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Risi
Star
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2010
MrBurke:
“You ready for this?”
“... Fuckin' better be.”
Sam and Eric scrutinized each other as best they could through the slitted eyeholes of their goalie masks, their eye contact extended as though either one could determine the other's mental state through so simple a look, or somehow reinforce one another at a glance.
In a weird way, they did both of those things within miliseconds.
The four men in this van had been through quite a bit together. Brothers all, if not through birth then deemed so by way of a rusty tin clan they'd happened across while smoking weed in their schoolyard one night somewhere in the middle of eighth grade. The barbarous treatment the men here received in their experience within the social care network of this filthy city had hardened and bonded them beyond anything simple blood possibly could have, genetic or otherwise. You don't bring a friend or acquaintance or relative or drinking buddy to a bank robbery. You bring somebody attached to you, helplessly and hopelessly dedicated, for good or ill.
The spring-loaded mechanism on somebody's assault rifle snapped hope and brought a huge round into the chamber. The car slowed to a stop.
“Wake up back there.” Charlie turned his head from the passenger's seat and surveyed the two who seemed to have lost themselves in each other's tension. “Don't you know it's payday?”
They could tell from the wrinkles around his eyes he was smiling.
All four men left the black plumber's van, “Teddy's Pipes” seeming to leap into existence from absolutely no-where, completely innocuous until four men in red-and-black plaid jackets, coveralls, black steel toed boots and white hockey masks exited from all sides. The doorman/security guard's eyes lit up when, after the third blink, he realized what his brain was telling him was actually underway. Today was the day he'd been fearing since the day he took this job.
“Ah!” Said Sam, barking in noncompliance and shaking his head at the hand fumbling around the guard's side. Eric slapped the offending palm away and yanked the revolver out of its holster, Charlie's gun barrel pushing suggestively into the man's chest, backing him into the motion-sensing door with it.
The door swished open, and the frightened man stumbled to his knees in effort to keep balance.
“Listen up! EVERBODY DOWN!” Called out Eric, prepared to rattle off the speech he'd been up until two o'clock and woke up this morning practicing. “We want your money, not your lives! No police means no hostages. I want everybody's cellphones here – RIGHT HERE!” He held a charity donation bucket up in the air, passing it off to Eric, who prepared to make the rounds. “I want everyone to take off your shoes – that's right, take off your shoes, throw them over in this corner here. Right over there, that's right. You're going to throw your wallets against this wall. Wallets, purses, watched, jewelry – I swear to God if I see one Timex you're all gonna get it.”
Robert, the driver, had strafed the mayhem and made it behind the teller's desk, his rifle parallel with the ground, quietly surveying the small crowd. He was tall, well over six feet, perhaps a touch shorter than six five. His build said gym, even in accounting for a bulletproof vest, and his eyes were steady. “You.” He pointed to a balding man in a grey suit complete with matching vest and blue silk handkerchief, the same tone as his tie, just a bit off from his shirt. “You look rich. You the manager?”
“Wh-bwa.... Yes, yes I am.” He nodded, pushing his thick-rimmed brown glasses back up his nose. The man was already sweating profusely.
“You know what I want, right?” Robert said, rapping the back of his knuckles against the thick steel door directly to his left.
There was a moment's hesitation. “Well... You don't understand – I can't open that, the general manager isn't here, and he's got the-”
“You're not Albert Whelpington?” Robert cut him off tiredly.
That gave the man pause, but he didn't drop the guise. “No, you see, he's vacationing in-”
“That's weird.” Robert replied. “Because you look just like the guy in the pictures we took.”
The two men regarded each other in silence for a moment.
There was a woman crouched on the floor who, until that second, had fancied herself invisible to the towering robber. Robert reached down and, through his black leather glove, gripped a sturdy handful of hair and stood, bringing her effortlessly to her feet in agony.
Robert was silent.
“I'll get the code ready.” Albert hastily agreed, rushing the door and fumbling at a card in his breast pocket.
Risi:
Calm, just stay calm, Tara told herself as she watched the men walk in. Surveying the situation, she watched as one of the tellers pressed the silent alarm just seconds before the robber said his line about "No cops". Internally smacking herself in the head as she watched on, now on her knees, throwing her personal items into corners of the bank.
Her boss, Albert, toppled next to her in an ungraceful crash to the floor. Tara rolled her eyes, he couldn't even get on the ground properly, let alone manage anything. But soon, he was yanked from the floor and questioned. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, which is why she didn't see the next thing coming.
