#fall part 2

Blinding lights fill your sight. You sit up, adjusting to your surroundings, then you see a sea of white, the nursing quarters. You try to stand up but stumble and try to grip the bed with your left arm. You suddenly feel a stinging pain in it and fall, you look at it realizing it's in a sling.

"Whoa, Y/N, rest your arm. It's sprained badly." A pair of blue eyes stare into yours as Chris helps you back to the bed. "You've been out for 2 days."

"2 days?! I have so much work to do-" You scramble until Beck puts his hands on your shoulders, your whole body feels his warmth. 

"Calm down, okay?" You saw a faint blush, he quickly looked down after staring for a second into your Y/E/C eyes. He wished he didn't look into those eyes, but he wishes he could look in them forever at the same time.

"We're handling your work until your arm heals." Rick walks in with the rest of the crew decked in their NASA sweaters and caps like it was a NASA holiday. "You gotta rest, Y/N. You won't be able to do the work with your injury." Vogel points to your sling, an accent vibrating from his voice.

"But what if-if one of you needs help? I need to work." You ramble and Melissa stands beside you. Her hair brushing on your shoulder.

"You have to rest until your injuries heal. Yes, you can help but only a little bit. We can handle your work alright. Commander's orders." The redhead nods to you. Her eyes twinkling with a slight sight of, mischief?

"Yeah, Y/N, we'll be fine!" Watney slaps the air giving Beth a smile, as the system operator chuckles and looks down. You knew why she did, to hide the blush caused by the bashful smile the space pirate beside her had. This made you smirk a little bit. "We'll handle alright," She says to you.

"Okay, if you say so. But how will I get to my sleeping quarters though?"

"Beck will carry you, duh!" Vogel nudges Beck. Mischief glinted in his eyes as he said the statement in a matter of fact tone. 

"What?! Why me?!"

"Well, you're the flight surgeon-" Beth points to him. “And?”

“She’s a patient.” 

"Uh,” He sighed “Fine, c'mon Y/N." 

He steadily lets you climb on his back and wrap your not sprained arm around his neck, "Let's go, those tasks won’t do themselves." The commander nudges Martinez and the crew heads out. 

"Y/N, just hold on," Beck mumbles as he maneuvers through the zero-gravity area of the Hermes. He hoped you wouldn't feel the rapid beating of his heart and the heat rising to his face. You hoped the same.

You two finally reach your sleeping quarters. It was bittersweet for both of you when you let go. You felt the warmth of his body fade away, and he missed the feeling of your hair brushing on his back already. "Well, that's my cue to leave. Go rest, Y/N."

"Will do, doctor." You chuckle as you close the door to your quarters.

______________________________________

You hear knocking on your quarter door, it's been 15 days since your arm was sprained and it's healed fast. Your arm doesn't need a sling and can move properly. You get to the door and see your best friend, Beth.

"Hello, Mrs. Watney!"

"Shut up!" She blushes, her face almost as red as Melissa's hair. "Commander Lewis says Mr. Doctor needs your help,"

"Yeah, but you could've just used the intercom?" You went out of your room and floated out with her. "We couldn't reach you, you wouldn't answer. Then we realized you turned it off."

"Speaking of intercom, I heard what you said, Y/N. And Beth, you know you could just ask me if you wanted to be my Mrs. Watney."

"You smooth bastard." She blushes hard, looking down and shaking her head. 

"But he's your smooth bastard." Rick laughs as Vogel rubs the bridge of his nose. "Could you please be quiet while I'm doing work? You know I love you guys, but this is getting annoying." The German male shook his head. 

“Well, you signed up to go to Mars with 6 other people, what do you expect?” Watney laughed. "Zip it, commander's orders." You hear the redhead, but as you do you notice that Chris is silent. Maybe he turned his intercom off too.

"Okay- That's my cue to leave. I'll go there now." You floated to Chris's quarters.

"Hey," You open the door to Chris' room and he stiffens. "It's just me, Chris. Why do you look so nervous?" Chris loosens up, but still with a mind reeling at your presence. Today's the day.

"Yeah, um. I need help with some reports." He gulped as he passed me a pile of papers, ranging from due health reports on the team and Extravehicular Activity Logs.

Well, "needed help" was a lie, a lie he said just so he could see you, and talk to you, alone. He was gonna say it. Finally.

"You know, when we saved Watney, he was really mad at me for not doing something he told me to. He tried to kick my ass, well tried to. There's only so much energy a malnourished man stuck on a deserted planet can have."

(Flashback)

“Did you tell her?” The space pirate’s eyes lit up in hope that his ship could be finally happening. “Tell who what?” 

“You know exactly who and what I’m talking about, Beck.” He shook his head at the doctor. “No, I didn’t tell Y/N that I love her.” Beck whispered. “You didn’t?! Why not? I told you to!” 

“Well, I don’t think she likes me back.” Chris didn’t want to get his hopes up. “And everything you do is dumb, so I’m not taking advice from you.” He tried to sound happy, but he wasn’t. Mark could see right through. “Chris, I know everything I say and do is dumb, but not this.” Chris looked up from the sandwich he held to see Mark being serious. “She absolutely loves you, she will say yes. And if she doesn’t, you can throw me out of the airlock without a tether.” 

“No, I am not throwing you out of the airlock.” Chris wrinkled his nose. “That part was a joke.” 

“But really? How are you so confident that she even loves me?” Chris shook his head sadly and looked down. “A certain birdy named Beth Johanssen told me.” Chris didn’t look up despite the piece of info Mark gave him. “Come on man. If you don’t believe me, just go tell her. You won’t regret it.” 

“But what if I do?” Chris finally looked back up. “Trust me, you won’t.” And the botanist walks away. 

