Young Writers Society

Chapter 4

Portland, Oregon

Oh God he’s bleeding. He’s bleeding! My hands shook at my sides and I reached for him several times only to shrink away. What was I going to do? I couldn’t lift him, I couldn’t even bring myself to touch him. I bit my cheek until I felt blood trickle down my throat. All of this suspect crap and now I decide to hurt someone?

I bent down to him, neck bent up against the wall, legs stretched out before him, gun in his hand. I pried it from his fingers and shakily set it on the table.

“Robert?” I whispered. I heard him grunt and his eyes rolled to my direction. I’m sorry to think that I wasn’t all that happy he was still living. “What happened?” I asked him. He snapped forward and grabbed me by the front of the shirt. The smell of alcohol flooded through my nose and I gripped his hand in attempt to get away. He pulled me closer.

“I’ll kill you.” He said. He’d…said that before. I wasn’t all that worried. He looked up at the gun on the table and I pushed it further back, still keeping one hand on his. He smiled. “I think you’re too protective of that cat. If you’d just let me__”

“No.” I gasped. “I_ you were trying to kill my cat?” I felt foolish for pouncing at him like that. When he’d entered my house with a gun and yelled ‘I’ll shoot you for spraying me’, I’d thought he was talking about me. A couple of nights ago I’d doused him with pepper spray for sneaking up on me.

I laughed a little and pulled his hand away from me. I helped him up with difficulty, steering him over to my couch and going in the kitchen for an icepack.

If I’d known that I could almost kill him with a single pounce, haha, I’d of done it a long time ago. My cat meowed at me and I drew back. Say it with me: Pa-raw-noy-aw.

I lifted her ginger frail body and slunk her into my top cupboard. He was going to shoot my cat? That drunk bastard.

I brought the icepack over to him and he slapped it on his forehead yelping in pain as it hit. I rolled my eyes and sat in the chair opposite him.

“What are you doing here, Robert?” He looked at my mismatched attire and scowled.

“What were you doing with that Cop, Jen?” Grrrr! I hate nosy people! I licked dry lips and folded my arms across my chest.

“Nothin’.” I said, dragging my hand under my nose and snorting. Gorilla gestures, nice and slow, easy to follow. It helps, really.

“Nothin’ eh? You lying to me?” I shook my head. “Come here.” I hesitated and felt my back retract into the seat. “Now.” He demanded.

I walked over to him and stood about five feet away. He sat up and locked his hands on my waist puncturing bruises with his thumbs. I shuddered and dropped to my knees. I could tell he smiled but I refused to look at him.

“Why were you with ‘em?” He snarled. His grip on me grew tighter.

“Mr. Swanson was murdered. I was a suspect.” It came out in a murmur and I hated myself for backing down.

“A suspect? Like they thought you done ‘em in or somethin’?” I nodded. “Well did ya?” I shook my head and he laughed grimly.

“So how’d it go? What’d he do to ya?”

“I went in for an interrogation. They asked me questions, I answered them, I left.” Simple.

“What kinds a questions?”

“They wanted to know if Mr. Swanson took advantage of me.” I looked up at him for the first time and he glanced down.

“What did you tell them?” His speech became a little more sober. His hold only got tighter.

“I told them no, he didn’t. I don’t know if they bought it or not but they let me out without saying anything else.” He let go of me and scrubbed his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry.” I heard him muffle. He was, attractive, when he cried. I licked my lips again and slipped my arms around him.

“It wasn’t your fault.” I assured. It was, it was! Why was I doing this!

“Yes it was.” He said lifting his hands away and kissing my forehead. “I should have treated you better. I just get…I have bad days where I need to take it out on someone. I don’t mean it to be you, Jen.” More tears slid down his cheeks and I felt the urge to bite him. Instead I bit my lip and watched as he took notice to my temptation.

“Is my sadness appealing to you?” He half cried half laughed. I nodded vigorously and ignored the screech of protest coming from my cat.

He grasped the sides of my head in his hands and pressed his lips firmly on mine…then there was a knock at the door.

I giggled a little to myself and stood up walking briskly to the door. I swung it open and found Mark standing there with a worried look.

“You’re face!” he gasped. My smile vanished.

“What?” I asked, a little frightened myself.

“It’s bruised. Can’t you feel that?” The throbbing had subsided, and bruises were nothing. Robert had probably hit me on accident when he fell down.

“Paint.” I improvised. “I was painting, with paint. I got paint on my face while I…painted?” He looked even more concerned at me and I gave a pleading look. I could feel Robert come up behind me as he put stress on the doorframe. He was a little bigger than Mark. Mark here had sturdiness where Robert had thickness. I looked up at Robert and saw the small bump forming above his eyebrow. This did not look good.

“They need to see you at the station.” He said. His facial expressions didn’t change.

“Why?” I sounded just a wee bit alarmed.

“You…there’s more questioning. You have more questions to be asked by the questioner. He… er… wants you now.” He was an even worse liar than I was. And that’s really saying something. We both looked up at Robert who looked a little strained. He was nervous about me going again though we both knew I wouldn’t say anything.

“Okay, Jen. Well you better go.” I nodded and slipped out the door without grabbing my purse. It was over by the gun and I was the clumsiest person I knew.

Robert closed the door immediately and Mark followed close behind me in that uncomfortable walk he was so fond of.

I sat down in the passenger seat and he slammed the door, looking over his shoulder as he entered the car and then starting the engine. He drove off fast and I felt the bruises on my back press sharply on the leather seats. We weren’t even in his cop car anymore. Did he really think that I’d believe him? Why did I even come?

“Don’t get any ideas.” I head him mumble. I raised an eyebrow at him. That had been exactly what I was going to say. His grip tightened on the steering wheel and I winced as he turned a quick corner. “Are you gonna hold up?” He asked. I smirked. He obviously didn’t believe my paint excuse.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to keep up with my original lie. He laughed a little.