Being yanked by her hair, to her feet, she let out a whelp of pain. She attempted to quickly maneuver herself to her heels, but it was painful as she did it. Albert fumbled, yet again, with the code as Tara could hear the soft wailing of sirens approaching the bank. Please, please take him, she thought of Albert, because she knew she had no family that would pay a ransom if it came to that, but neither did he, now that she thought of it.
Closing her eyes, she hoped she would soon wake from this nightmare as the robbers quickly, silently, consulted one-another.
MrBurke:
“Worst case – worst case!” Called out Eric, closest to the door, but the rest of his team already knew. The four men exchanged looks from their respective ends of the bank floor.
They had a decision to make. Leave now, or make a play for the money.
The sirens grew closer as the last mechanical lock on the vault door released, and the thick metal slid open with a gust of air, the air conditioned bank atmosphere sucked in to freshen the hotter, unventilated stale safe.
Charlie looked on from the edge of the teller's counter, opposite Robert's site. The three appeared to be looking to him.
“I need this.” Charlie nearly whispered it, but everybody present was listening so closely he might as well have yelled.
Robert nodded. Charlie hopped the barricade.
Eric turned to face the crowd. “Somebody in here wants to die, huh?” His face turned red hot under the mask. He was furious, and afraid, and needed a victim. “Somebody's got a fuckin' death wish. Who was it?” Whirling in place, he spied the thing he'd been trained to look for, the red-flashing culprit fashioned to the baseboard of a wall. There were three people crouched near it, and only one refused to look up.
“This fuckin' guy.” He pointed, and Sam rushed in to haul the man to his feet. The sirens stopped as police cars collected outside the bank's entrance, and the butt of a rifle left a red mark where the corner of Eric's rifle butt came down on his head. Someone screamed, and the man's bones seemed to wilt.
Sam withdrew a gas grenade from his belt, and waited. Sure enough, within seconds, a policemen's voice carried through a megaphone: “You inside! Come out with your hands up. We've got the building surrounded. You have nothing to gain here. It's too late.”
The two boys out on the bank floor exchanged a look, and pulled the pin on the gas grenade, letting it clatter to the ground. Slowly the room began filling with smoke.
Meanwhile, as Charlie ransacked the vault from the inside, he motioned to the girl in Robert's grasp. “We're taking her.”
“What?” Robert blinked. “Is there even room?”
“We're taking her, because if this fails we've got nothing.” Charlie ripped open bags of money and rifled through them, making a small pile of hundred dollar bill stacks and an ever growing second pile of twenties, tens and fives.
“It was your plan.” Robert balked. Leave with the woman?
“Yeah. I made the plan. Thanks for coming up with our backup.” Charlie finished sorting his bag and moved on to another.
“This is a whole new set of problems. What are we gonna do with her once we're out?” Robert shook his head.
Charlie looked for the woman's eyes, and though he couldn't see it, Robert could damn near hear the man's smile. “We'll think of something.”
Risi:
Tara simply cried out as the man made the decision. "No, please, no!" she screamed as the other man pulled her along, almost unwillingly it seemed. The grouped filed out the back door, pulling her into a damp, dark van.
Suddenly, there was a piece of cloth over her eyes and her arms were bound as the truck took off in a cloud of smoke with loud grinding gears. Tara whimpered her pleas, her eyes now crying under the blindfold. "Please," she cries, not knowing what happened to the mighty police, or even if they knew she was missing. They probably didn't, not yet anyways.
Feeling a hand brush against her pale leg, she cringed, then heard a chuckle. Her tears then fell below the cloth across her eyes. "Please," she whimpers, "Leave me alone. Let me go."
MrBurke:
“Little late.” Robert replied, slapping away Charlie's hand as Sam brought the careening van down a small network of intersecting alleyways, ramming a small cluster of plastic garbage cans and bags behind a restaurant's back door.
Charlie giggled in his seat, putting an arm around Tara's shoulder, squeezing her close to him jokingly. “You know we're gonna kill you, right?” He snickered, reaching over her blouse to cup her right breast. Robert caught his hand before it got there and tossed it away.
Robert's right arm slid underneath Tara's knees, his left digging a path across her back, hoisting her easily into his lap and cradling her small body against his front. He could feel her alarm at her repositioning, but he did his best to quell her.