(End of flashback)

There was no turning back, he knew it. "And what was that?" You asked. He shook his head. This is it. 

"Confess my love for you."

He looked to you, forcing you to stare into those stormy blue eyes. "I love you." You processed those words, what he just said. He loved you. The intelligent, funny, kind, handsome, hot, almost perfect, flight surgeon loved you.

You, a clumsy girl from Y/H, who's been in love with Chris since the first time you met him, he loved you. His soothing voice brought you out of your train of thought.

"Y/N, please say something. Do you not feel the same? I knew it-" You cut him off by connecting your lips with his, the gap between the both of you erased. Your lips moved in harmony as he kissed you back, in an angle that fit both of you well. It was all he ever dreamed of, the feeling of your luscious lips on his. As you both pulled away for air, he looked at you, your lips swollen and red from the kiss.

"I wanna be like this forever. Just you and me."

"Just you and me."

"Well, we're here too!" Watney claps as you turn and see the whole Ares 3 crew.

“I should have known the crew wouldn’t leave us alone for this.” Chris laughs as you chase the crew out, but they take off running.

"This is why I love you."

Taglist: (Send me an ask, a message, or reply to this if you want me to remove you from the taglist. Just ask me politely if you want to be removed from the list.)

I line my top eyelids in dark black and swipe mascara over my lashes. Ten strokes on my left, twelve on the right to make them look even. I powder my face and neck for a matte look and smear some tinted lip balm against my chapped lips. The inside of my mouth is still tender and swollen, but it’s not noticeable to the casual observer.

“How long are you going to take in the mirror, Rae?”

Liam’s voice is annoyed and I drop everything in to my small cosmetics bag before turning to him. He’s leaning against the door frame and smiles when I present myself.

“I’m done, sorry. I have to look extra put together today because the office is being observed.”

It’s a lie, and I know he knows it, but he just nods and pushes from the wood.

“You should try and look like that all the time. You can’t just go back and forth on being pretty; it’s unattractive.”

He never acknowledges why I use so much makeup some days more than others. It’s like as soon as he apologizes, he’s done with the whole thing. I suspect he gets a sort of thrill seeing me meticulously trying to disappear his mark. We both know what’s hiding under all the foundation; and it’s something he prides himself on.

At least it forces me to try harder to look nice for him.

“You’re right; it’s silly of me to not put the same amount of effort into looking nice every day.”

He snorts and walks to the counter to look in the mirror, essentially pushing me aside. I watch as he begins to style his hair and catch the small grin he shoots himself.

God, I hate him.

I leave the bathroom and throw my products in the small canvas bag on the floor I use for work. There’s an outfit laid out on the bed that I chose last night: black trousers that help me look shorter and a muted olive green blouse that’s loose and has three quarter length sleeves and a high collar. I paired it with the comfortable black non-slips Quinn got me for Christmas last year. It looks pretty damn good.

“I hate that top on you.”

I sigh and tighten the tie on my robe.

“Ken likes green, and this is the nicest shirt I have in the color.”

Liam scoffs.

“Whatever. I don’t know why you care what that faggot thinks of your clothes. It’s not like he’s looking at you anyway.”

I bite my lip hard and don’t reply, instead focusing on the slight tinge of my tender mouth. It does no good baiting Liam and riling him up before work. It’ll just put him in a bad mood, which means he’ll go through the day upset and come home after a long stretch at the pub, angry. I’m sure he figures he’s won the argument when he hums a little and fits the suit jacket over his vest. Working as a manager at a bank really beefs up his ego and makes him portray this ridiculous swagger he doesn’t possess.

I’m probably mostly upset that he’s made me miss so much time at work. Now I only have two days to get all my ducks in a row before we have to cover the outdoor concert Sue and Quinn set up with the Kruger brothers. Grant is probably going to be pissed when I get to work this morning.

“I’m going to be at work late tonight, but I’ll get home early enough for dinner. You’ll have something ready?”

Liam is right next to me at the side of the bed. I turn to face him and he comes closer, sliding his hand down my side to my hip and resting it there. The look in his eyes is sharp and cold and I can only nod stiffly, keeping my mouth shut tightly. He narrows his eyes and moves in, squeezing my hip as his forehead meets mine.

“You will be here when I get home, won’t you? Because you know I don’t like looking for things after dark.”

He whispers and the tone sends a jolt through my body. The pressure at my hip tightens as his threat sinks in. I take too long to respond and he raises his hands to my face to grip my cheeks firmly. The pain shocks me and I gasp, trying to loosen from his tight clutch. He doesn’t let me.

“Rae?”

I nod my head the best I can between his palms which further aggravates my skin. He stills my movement and brushes his thumbs over my cheekbones.

“Say it.”

His voice is still and deep. I blink and there are spots behind my eyelids as the pain from his meaty hands engulfs my face. It’s all I can do not to cry out.

“I’ll be here.”

My reply is raspy and takes all my breath away. Liam nods with a dark grin and releases me. He moves one hand to my backside to prevent me from moving away, then brushes the back of his fingers against my bruised cheek and travels down to my neck. He grasps the portion right under my jaw tightly and rubs his thumb over the column of my neck, applying light pressure against my throat. I have to work against the strain to breathe evenly.

“That’s what I want to hear.”

Liam leans down slightly and is kissing my lips hard as he grips my arse and neck. I’m stiff against him and don’t respond. He pulls away and bites my bottom lip with a quick but painful nip. I stumble back with the force I was using to get out of his hold. He just chuckles as I cough through a sore throat. I feel the tears pooling behind my eyelids and walk into the bathroom without watching him leave. The bedroom door shuts as I open my eyes and look in the mirror.

My chest is heaving and the breath in my lungs hurt. I can feel my hands start to shake and my legs tremble with the effort to keep standing.

