St. Charles Fire Department. I love it. Fighting fire is all I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s not the glory or the status. It’s the satisfaction of a job well done. It’s the challenge. The fight.
 

I also volunteer for the Rivers Edge Fire Department where, last month, I was promoted to Captain. The entire squadron took me out for drinks afterwards to Jack’s Pub to celebrate. That’s also where I was introduced to the lovely Vicki. She helped me celebrate - after hours. I’ve enjoyed the company of Vicki three times in the past few weeks. She’s a yoga instructor at the fitness center in town and believe me when I say, she’s bendy as fuck!
 

As I start to pass by the buildings of our downtown district and continue along Main Street, I can’t help but let my imagination wander towards Vicki’s lean legs and flat stomach. The woman has a model-thin figure with small, perky tits. Though Vicki and I aren’t anything exclusive - hell, we aren’t even dating - I haven’t really had the desire or need to fill my
bed with the ever-present stream of women eager to jump a fireman. Seriously, it’s so easy, it’s sickening. Tell a few ladies that you’re a fireman and the panties practically evaporate into thin air.
 

I’ve never had any trouble finding a date. I’m a six foot two fireman with sandy blond hair and blue eyes with a little green mixed in. The dimple I have in my right cheek pretty much ensures me that I get plenty of phone numbers. Throw in some badass tattoos, and my baby - a metallic blue 1969 Ford Mustang with a silver racing stripe and a three-fifty-one on the column. When you drive a classic muscle car, it practically ensures that you get plenty of pussy.
 

This lifestyle has suited me just fine for years. I have no desire to settle down. Definitely not like my older brother, Jake. He met his fiancée, Erin, eighteen months ago, and they are going to be married in a few weeks. Actually, they went to school together years and years ago and reunited when Erin moved back to town. Jake was the ultimate player before Erin came along.
Was
being the keyword there. Now, Jake goes home, removes his balls, and hands them to Erin every night for safe keeping in her purse. They snuggle and watch chick flicks and shit. It’s nauseatingly domestic.