“Hey – hey – he's lying. You're safe. I know, I know. You're safe. It's alright. We're going to find someplace to drop you off. You're okay. It's going to be okay.” He swept a tear from her left cheek with his gloved right thumb, drawing her closer with his left arm.
“I bet she feels real safe in your lap.” Charlie joked, his eyes drifting over her hair and figure, scorn obvious in his voice from being punished so.
Risi:
Tara shook gently as the touchy man put his arm around her shoulder, violating her. Then, she folded inward as the first man set her in his lap, her tears still pooling, now more so as the threat to kill her has rose from the man's mouth.
Shrinking away from the first man's touch, she sniffled, tears slowing at the kind touch, but it was still unwanted. "Please let me go," she whispered to him as he cradled her body. Her hair was stuck to every part of her nervously sweaty body and she absent mindedly attempted to push it off of her, wondering what would happen to her next.
MrBurke:
“Jesus...” Robert made a slightly disgusted grunt at her sweating and pouring tears, shaking his head and raising his hands away from her. “Fucking Christ. Why did we have to take this one, man?” Robert's eyes squinted under the mask, looking her up and down, knowing that these moments would be imprinted on her for the rest of her life. Everything he did would be etched into her memory, cause trauma, bring about neuroses... He felt uneasy for his part in her undeserved punishment.
“You'd rather have the bank manager in your lap?” Charlie asked, motioning with his hand to have her back. “C'mon, man.” Both arms extended, now, he reached for her.
Robert felt torn. Typically he was the cool headed one, the first to make the hard decisions, the man his crew looked to first and foremost for advice and direction. Here, he felt lost. Give her back to Charlie? Leave her in his lap, after she'd asked to be released? Sometimes there is no right answer.
“I don't like him touchin' on you like that.” Robert grumbled, shifting his knees under her, rocking Tara's small body with the motion and causing her to bump against his chest. “He's just going to do it more.” Taking a small, defeated breath, he continued. “You stay. Get comfortable. We're taking you out to the water.”
“Nah. She'd be happier over here with me.” Charlie just wouldn't let up, moving closer. “Hey – hey, what's your name. Hm? What's your name, girl? If you lie to me... Well, you can just imagine what I'm gonna let the boys do.” He laughed, tugging on a small lock of hair. “Where do you live, honey?
Risi:
Tara pulled her head to the man's chest, shivering slightly in the cool air now blasting in the van, attempting to relax with his soft words. As the touchy-man began to call for her, she felt the pause in his touch.
She held her breath as the pause continued, but as he held to her she finally exhaled. The tug on her hair reminded her that the man could still bother her, but she hoped the man holding her now wouldn't let him.
Once again threatened, she spit her name out quickly, "Tara, I live on the other side of the city. Well, the side opposite the bank." She shivered, and attempted to pull away from his prying hands and questions, ending up closer to her protector
MrBurke:
"No, no: what's your address, you stupid bitch?" Charlie demanded, swatting the back of her head. "I want to know so we can find you if you squeal."
Robert's hand reflexively cupped the back of her skull where he'd hit her, and in doing so brought her face more firmly into his chest, angling her small body further into his. Speaking softly, he did his best to keep the emotion out of his voice.
"We need to know." He reaffirmed, his right hand heavy on her left thigh, tugging her into him protectively.
"And you just know what it's gonna be like if I gotta come down there. You got any nieces? Sisters? Are they as pretty as you, sweetie?"
"We're just going to look you up later. Tell him." Robert continued, stroking her outer thigh with short, inoffensive movements in what he hoped was a semi-comforting gesture.
"Almost there." Eric said from the front seat, angry at Charlie, and at the same time jealous of the power he was exerting over this young woman.
Risi:
Tara cringed once again with the smack to the head, then shaking her head at herself and her stupity. Though, she appreciated the protective nature of the touch that followed. "486 Cinter Way, Underbridge," she sputtered out quickly for him. "And no, I don't have any sisters or nieces," she added quickly to please as the driver told them they were close to where ever they were headed.
Pulling herself in closer to her protector, Tara whimpered with the added information, worried once again. Though her tears and perspiration had faded, her fears had not. "Please," she said under her breath to him, hoping that it would aid in keeping her life.
She then gave an additional shiver in his arms as the van came to a halt and she heard the gears grind into park.
MrBurke:
"You did good." Robert assured her, stroking her mussed hair gently, further ruining the already destroyed hairstyle she'd likely labored over that morning. Sliding the door open, he hooked his arms under her once again and lowered her shoeless feet to the rocky edge of a beach. The smell of the harbor was strong, and the sandy banks below sloshed lazily with the sound of crashing water.