“One two three four five six seven eight nine ten.”

I press my hands flat against the tiled counter and dig my nails into the grout as I count and shut my eyes. My whole body is rigid and tears are slowly trailing through my makeup. I take three deep breaths through my nose and hold the last one to slow my heartbeat. Once it’s more normal, I take three more and hold the last again. My hands have balled into fists and the edges of the small tiles dig into my knuckles.

I open my eyes and look at my hunched frame. My robe has opened a little and the cold artificial air coming from the vent chills my exposed skin, sending shivers all over. I lift my arms from the counter and they feel like dead weights. I’m still slowly coming down, so my body feels heavy and I feel tired. I bring my gaze up to my face and the tears start to gather on my lower lid again.

“Fuck.”

My eye makeup is smudged from my tears. The tint of my chapstick is rubbed off and there’s a slight purple indentation on my bottom lip from Liam’s teeth. My foundation is all but ruined. My cheeks are completely bare and surrounded by a ring of makeup that makes me look like a clown. My bruise is redder than before and I have light finger marks around my neck. I open my mouth to take another deep breath and gasp out in pain. It feels like my cheek is inflamed and the closer I look, it appears to be swollen.

I choke on a sob and reach for a towel. The faucet is running and I wait until steam is coming off the water before soaking the soft cloth. The hot water burns my hands and turns them raw, but I can barely feel it. I just bring the sopping wet towel to my face and start rubbing everything off manically; the terrycloth rough against my skin.

After a few minutes, I bring the towel away from my face to see the mirror slightly fogged up. My face is thrumming from the harsh treatment and my hands are vibrating with use. I turn off the stream and wipe the condensation from the glass.

I look like hell. Like I just got the worst sunburn of my life and was in a fight right afterwards. My cheek is definitely swollen now from my actions and looks horribly fresh. I hiss out in discomfort when I prod it gently. My eyes are puffy from the scratchy fabric and black-rimmed with run makeup. The marks from Liam’s hands are more pronounced against my pale and scratched skin.

I can’t believe I just did that. I’ll have to take another thirty minutes to redecorate my face and I need to be at work in less than an hour. Why do I always make these kinds of mistakes? I never think rationally. I should have just answered Liam straight away instead of acting like a petulant child. Now look at me. I’m paying the price for being so stupid.

The shrill ring of the telephone snaps me from my thoughts and I rush out of the bathroom, dropping the towel on the floor. There’s a cordless receiver on the dresser that I pick up one ring before it goes to message.

“Hello?”

My voice is thick and raspy and I angle the end away from me as I try to clear it.

“Rae?”

Damn.

“Hi Grant.”

“Hey sweetie. I just wanted to call and see if you were feeling any better. Sue told me you got laryngitis? You don’t sound that great.”

I let out a strangled laugh that sounds like a sob and cough to try and cover it up.

“Rae? Are you alright?”

“Yes; yeah, sorry; I’m feeling loads better! Just getting ready right now, as a matter of fact. I’ll probably be a little late because I’ve just got home from the doctor’s and need to change.”

“Oh, okay, perfect! As long as you’re totally alright to come in, though. I don’t want to have to deal with a sickie.”

Grant’s voice is playful and he laughs his signature bellow. I take a deep breath but can’t find it in me to return his laugh.

“Yup, well, I’ll be in soon. Hafta get ready still.”

“Oh. Well, okay then. We’ll see you soon.”

“Bye.”

I end the call and place the phone back in its cradle. His voice had sounded confused but I’m not in the mood to deal with it. He’ll probably forget about it soon anyway.

I walk back to the bathroom with the makeup-ruined towel on the ground and water pooled around the rim of the sink. The redness and swelling in my face has gone down a bit in the last few minutes. It still looks scratched and tender, but it’ll be easy enough to cover. I shuffle over to the wall and just rest my head against the cool plaster, shutting my eyes and taking a shaky breath.

“It’s going to be okay. Just finish your makeup, get dressed, and get through the day. You can do this. It’s not hard. Come on, Rae.”

It takes another couple of minutes before I can push against the wall and face myself in the mirror again. I take a deep breath and soak a cotton pad with makeup remover. It stings when I wipe away the rest of the mascara and eyeliner not picked up by the towel. I focus on the pain and go through the motions of constructing my mask.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The walk to work is a quick one through blustery winds and throngs of people. I’m very aware of my body in relation to others, and am mostly successful in weaving around them. But, by the time I’m panting in front of the concrete steps of our building, three people had moved too swiftly and I was jostled around. I took the pain reliever but my arm is still throbbing. I should have brought the bottle.

“Mornin’.”

I look to my left and Quinn is sitting on the wide ledge next to the stairs smoking a cigarette. I smile and walk over to the older woman. She’s wearing a long, light brown bohemian style skirt with ruffles on the bottom and sequined beads threaded into the seams. Her cream colored peasant top has flared-out sleeves with the same doily looking fabric as on the hem of her skirt. There are three large wooden buttons sewn on top of a beautifully intricate swatch of lacey material carefully woven on the chest of the blouse.

Her clothes are striking. And all homemade of course.

She has clunky bracelets knocking together on her dainty wrists as she brings the cigarette to her mouth. I notice with pleasant surprise that the wood and citrine earrings I made her last year are dangling from her ears, accentuating her cropped black hair. The green of the gem enhances the moss color of her eyes, making them look luminous.

“Hiya.”

Quinn inhales quickly and replies in a tightened voice as she speaks around the smoke in her lungs.

“I’m glad you’re feeling well enough to come in. We’ve missed you; especially Grant.”

She smirks around a cloud of smoke and drops the cigarette butt to the ground; crushing it under her dun-colored moccasins. I laugh and shrug my tote bag up higher on my shoulder.