“Stop that. You’re not fooling anyone. Why didn’t you tell Bill when he asked you__”

“Take me back.” I demanded. He kept his eyes forward with no attempt to turn around. “I want to go back. If we’re not going to the station then you need to take me back.”

“Why? You like being hit like that?” I turned from him and looked pressed my cheek against the window as it began to rain. If he would just mind his own business…

“I didn’t get hit.” I lied. I felt his fingers sooth my cheek gently and I froze.

“Just stop lying, will you?” Just stop touching me, will you?

“I’m fine.” I snapped. He drew his fingers back.

“You’re a doctor. You should know that this isn’t right.”

“He didn’t hit me alright! I pushed him and he fell and hit me on accident!” I brought my hand slowly to my lips and felt blood coming from my cracked puffy lips. I hadn’t seen what I looked like, but it had to be bad.

“Why’d you push him?” He asked as though he already knew the answer. Because he had a gun and I thought he’d shoot me with it. Because he’s a bastard and deserved it. Because he tried to kill my cat. My cat! I thumped my forehead on his window several very hard times and he yanked me away from it by the shoulder.

“What’s wrong with you!” His voice rang in my ears and I felt the need to sit down…I already am sitting down. I needed to lie down. I needed to take a nap or something.

“I left my cat in my cupboard.” I blurted. He stared at me long and hard and I wanted to ram my head into the window again. What he must think of me! He probably thought I was some drunk woman, abused, lonely, living with her cat and playing little games to keep herself occupied. I’m sorry to say that this was exactly what I was.

He put his eyes back on the road just to turn again and then pulled into a large apartment complex. I eyed him questioningly.

“Where are we__” I started.

“My place. We need to stop the bleeding before we take you back to the questioning. You can’t just lie and go on with it, you’re a whole new case now.” I didn’t know what to say. Why did he care? There were plenty of worse cases than mine that he could be dealing with right now, plenty of abused druggies.

I got out of the car without complaining and found that I had a bit of a limp. I realized that I didn’t exactly remember the transaction that had played between Robert and I, I just remembered him falling.

I tried to keep my eyes downward as we walked up the steps to his floor and my legs went numb when he unlocked the door. When he opened it and let me in first, I was shocked to see a conservative living environment. Was this what people lived like nowadays? I had hardly realized the transition from VCR to DVD.

Everything was homey. Bookshelves were filled and couches had indents where he lay after work. The TV was tuned to a Blazers and Lakers game and I could smell his Tag body spray as if he’d marked the place. If I hadn’t felt like dying right now, I’d have curled up and fallen asleep in one of his large guy-prints on the couch.

He shut the door behind me and went into the kitchen where I heard him rummage through cabinets. I immediately felt like an outsider disrupting his peace and I hated him for it. Why bring me here? Shouldn’t he have had a first aid kit in his car? I knew I did.

I stood dumbly treating the small tiles at the entrance like a barricade. I hugged at my stomach watching the game and listening to the constant squeak of shoes on the court floor. David catches the ball, goes for a shot and misses. Shaq grabs the rebound and sprints across the court to the other end. He passes it to Coby who’s gets nicked by David. He falls and gets fouled walking slowly to the free-throw line. He dribbles once, twice, three times and shoots. The ball rolls in the air, landing and swirling around the hoop until finally it tips in. Blazers win 67 to 53 and the game was sponsored b___.

Black encased the screen and I looked over at Mark who had the remote. He sat down at the couch with the kit and then motioned for me to come to him. I lingered there for a while and then slipped off my shoes walking slowly over. Sitting next to him on the couch, I pulled my hair from my face and into a ponytail reaching for the kit between us. Mark snatched it and pulled out a bottle of Rubbing-Alcohol as well as some unlabeled cream I guessed to be Neosporin. Then he dug out an assortment of q-tips and cotton-balls and pored a little of the alcohol onto the swab.

“I’ll do it.” He murmured. I gazed as he prepared almost as organized and proficient as a real physician would and then game to my senses.

“I’m a doctor.” I informed. “I should do it.” He smirked and dabbed the alcohol on a cut above my lip. It stung immensely but I was more apt to looking self-capable right then.

“You hardly knew your own face was bruised. Lets be safe and just have me cover this.”

“Isn’t this illegal?” I asked.

“Making sure you stay alive? No…I don’t think so.” I rolled my eyes.

“I meant taking me against my will. You’re supposed to have some sort of proof.”

“First of all, I didn’t take you against your will. You came with me. And second of all, we talked this morning and I’m an officer on your case. That’s proof whether you think it is or not.” I shut up. He wasn’t as dumb as I thought he was. He smeared the Neosporin on my cheeks and above my eyebrow and I looked at all the concentration in his face. When he was with my face he took a brief look at me everywhere else.

“Any more scratches or bruises on your stomach?” I shook my head knowing was a lie. “Any on your legs?” I shook my head again. He cocked his eyebrow and grabbed the bottom of my shirt pulling it up only enough to see my stomach. I sighed and set my hands to my sides feeling extremely violated. “You look horrible!” He said after a while. “I can’t fix this! The scratches, maybe, but you’ll have scars.” I didn’t even respond. I couldn’t exactly control him. He did look about Robert’s strength.

He rubbed still more Neosporin on my stomach wounds and then looked sat back to eye his work. “It’ll have to do.” He said with furrowed brows. I was happy it was over. I was actually impatient to get to my next interrogation. “So I have to start a whole other case just about, abuse?” he nodded.

“Yes. But we’re not going to the station right now. I have other plans for you.”

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Eh, I'm iffy about the ending so that might change.