"Walk in a straight line until you feel the water." Robert said, hands on her hips, steadying her until he felt confident she wouldn't fall down. "If there's anything you think you saw, you didn't see it. Remember that. We didn't talk in the van, you didn't say anything, we didn't ask anything. You don't remember." Reluctantly, he released her. "If we get word that you're cooperating with the police, we will kill you."
Charlie leaned out of the van: "Not before we take what's ours." Cracking a hand across her ass, he fell back into his seat laughing, high on the rush of threatening this young woman, evading police and earning himself a tidy thirty thousand dollar payday.
Robert breathed through his nose. "Keep your mouth shut and you'll be fine. You can do this. Just walk in a straight line."
Risi:
Tara took deep breaths, breathing in the smell of the salt in the air, hoping with all of her that it was real. That if she did as he said, she would reach the water, and not fall off a cliff. He protected her in the van, but would he let her die if they'd already left?
She got down to her knees, crawling along the beach to her hopeful safety. The rocks poked into her knees and bare hands. The sand beneath her grew wetter, then she suddenly felt the water lap against her fingers. It scared her at first, but then she wrenched up the blindfold and sat in the sand. She knew where she was, but that was all she really knew.
Sitting in the sand, she looked down at herself. Sad, pitiful, shaking, Tara pulled her legs up to her chest and cried in the harbor. After an hour of sitting alone, she finally rose and headed to her home.
A few weeks later, she rubbed her feet as she sat on her balcony. The bruises and cuts were still healing on her heals from the walk home from hell.
MrBurke:
Robert, a block down the street, watched back.
He had binoculars wrapped in a newspaper, and every so often he'd raise the makeshift disguise to his eyes, but he could see her figure plainly enough from where he was. If she left, he'd know, but something about the look on her face made him check back often. He could see the red lines and welts he'd helped create. To go back, would he do it all again?
Every individual decision made sense, in retrospect, but the outcome... He didn't know. Dressed in blue jeans, a brown horizontally striped polo shirt, green aviator sunglasses and a pair of Nike runners he looked like anyone else on the street. His watch, a white gold Rolex, read one twenty three. It was his only piece of jewelry, everything on him clean and pressed as though he'd bought it that day.
What was she thinking? Robert knew it was a ridiculous thing to wonder, but he couldn't help imagining her reliving their brief time together. No doubt she'd had nightmares about him. Feared him. Winced with disgust when picturing his mask, hearing his voice... The idea make him feel dirty. He sipped a bottle of iced tea and stretched on the bus stop bench, waving by yet enough driver who held their door open expectantly, waiting for him to enter.
Risi:
As she caressed her feet gently, a tear fell slowly down her cheek. Hating herself for crying again, she wiped it away. "God dammit," she said angrily and rose to her feet, wincing slightly as she took each step.
Hobbling back into her apartment, Tara found more tears falling, this time from pain. Though the pain she slipped on her favorite pair of converse, broken in over a number of years. She then grabbed a maroon zip-up jacket and pulled it over her arms gingerly. Hugging herself lightly she took a deep breath and grabbed her keys and purse. No matter how much she wanted to sit at home and cry, she needed to go to the grocery store and run some errands.
As she walked out onto the street, she looked down to the ground and pushed her straight blonde hair out of her eyes. Each step wore on her soul, reminding her of the walk before. Another tear, another curse under her breath, but she walked on.
MrBurke:
"Fuck..." He muttered when she crossed the street, unfolding the newspaper and leaving the binoculars in his lap. She rounded the street corner opposite his seat, and he folded the top left corner down to watch her pass.
He looked to his right, finding a man in a business suit eying him suspiciously. Robert gave him a tight smile, holding up the binoculars. "No good birds this time of day."
The man furrowed his eyebrows, looking increasingly concerned. Robert stood up and revealed his height, his size, his demeanor, and the stranger's expression changed.
"Have a nice day." Robert nodded, his eyes serious. The man looked away.
Robert continued down the street at a leisurely pace, having to check his speed, long legs carrying him faster than was advantageous at that particular moment. He noticed something in her walk, evidence of the cuts, a sort of limp that carried on both feet instead of just one. Something tugged at his insides...