“Yeah, all I have now is a little bit of a scratchy throat. Totally healed otherwise.”

Quinn nods and sharpens her gaze as she comes to my side. I feel self-conscious all of a sudden and straighten my back. My right arm has been hanging limply by my side our entire conversation because the pain from bumping into people has rendered it useless. I worry that my makeup has been rubbed off somehow; or that she has developed x-ray vision and can see through my coat and shirt. Oh god, what if she notices the extra layer of foundation I used to even out the red scratches still on my face? Can she see the panic in my eyes? What if she starts asking questions about my baggy clothes or arm? Or questions about Liam? Oh god, I don’t know if I can-

“Have you gotten enough rest? You looked tired and your eyes are puffy.”

I feel my whole body relax as I let out a breath.

“Wow, you look great too, Quinn. Thanks for the ego boost.”

I deflect and she laughs, apparently dropping it, and takes my left arm in a light grip as we walk up the enormous steps. The building our magazine is situated in is an odd one. Along a block that is full of commercial buildings, it’s the only one that isn’t a high rise. It’s a reinvented Victorian style home with four floors that houses two businesses. Spotlight is managed on the top two and a strange company that deals with colored smoke resides on the ground and second floors. Their employees are all a little strange and seem to pop up out of nowhere when I’m walking around. I still don’t know what they do, really.

As Quinn yanks open the large and heavy engraved wooden door, she lets go of my arm and ushers me in. I’m always a little awed when I step inside the building. While the outside looks dated and possibly ready to be demolished; the inside is a work of art. Everything has been refurbished to mirror that of a modern agency. The floors are a shiny wood that squeaks under foot if someone wears the wrong shoes or if it’s been raining. The walls are covered in bold-patterned wallpaper that looks like it could belong in the 1800s. Carpenters have torn down all the walls that separated rooms and installed ceiling to floor glass partitions; allowing clients to look in the different rooms and see employees work.

It was very intimidating at first, to be on display like that. I felt like eyes were on me every moment of the day and couldn’t relax. Sue had noticed and sat me down for lunch, telling me the reason they’d hired me was because I have ‘something valuable to contribute’ and that they were proud to showcase my talent. To not be nervous if people watch because they’ll be mesmerized by my abilities. Thinking back on it now, the speech she gave was a little cheesy and she knew it; but it gave me the confidence to work without worrying what others would think. That day was very momentous for me.

Quinn and I reach the elevators at the end of the hall and she presses the up arrow a couple times in a row. Patience isn’t her most practiced virtue.

“I hate how slow these damn things are. There aren’t even that many floors! How can a building so spruced up have lifts that don’t work for shit?”

I shake my head and try to hide my smile as she looks at me. Her pointed stare tells me I’ve failed.

“The building is still pretty old, Quinn. Not everything can be as perfect as you want them.”

She huffs and mutters about cheeky girls, but I see the quirk of her lips belying the offended tone. The doors of the left elevator finally slide open sluggishly with a soft bing. We wait off to the side while two of the smoke workers come off, both nodding politely in our direction. A tall man with a dense brown beard and black hair greets Quinn by name and she smiles before rushing into the lift with me. When the doors close, I shoot her a quizzical look and press the number four button. She rolls her eyes and leans against the mirrored wall with a thunk.

“I may have met him for drinks last week and we may have gone back to his place for the night.”

I can’t help but laugh at the thought of Quinn trying to have a conversation with a man who wears sandals, blue jeans, and polos. She stands up straight and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oi, what are you laughing at?”

The chuckle dies on my lips and I can feel the color drain from my face. I’m instantly transported back to being sixteen and stuffing a folded piece of paper in my friend’s cleavage; laughing in relief when she smiles.

“Rae?”

I’m snapped out of the memory when Quinn taps me on the shoulder. I look to her and see that the ride has stopped and the doors are opened to our floor.

“Oh, sorry. I got lost in thought for a second.”

“Mm-hm.”

She brushes it off but continues to stare at me with calculating eyes. I’ve always thought the older woman can read minds and that she knows every dark secret I have hidden away.

I jerk my head forward and leave the elevator, looking back at her with a bright smile.

“Come on, let’s go. I’m already obscenely late, and I’m sure you have to yell at Brittnay some more.”

Quinn just clucks her tongue and follows beside me. We get halfway down the hall and I reach forward to pull open the large door on the left to our office; strangely enough covered in the fogged over material one would use for a glass shower in need of privacy. It makes no sense.

When we walk through the entrance, I’m hit with a blast of warmth and a comforting scent of spiced apples. It always sends a wistful feeling through me; thoughts of cozy winter days spent at home, decorating the Christmas tree and drinking hot apple cider while my mum and I watch cartoons on the telly.

She doesn’t burn candles, and I can’t see any room fragrance gadgets around, so I have no idea how Sue gets it to smell like this. I sometimes imagine her house being encased in the aroma and it clings to her when she arrives in the morning. And in her usual scatterbrained fashion, she always seems to leave pieces of home in the office, further saturating the large room.

  One of my favorite things about working here is the layout of the place. On the top floor, there are only two rooms, separated by the hallway and both encased in the glass walls like a box. Our side is mostly about the set up and art. The people across the hall work on writing the entire thing. They mostly work in cubicles whereas we have a large open-floor plan, which allows us work together more constructively and we can see each other’s progress.

Grant and I work to the left of the entrance. We, along with two men and one woman, all work for Sue. Gathering details on fundraisers and performances; writing correspondents to different organizations and band managers; working out the budget for shows and the like. The most stressful of all, though, is preparing the layout of the entire magazine. An issue comes out every other week, and we have to have two ready in advance. I thought that would be easy when I first started, with all the time in between. We rely on the journalists and artists to have their material ready, but if they don’t, the six of us, including Sue, have to pick up the slack by writing copy or working with art.

I love it. The work is exhausting but exhilarating, and I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

On the other hand, Quinn has half the area to work on the cover, the inlets, the photo shoots, the live action shots; basically, anything that needs an art director, she’s in charge. And she runs a pretty tight ship. Those of us that have worked with her for a while are used to it and I personally love her sass. There have been plenty of interns or recent hires, though, who have cracked under her regime and just leave.

She can be demanding as a boss, but I admire her for it. The woman has a very troubled past; something that’s she’s been very open and honest about. I think that may be what attracted me to her in the first place. Someone who’s gone through so much came out on the other side stronger and tries to make the most of her life. She deals with her demons and throws herself into her work. She said to me once,

"Art is one of the best diaries I have ever had. It helps me escape the world when everything feels like too much. Like if I were to take one step, I would fall off the edge of the earth into a large pit of despair and let it consume me until I was nothing more than a walking corpse.

"But art also lets me express the joy I feel. The indescribable sensation of being so damn happy; it's a mystery there aren't beams of light shooting out of me like the beast prince in that one cartoon movie.

"So, I depict both. Whether I'm sad or happy; I make sure to paint like it. Because I want to remember what it felt like. And I have to be able to look at each of them and decide what I want to be painting more of; the ones that make me feel miserable or the ones that encourage me to be happy."

I had cried afterwards; my emotions high after a long and stressful day paired with little sleep from a rough night with Liam. We were the last ones in the office other than Sue, who was in her cubby of a proper office with the door shut. Quinn and I had just finished the copy for our biggest issue and were enjoying a beer, sitting on the large counters and playing cards. Completely unexpected, Quinn just sat her bottle down and scooted closer and hugged me through it.

She was the first person to show me any affection since I had started seeing Liam.

  I trip over something and right myself while I come out of my head. There’s a bag right next to my desk full of something bulky and my toe is singing from where they met. I look around quickly; afraid people saw me and are staring. I can’t tell if no one is or if they’ve turned away before I catch them, so I straighten my back and walk around it stiffly. I plop my bag on the rolling chair and lift the heavy duffle with my left hand, inspecting it curiously.

After a quick glance, I see Grant and Richard, the one who works on budget and interviews, are both gone. Linda, the snooty thirty-something that deals with the bios and most editorial and op-ed pages, is sitting at her desk highlighting copy and scribbling in the margins with a scowl on her face. Derek, a sweet but somewhat oblivious man in his late twenties who works on getting the ads in the pages, is leaning against his desk on the phone and scribbling something in his worn notepad. He looks up and smiles before speaking into the receiver. He always seems a bit dopey, and I suspect it has to do with the copious amount of weed he ingests.

“Rae doll!”

Grant’s boisterous call grabs my attention and I drop the bag gently. He reaches me and leans in for a hug. I quickly back away nonchalantly, pretending I need to get something from my bag at the last minute. He doesn’t seem affected by it and turns his attention to the bag at our feet and clucks his tongue.

“Sorry. That has all the new photography equipment Quinn ordered and someone left it when she went out.”

He sends a pointed stare across the room and we both watch as Quinn holds up two large ad proofs in front of a young girl’s face, clearly displeased with the outcome. And judging by Brittnay’s thunderous expression, she’s not taking too kindly to the verbal beating.

I laugh quietly at the scene and try to mask it with a cough. Grant catches my glance and he’s smiling conspiratorially. We both understand the two women very well and this isn’t anything new.

“Fuck this.”

The whole office goes quiet. Quinn’s face is contorted in anger as she slowly lowers her arms. Brittany has her hands crossed tightly across her chest and is glaring at her supervisor.

“Excuse me?”

“This is bullshit. I didn’t come to work for this company just to be belittled at every turn. I’m good at my job and have good relationships with everyone I deal with. And you’re going to get in my face about this? Fuck you.”

No one says anything. Sue has come out of her office and is watching the exchange with raised eyebrows but does nothing to interfere. It’s one of those times where she needs to give the floor to Quinn and let her handle it.

Quinn stares at Brittnay for a solid minute before placing the stock papers on a cutting table to her left. She turns back and pulls a notepad from the apron she acquired when we arrived and starts to write. Everyone waits with bated breath and I watch as Brittnay’s expression transforms to one of confusion. She drops her arms and starts picking at her nails nervously.

The ripping of paper drags my attention back to Quinn as she hands the small sheet to her employee. The girl looks at it and back up at Quinn.

“What’s this?”

“Your final pay. Get out now. The check’ll be mailed to you.”

Grant inhales sharply next to me and Sue walks forward a step, tensing. Brittnay just looks from the slip of paper to Quinn a few times. Quinn raises an eyebrow and Brittnay crumples the figure in her hand.

“You can’t fire me! You’re no authority here, even if you think your shit doesn’t stink.”

“You’re right; she can’t. But I can.”

Brittnay snaps her head our way and pales as Sue steps forward and speaks out. She opens her mouth, about to say something, but Sue holds her hand up.

“I’m sorry; the company will be going in a different direction in regards to your position. Please pack your desk and leave.”

Brittnay almost says something, but the hard look our boss sends her shuts her up. She turns furious again and walks to the desk under the large window, yanking a drawer open and pulling out her purse. She drops it on the chair and pulls on her thick looking jacket. We all watch as she turns and marches to the office door, flinging it open and muttering under her breath.

There’s a hush in the room as we look back to Quinn as she neatly organizes the cutting table. Sue walks over to her and crosses her arms, waiting for the other woman to look up. Quinn does and smiles.