For a few weeks he'd been sitting on her apartment - there had been a lot of traffic, mostly concerned looking people who later via license plates revealed themselves to be co-workers and concerned relatives. No cops. She'd been having food delivered, people were bringing her necessities... Lately she'd been getting back on her feet. It was good to see, really. He'd never suspected he and his brothers had caused her permanent harm, but after several days it had certainly begun to feel that way.
It was difficult to imagine... Here she was, a square girl, a banker no less... Never been in a fight, never held a gun, never took a vacation... Then suddenly she's shaking in some killer's lap with Goddamn Charlie smacking her ass and pulling her hair, talking about rape and murder... Generally speaking the kind of people Robert associated with didn't bother much with civilians. That's what they called them. Civilians. Unaffiliated people.
If you did what he did, if you were from where he was from, you were part of a different world. People like her just didn't come t across them unless they were doing something they shouldn't be. For something like that to happen to him, or his boys... they'd signed up for the life at an early age. Her? The was far and away the most traumatic thing she'd probably ever go through. “Better chance'a getting hit by fuckin' lightning...” He whispered to himself, watching her thin figure saunter down the sidewalk.
She was beautiful.
As marks go, he could have done a lot worse. Watching her was something he'd gotten used to, even looked forward to. He'd begun taking note of little things... how and when she fussed over her hair, the way she pursed her lips when she thought, the expression she made when she cried...
He had trouble admitting it to himself, but he found her most striking, most undeniably beautiful when she cried. That was when he used the binoculars the most... She spent so much time mustering strength, being strong... But when she cried... It all fell away, and she was naked, right there in front of him. He saw so much strength, and pain, and sorrow... Every time she wept he felt a little closer, a little more remorse.
Then, immediately after, felt pangs of guilt, and worried about the creepy nature inherent to spying on a woman during such an intimate emotional thrall.
Those things came back to him now, watching her behind sway down the street through his sunglasses, unable to keep his eyes from her hips for long. Why not? He might as well enjoy his task... It felt like free money, when the kiddy got divvied up, but as far as the actual work involved he might as well apply for a job at one of these banks instead of robbing them.
Risi:
The automatic doors slid open as Tara walked into the grocery store, though as she entered she was almost trampled by a woman and her cart. Tara simply moved out of the way without a word, where before the event she would have called the rude woman out, asking what her problem was.
Pulling a basket to carry her things was a personal challenge for her. She knew if she got a cart she would lean on it, but she wanted to be strong instead. As her basket began to fill up, she found this was a bad idea as it added weight to her feet, making them hurt more. Letting out a sigh as she entered the cereal aisle, the basket dropped from her hands and she had to lean against the rows of boxes for support. "Really?" she questioned herself out loud, disgusted with her weakness now. "Fuck you feet," she said under her breath.
Pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders she mustered up the strength to pick up her basket, grab a box of Captin Crunch to add to her basket, and hobble down the rest of the isle. She had to stop a few times, but she never dropped the basket again.
Almost proud, she neared the checkout line then saw that it was eight people long. This would take at least twenty minutes. Tara shook her head sadly and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the frozen foods section. "Fuck," she added as she turned, putting her back against the door, and slid down to the floor. She held her face in her hands and cried.
Tara wasn't sure what she was crying for anymore. The pain, a little bit, the touching in her abduction, not at all, not having a job because she refused to return to the bank, no. What am I crying for? she thought as she began to pull herself again, embarrassed at the loss of control in public. Looking back at the line around the corner, she winced. It had gotten longer. Do I really need this stuff? she began to question herself, Yes. Rising once again to her feet, she mentally cut running errands from her list, those could wait. She limped to the line and stood, attempting to hid the pain in her face by looking at the magazine rack absently.
MrBurke:
“Good God...” Something in him made his body lurch when she dropped her basket, holding himself back. There was a part of him he'd come to know well, it was just above his stomach, a few inches below his heart, and when he needed to do something hideous Robert had learned to cool it, make it stiff, push it down before it had a chance to react. He knew in advance before these things happened – people didn't typically seek him out for violent purposes, and when they did, he was the victim. When he knew someone was about to be victimized, he prepared himself. This? Watching her stumble and fall apart, cry in public... There was no preparing for it. It wasn't something he was doing to her.
It was something he'd already done.
Robert was aware that the things he did... They didn't go away, not for a long time. That was the idea – you hurt a man, humiliate him, destroy his confidence. You make an example, so that the next time you want something you don't need to ask twice. But once he'd done these things, he left, and his absence only intensified the mystique around himself and his gang. It's easier to intimidate a community if every time you're seen, someone gets hurt.