“We’ll have to start looking through those applications again.”

Sue snorts and walks back to her office. She faces us from her doorway and points all over the room.

“Get back to work, guys. We have to get this damn thing ready for next week, and,” she shoots a look to Quinn quickly, “I have to find a new broadcasting agent by Tuesday.”

She looks upward and sighs dramatically before entering her office and shutting the door. Grant lets loose a loud breath and knocks my left arm with his elbow. I look at him and he’s grinning.

“Never a dull moment here at Spotlight, eh?”

I just smile and he walks back to his desk while talking to himself quietly about something. When I turn back to Quinn, she catches my eye and winks before returning to her work. The noise level slowly rises to normal and everyone continues with their jobs.

Never a dull moment.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

By Sunday, I’ve somehow managed to get almost all of my material together by working from home. It’s now six and I’m exhausted, but dinner needs to be ready when Liam gets home in a half hour. He went to a midday ball game with some of his buddies, none I can remember the names of. Knowing this routine, he’ll probably be pissed enough to want to crash after eating, which suits me just fine. I still need to finish working on the layout and order for the main stage.

The door bangs open and I jump at the loud noise, splattering hot pasta sauce on my hand. I knock the wooden spoon against the pot and lay it down as I hiss and run cold water over the red mark. Liam is early, which is either a good or bad thing. It depends on how drunk he is.

“There ya are.”

Based on his slurred speech and slumped figure against the door frame, I’d say he’s proper smashed. I sigh and turn to him, wiping my wet hands against the apron around my waist. Liam pushes himself from the wall and comes to me with a dark smile. A shiver travels down my spine and I return to the stove, shutting off the flame and stirring the bubbles away in my sauce. Liam comes behind me and locks me in, his hands on the edge of the counter and stove. He lowers his head and breaths in my hair deeply, pushing against my back. I suck in a sharp breath when I feel his excited state.

“Liam…”

“Oh baby, you smell so good.”

He mumbles into my hair and it sends goosebumps all over my skin. He moves his hands to my hips and starts sliding his hands up and down my sides. I bite my lip hard and grip the handle of the sauce pan. It’s heavy and the contents should be sufficiently hot enough to burn.

Liam moves my hair away from my neck and starts peppering kisses there, sucking on the skin behind my ear hard enough to leave a mark. He grips my sides tightly and rocks against me. I stutter out a breath and slowly move my hand up to grasp the pan’s handle so I have both on it.

“Liam, I think you should get some coffee in you to sober up a bit.”

He chuckles against my skin and brings his hands to my chest, cupping my breasts tightly. I bite my tongue to stall the pained exclamation; afraid it’ll give him the wrong idea. He pushes his body tightly against mine.

“I think you should get something in you too, Rae.”

Panic starts to rise inside me and my entire body tenses. I wring the handle until the small grooves in the metal dig into my palms. Liam moves his hands down and under my shirt, trailing his sweaty fingers over my stomach. After a moment, he moves his touch to the button at the top of my jeans. I try to pull away.

“Liam, please stop. I don’t like this.”

He bites my shoulder to still me and I gasp.

“Sure you do.”

Liam pulls the button from the loop and slowly pushes his hands down the front of my pants. I lift the pot from the stove and fling it behind me. Liam stumbles back with a shout and moves his hands to his face, now covered in hot tomato sauce. I turn around and hit him hard in the face with the bottom of the heavy metal.

He yells loudly and I rush from the large room, skipping over the large pool of spilled red sauce. I run up the stairs and hurry to the master, slamming the door and twisting the small lock. I grab Liam’s small duffle from the closet and toss it on the bed. My top drawer is open and I throw the necessary undergarments towards the bed, hoping they fall inside the canvas bag. When I start to slide the loose piece wood aside, I can hear Liam stomping up the stairs and down the hall. He’s yelling something that’s muffled through the walls and I scoop up my emergency items quickly.

My heart is racing as I grab the pictures from the dresser and pile everything on top of my clothes. Liam is at the door now, banging on it and shaking the handle. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but it’s nothing good. I gather all of my work from the desk next to the bed and shove it all in the bag, zipping it up and slinging it across my shoulder.

Liam starts to pound against the wood, trying to open the heavy door. I scramble to get my shoes on and climb on the desk to push the large window open. It leads to a wood awning above the back patio, which may be too far down, but it’s my only chance. As I have my foot on the ledge, the door cracks and it slams against the wall.

I push myself up without looking back and am straddling the windowsill when Liam sees me. I twist the left side of my body and shove forward, about to expel from the window. As soon as both of my feet are on the side of the house, and I’m sitting on the ledge about to push off, Liam grabs my hair and yanks on it.

I scream in pain and try to shake him off as I scoot further out. He pulls so hard that my head and shoulders are pulled back awkwardly. Liam keeps one hand on my hair and moves the other to my right shoulder; sticking his hand between my arm and side. He wrenches my body backward with his grip on my underarm and lets go of my hair. He situates his left hand to my other side and starts pulling me into the room forcibly. I grab the sill tightly and try to shimmy away, but he lifts up and I lose my grip. The force behind it causes my head to jerk up and smack into the bottom of the window.

I’m lightheaded and there’s blackness licking at my vision when Liam scoots me further indoors. I clutch the wooden frame with all the strength I can find in my legs, but Liam has more muscle and a better angle and I’m quickly falling inside. My bottom and legs hit the desk painfully as Liam drags me down to the floor. He drops me there and my head bounces against carpet and the wood beneath it hard. Fighting the dizziness, I try to push myself up, but Liam shoves me down and straddles my legs. He restrains my arms and squeezes my hips together between his knees. Everything hurts.

“You fucking bitch. Who the fuck do you think you are? You attack me and then run away like a little whore?”