They didn't victimize women out of habit.. You don't get much done that way – people will only tolerate so much, that was a tenant of the business passed down from the neighborhood bosses and enforced. Now, approaching the checkout line, he could see why. That thing, that muscle, that guilty throbbing parasite, it tugged at his heart strings and pointed to the suffering he'd caused. Weeks of this, now.
“Are you in line, sweetie?” Asked a middle-aged African American mother, short and chubby. He'd wandered close enough to the lines that his patronage was in question.
“Yeah.” He nodded, stepping forward into the checkout line directly behind Tara.
“Where are your groceries?” The woman asked, furrowing her eyebrows at him.
He looked at his empty hands. “Just driving by... Needed a drink.” He blinked, reaching into the cooler on his right, sliding the glass door aside and grabbing an energy drink. “Besides, I couldn't help but wonder...” He fingered the glossy magazines Tara stared so intently at. “Brangelina, you know? Are the kids safe?”
He smiled to indicate he was making a joke. What the fuck are you doing, Bobby... “Listen, I don't want to sound like an asshole, but... You okay? I saw you, ahm... In the isle, and...” Shut up... Leave the poor woman alone. "I didn't know if you needed a hand with the bags."
Risi:
Tara blinked up at him, confused by the first question. She was really unaware of where she had been looking until he asked her that. But as he mentioned the crying, she turned hard instantly. I thought no one had seen. I'm so stupid. Shaking her head at him she turned away and said, "No, thanks," curtly. However, as she said it, she stumbled over her tired feet slightly, causing more pain and spilling her groceries.
"Fuck it all!" she cried out and dropped to her knees to collect her things. Unknowingly, tears had begun to slip down her face, her eyes red. Now everyone was watching.
Tara took heaving breaths through her tears, pressing her forehead gingerly. "Maybe I do," she said, looking up to the stranger in line. What's the worst he could do to me? she added sarcastically in her head.
Finally after pulling her things together into the basket, she stood slowly, wishing she hadn't as soon as she did. This was such a stupid idea, Tara she told herself in painful anger.
MrBurke:
He reached out to lift her basket away, slowly, swallowing as he did it. His mouth opened to speak, but the first set of words died in his mouth. “Robert.” He offered, placing the handle into his left hand, offering up his massive right. “I hope you don't live too far away, I got a bad knee.”
It occurred to him a second later he should have smiled when he'd said that. “Small talk... Not my strong suit.” He gave a thin smile, looking her up and down. “You hurt?” He did his best to sound innocent. Again, not his strong suit. “Not that it's my business, but... Seems like a rough day.”
He began to walk, worried at her ability to keep up. It seemed like her condition was worsening by the minute. She'd gotten here mostly okay, but he'd seen her drop her things twice now... Robert had to hope the alleviation of her added weight would help.
Risi:
Tara gave him a light smile as she pressed her small hand into his large one, "Tara," she said softly. She giggled softly, nervously, "I don't live that far, and I'm not that great at small talk either."
As he look her up and down a slight tingle went through her body, but she pushed it away. She was not in a place to attempt play the part of a girlfriend, she was way too fragile right now. She checked out silently, then paid for her things. The woman working the counter looked at her enviously, for what Tara didn't know.
"Its not that far," she said to him as the woman began to scan Robert's items. "A few blocks. What happened to your knee?" Her attempt at small talk wasn't that great either, prying into a stranger's life.
MrBurke:
"Football pile-up." He replied, moving out of the store with her, onto the asphalt, still paying careful attention to her condition as she walked. "It's okay, though." He admitted, nodding. "I sucked anyway." This time he did smile, and surprised himself with it. Robert didn't flirt, as a rule. Most women didn't like the notion of somebody six and a half feet making a play for sweetness - it didn't play well, and nobody likes a stereotype. He was bit, he was under-educated, and he tended to think along the basics of whatever was going on.
Like, now, for instance. The words 'pretty girl' ran through his mind consistently, overriding the constant pleas from his rational mind to disengage, distance himself, fade back into the background. Here he was walking her along like they were going to a picnic.
"Your turn. You got some bruises, there..." He motioned to the heels of her palms, the scratches on her elbows... "You alright?"
Risi:
Returning his smile, she nodded, somewhat actually interested in what he was saying. Though, as the subject focused to her, Tara shrunk back into herself slightly. Do I lie?, she wondered. But as the pregnant pause grew larger she blurted "I was in a bank heist actually. I was their hostage...?" she said, clarifying. "The let me go, obviously, but I had to walk from across town in my bare feet. I really hated mid-town because there was a bunch of broken bottles there..." she rambled when she was nervous. She hadn't told anyone this, but she was spilling her new life story to a complete stranger.
As she stumbled along with him, Tara just gazed upwards at him. Surprised at his height compared to her five-four, the line of his jaw... Tara!, she interrupted her thoughts, What the hell? They soon approached her apartment, but she didn't exactly want to go back to her lonely flat. "Um," she paused, "Would you like repayment for your kindness? A beer maybe? I make a mean mac and cheese if you're hungry..." she trailed off, attempting to find something that would please his unknown tastes. Her smile was back, pulled from the depths of where it had been hiding over the last few weeks. Her small lips quivers at the thought of being rejected, but she stood strong. Or attempted to.
MrBurke:
“Jesus...” He mumbled, unwilling to say anything bad about the robbers, not really wanting to contribute to the topic at all. She glossed over it so quickly, he was happy for the respite. “I really should be going...” He started to say. “I have a few things to do, and I really don't want to bother...” He saw the defeat in her eyes. The loneliness in her face. The quiver of her lip, the meek way she held herself, the tense set of her shoulders...
You fucked up, Robert. Bad. But now you're fucking up worse. Do not send this girl upstairs alone.
He struggled for the words. “Fuck it. Yeah, I'll come up. But no funny stuff, okay?” He pointed an accusing finger at her, working up a little smile. “Just because we're going to your apartment doesn't mean you're gonna get lucky. I have standards.” The smile grew, became more genuine. He even laughed. Her delicacy drew him in... She was so fragile, and so strong at the same time...
He couldn't take his eyes off her. “Lead the way. Let’s get you off those feet.”
Risi:
She giggled lightly at him, nervous but successful, "I can't promise anything," she winked jokingly. They turned the corner near her building, then to the elevator. She tenderly stood on one leg at a time, crossing her left over her right at the ankle gingerly as they rode the elevator. When the two reached the third floor, they disembarked and Tara led him down a hall to her apartment. "Home sweet home," she said softly, kiddingly.
As they entered she asked, "What do you do for a living?" not trying to be nosy, just create conversation. As they walked in, they approached her kitchen, where she opened a drawer and dropped her keys. Then reached for the bags of her groceries from Robert, hoping to put them away quickly then stop standing as soon as possible. Tara shifted from foot to foot painfully as she slipped her shoes off, hoping it would help.
MrBurke:
Robert withheld the bags. “Sit down.” The words came short, but with a smile. “I can figure this out.” Refusing her the effort, he skirted the woman standing in place to approach her fridge. Without permission he opened the door. “Wow... You... Really needed groceries.” He chuckled, setting the perishables inside, moving on to her cupboard.
“I work in construction.” He fed her the stock line. People who didn't work in construction didn't really know what to ask about, and even those who did, didn't care. “Drywall mostly, painting... I've got my welder's certificate, but I got promoted to union delegate six months ago. The fellas trust me to speak for them, I guess. Wouldn't take anyone else.” It was an easy ruse, and reflected the reality of his place in the organization ironically. The story was something he had close as hand whenever someone asked. Running the tap to fill up her kettle, he set it on the stove and lit the burner.
“We get cut up sometimes. On the job. You gotta learn some first aid.” He said over his shoulder, withdrawing two mugs and a tea bag. “You should let me take a look at those feet. You strike me as a little too stubborn to go to the doctor... If they get infected you could loose 'em.” Turning back to face her, he smiled. This time it was a little more pure. His shoulders relaxed, his chest swelled... He felt big in her little apartment. Robert had always chosen places with high ceilings and big rooms, having the money to choose and the size to warrant it.
Robert didn't like to keep a steady girlfriend. You didn't really meet new women, where he was from... You just got back with the old ones. Everyone in his neighborhood had grown up together. It was this perpetual whirlwind of drama and recycled lust. He didn't date, he didn't mingle, he didn't seek out connection. It was easy to feel like the five block radius between the freeway and the ballpark was the entire world. Women would seek him out, for money, thrill or a status boost. He didn't need to look. His lifestyle made the consequences for dating outside the pond severe. When women got scared, they talked. Even when they weren't scared they talked. Half the appeal of being with someone like Robert is showing him off, bragging about him, whispering sinful details of his work life... Even when he didn't tell them anything little clues cropped up, enough to hang him with. Women tend to be very intuitive that way.