His shouts are deafening. Before I can respond, he grips my right wrist tighter until I can feel the bones rubbing together. I sob out in pain and try to free myself, but he twists my other arm until it’s pinned behind my back on the floor at an odd and agonizing position. Liam takes his free hand and rips the buttons from my top; yanking on the fabric until it’s wide open. He travels down my stomach and lowers the zipper on my jeans, bypassing the still unbuttoned portion.

I start to squirm; trying to get my arm out from under me. He clutches my right arm tighter still until I feel something pop in his grasp. The pain that shoots through me is overwhelming and I start to cry loudly as a burning heat travels down my arm. I can barely hear Liam through the blood rushing in my ears.

“…knew I would have to do this again. Have to keep you in your place, you little cunt. Can’t just run off like that and not expect repercussions.”

I shake my head and cry out to him, trying to ask him to stop, but can’t get any words out. Hot tears rush down the sides of my face and into my ears and hair. Liam lets go of my wrist and it throbs unforgivingly now that the pressure of his hand is gone. I lift my arm only to drop it again as my wrist sings in agony. It’s definitely broken.

Liam has his right hand pushed down on my side, adding to the pressure against my bent arm. My body is shaking from sobs and pain and I hear him laugh as he yanks my jeans down difficultly with one hand. They get caught on my trainers and he struggles to pull both shoe and pants off in his inebriated state. I start to kick my legs as hard as I can, hoping to catch Liam in the face or his crotch. He pulls back and I get him on the shoulder; garnering a grunt of pain. He releases his hold on my side to tend to himself and I shake my arm from under me. It’s definitely asleep and feels swollen, but I can’t assess beyond that.

Both my shoes are now off and I have one pant leg still caught on my ankle. Liam growls and bends down, but I use my right leg to kick up hard and get him right in the crotch. He lets out a pathetic sort of whine and grabs himself. I kick again while his head is down and meet his chin in a painful smack. He yells and grabs my foot as I try to get away. I continue to wriggle my leg and foot and he can’t hold on for very long.

I use my right foot to pull the rest of my jeans off my left leg. I kick both my feet forward and get him in the chest, making him lose balance and fall back on his calves. I quickly push myself up with my elbows, trying to ignore the screaming pain of my wrist and arm. I use the momentum to jump to my feet. I cradle my broken wrist against my chest and keep my still-tingling left arm at my side. Liam is still bent over in front of me and I kick hard one more time, crashing my bare foot against his face. It stings and I have to hobble when I put it down, but Liam is moaning and his nose is bleeding.

I rush over and pick my bag up gently with my left hand then head into the closet, yanking another pair of pants from a hanger. When I turn back to the room, Liam is in front of me. He slaps me hard and I cry out when he pushes me to the ground. I fall on my broken wrist and I black out.

I come to with Liam moving over me. As he grunts and moves harder, I wish I could have stayed unconscious.

Like last time.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Early Tuesday morning finds me walking out of the house with my wrist in a cast and lifted in a sling. My left arm is bound tightly in an elastic wrap kept together by two metal tongs. There are three stitches under a butterfly bandage keeping a cut together next to my left eyebrow. The orderlies that attended to me yesterday in the emergency room put this foul-smelling paste over the bruises on my face, ribs, hips, and lower back; claiming it would help heal them faster. I can still feel the burn of the strong odor in my nose. They use it for all of the automobile accidents, apparently.

When I refused to file a police report against the car that hit me, they sent me on my way.

Now, I walk down the street slowly and watch as the people around me chat and drink their coffee, bundled up in warm jackets and thick hats. Everyone makes sure to step around me now, wincing in sympathy when they see the state I’m in. I ignore them and work on trying not to limp too much as I follow the path to work. This is the worst it’s been yet.

Without realizing it, I’m in front of our building. There are a couple of smoke workers outside enjoying a cigarette together. I recognize one as the man who Quinn pointed out to me last week and smile slightly when he gapes at me. He hands the cigarette to a short, slightly pudgy man and unfolds himself from landing. He jogs down the steps and just stands in front of me; his eyes looking me up and down, making me uncomfortable.

“Are you alrigh’?”

His thick Scottish accent is a surprise and I can only nod, confused as to why a stranger would care. I can’t tell him how much I deserved this; how if I had only been more careful and more willing to be with my boyfriend that none of this would have happened. It’s not good, making an angry man angrier when I should know better.

“What happened to ya?”

I shrug my good shoulder lightly and look down at my feet.

“I got into an accident. Wasn’t looking where I was walking and was hit by a car.”

He makes this odd sort of grunting noise and I move my gaze back to his face. For some reason, his eyes catch mine and they’re deep green and intense; framed by long lashes and accompanied by thick, furrowed eyebrows. There’s this knowing sort of look in them that frightens me, but I can’t turn away. It’s like he’s looking into my mind and is picking apart all of my lies one by one until all that’s left is the aching truth and a hollowed soul of a once vivacious girl. I feel tears prick at my eyes and have to blink and look away.

“Well, I’m almost late for work, so I’ll see you later some time.”

I lie and see him nod slowly out of my periph and hobble up the stairs as quickly as I can. It’s awkward, but I’m able to yank the large door open and slip inside before he reaches it to help me. The floor squeaks under the heavy boots I put on this morning to help support my ankle. The high-pitched noises echo in the large empty hallway, sweek, sweek, sweek. They’re comforting, in a way, and I’m lost in the sound.

Without realizing it, I’m at my desk in an almost empty room and unwinding my scarf. I look around, seeing Quinn’s smock over a large poster with paint splatters all over it, and Delly, the young intern who is always so damn peppy, carefully cutting shapes from stock paper. Sue’s jacket is off the post, but her scent lingers as usual. Everything else is still and quiet. And as I’m about to pull the knit fabric from my neck; my eyes land on a table across the room situated next to Quinn’s. Boneless, my arm flops down and smacks into my side but I don’t feel the pain.

Strong, slightly tanned arms are flexing in front of me as they lift items from a cardboard box. Pictures, CDs, a binder, newspapers. There’s a heavy blue jacket slung over the cushioned seat rolled away from the desk. Combat boots lead up to dark wash jeans with a loose cream-colored top over it. The sleeves are folded up and are tight over defined biceps. The v-neck in the shirt reveals a smooth chest and just the right amount of collarbone. I look up past the soft column of neck to see a rounded chin and well defined jaw line. Over the full and slightly pouty lips rests a perfect nose; with its somewhat large base and downturned tip and straight bridge. Dark, bushy eyebrows are furrowed over eyes with long lashes, creating wrinkles in a smooth forehead. Thick brown hair sits on top, wind-blown and short.

Finn.

"I know, I know. He's prettier than what I usually go for, but you should have heard Sue after the interview. She wouldn't let me look at anyone else."

Quinn murmurs behind me and I almost have a heart attack. I have to force myself to close my mouth and turn to my colleague. The woman is wearing an amused expression as she blows into her coffee cup to cool the hot liquid. Her expression changes when she takes in my appearance.

"I have to leave."

The clipped words are out of my mouth before I can stop them and Quinn's eyes narrow as her brow creases. She sets the mug down on my desk without breaking eye contact and crosses her arms. I cut off any response she could give and awkwardly rewrap the scarf around my neck.

"Uh, I mean, you know, I have to use the bathroom. Yes. I need to nip out to the, uh, bathroom. Be right back."

And I flee. I almost fly out the door; not hearing Quinn's confused reply, and hope Finn hasn't looked up and spotted me. I zoom past the front of the office, praying to whatever gods that Finn isn't watching me through those fucking glass windows. I keep my head down and let my hair cover the side of my face just in case he is.

Grant passes me and says something, but I just ignore him and whatever he shouts after me, almost hyperventilating as I turn the corner and pull the restroom door open.

I throw the deadbolt and lean against the cold and unforgiving metal, sliding down it as my breath comes in quicker. A dull thrum of pain resounds in my body as I plop down on the hard linoleum.

"One two three four five six seven eight nine ten."

The numbers come out as one word.

"One two three four five six seven eight nine ten."

Faster now. I can feel my pulse beating faster and there's sweat beading on my forehead despite the freezing temperature of the building.

"One two three four five six seven eight nine ten."

My counting stutters as I whisper through staggered, shallow breaths. There are tears about to fall from my eyes and I feel like I'm going to faint.

"One two three four five six seven eight nine ten."

I blink and feel the hot moisture on my face as the tears track through my carefully applied makeup. My chest is heaving as I reach the full swing of my panic attack. I try to take deep breaths, but it's harder to breathe and I can't get past the lump in my throat. I take painful shallow breaths instead; making myself feel even more lightheaded to the point where I will probably lose consciousness.

"One two three-"

I can't speak around my erratic gasping. My fingers are clenching and loosening over and over; as if trying to find something to steady myself on and keep from passing out. I can’t move my right hand and start to shake the cast, trying to feel something. My vision becomes spotted and black. Tears are streaming down my face.

"One-"

There's a loud knock that reverberates down my spine and causes me to jerk against the door in surprise. I blink in quick succession as my vision beings to straighten.

The knock sounds again.

"Rae? Are you in there?"

Quinn's voice is low and soothing. I want to speak up, to tell her I'm fine and that I'll be right out, but I can't get past the dryness in my throat. My chest is still heaving and I can't breathe deeply enough.

"Rae, I'm going to use the key and unlock the door, alright?"

I want to scream at her to go away, but my body won't listen. My legs are seized up and my hands continue to grasp at nothing while my eyes continue to blink and wander uncontrollably around the room.

I hear the soft slide and click of the lock being opened and I tense my body as hard as possible to keep from falling. It swings open slowly and I can feel the gravity pulling on me.

Before I reach the floor, there are strong hands on my shoulders preventing the descent. Thin fingers grip my jacket tightly and Quinn pushes me up and slides me back inside the bathroom. She rests me against the door again and I can hear the lock snap shut. My breath is still erratic and I can't talk, but the tears have almost stopped.

I hear Quinn slide down next to me and let out a big sigh. She bumps my shoulder lightly and just puts her hand on my knee. I focus on the pressure and heat of it and will my throat to open wider. I tell myself to slow down and take deeper breaths; to relax my hands and rigid posture; to count in my head until it all adds up to fifty.

It takes about ten minutes to wind down to the point where I think I can talk. I've mentally counted to ten about fifteen times, and doing so put less stress on my body, letting me relax. My pulse is lower and my breathing is almost normal.

And Quinn hasn't said a thing.

It's another minute or two before I can get past the embarrassment to talk.

"Thanks."

My voice is quiet and hoarse. Quinn shrugs against my side and squeezes my knee before moving her hand back.

"No need. I've been there before; I know how it goes."

I just look forward at the grey door of the stall. We sit there for a while and I copy her deep, steady breathing. I feel her body relax next to mine and follow suit.

It's another five minutes before I feel I can stand without falling. Neither of us moves.

"I'm sorry."

Quinn snaps her head to me and grabs my knee again. I turn my head and her expression is serious.

"Don't ever say that to me again. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

I smile a little and she returns it before letting go. She turns back to the front and lightly strums out a beat on the tiled floor.

"So; want to tell me what happened?"

I sigh and begin to pick at the loose threads on my sweater.

"Not really."

She shrugs again.