With this convenient little lie in place, he didn't need to worry about all that, and it felt nice to just talk with someone who didn't know his business. Again, the culture was very tight-lipped, and the more someone of his caliber spoke the less intimidating he seemed. With no fear, there was no gang. His brooding was imposed, not his preference.
“And if that happens, I'm not carrying you and your fucking groceries back and forth every week.” The kettle whistled, and he filled a teapot and brought it along with the mugs to her coffee table. It occurred to him that he hadn't been asked to stay. She invited him up, but nothing beyond that. “Sorry if I'm forward... I'm Irish. Tea's implied. I didn't see any whiskey, so...
Risi:
Palms on her cheeks, her legs folded in to a pretzel as her elbows perched on her knees, Tara looked almost comfortable. After he had commanded her to sit, she figured she didn't have much of a choice, which was what she was beginning to feel about him taking a look at her sore feet as he began to talk.
Her head tilted to the side as he heated the water using the kettle, for her the kettle was almost for show, she always used the microwave. With a smirk, she watched him navigate around the kitchen. Compared to her, he was a giant, reaching the most top shelves that she had to use a stepladder to dream of touching. She listened intently as he continued about his job, though her mind began to wander as she watched his strong hands place her groceries.
"I suppose, for your sake, you can check out my feet. That way, I'll hobble to the store and you can just be my bag boy," she smiled bashfully at him. It was impossible to call him anything close to a boy, but that just made it funnier in her mind. As the kettle blew, she shook her head at his kitchen skills. Definitely would have used the microwave..., she thought as he poured them each tea with a smart remark on the side. It seemed to be his style, and her's as well.
"I haven't had company in a while, besides some wayward members bearing over-cooked lasagna. I enjoy that you made yourself at home, because I wouldn't have been able to get home without your help. Sorry I'm such a terrible host..." remarking with a blush as she took the mug from his hand. "Thanks though, for everything."
A smile still hung on her lips as he sat beside her.
MrBurke:
“My pleasure.” He said, the couch slouching deeply when he creaked down onto the springs. He gripped the table, pulled it a few inches closer, and relaxed. “Hard for pretty girls to be poor hosts. Men are supposed to do everything anyways.” He tugged his shirt down, set his sunglasses on the wood surface. “If not for carrying heavy things and reaching stuff on high shelves, then what?” He gave her another one of those big toothy grins. “It's not for lookin' pretty.”
“At least it shouldn't be.” He wet his lips, glancing around her place. “Some of these guys you see out here, in these shops...” He shook his head absently. “Way I was raised, you don't use hair gel. That's makeup. I can still hear my Grandmother: 'Don't you let me catch you in gold rings and silk shirts like these pretty boys, Robert. You're conspicuous as it is. I'm not buying you skirts!'” He chuckled to himself, putting his right ankle on his left knee, tugging up the sock his pantleg exposed. “Special lady.” The word 'special' came out the way you might refer to a cooky neighbor with a porcelain doll collection as 'gifted'.
“This is a nice place.” He nodded appreciatively. He forced himself to turn to her, his instinct to look straight ahead, avoid her gaze... He realized with a start that he felt nervous. There were a myriad of reasons why he ought to be, given their unique situation, but mostly it was butterflies. She was enchanting... Sweet, inviting, self-conscious without being meek... He liked her.
Like... liked her, liked her.
His big eyes searched her face for an inquisitive five seconds, and he lifted the teapot, pouring himself a cup. “You're brave to hold that mug.” He said, holding the ceramic container in the air, fresh beads of teawater still running down its spout.
Risi:
"Brave?" she questioned him, though still laughing at his 'pretty boy' tale. He was pretty though, but more in the handsome, rugged way or at least she thought so. His body dwarfed her's, even when they were both sitting.
She leaned back, relaxing a bit more now, still holding the mug. With a soft sigh, she shut her eyes for a moment, remembering what a fool she had made of herself at the store. Well, if it gets me tall dark and handsome men in my living room, it might be worth it... she thought with a smirk as he surveyed her apartment. She openly watched his expressions, something that had always intrigued her in people, how it went from a smile to a thoughtful look in no time at all, then back to the slightest smile. Sometimes he seemed to smile like he had forgotten how to truly laugh with his whole being. Tara blinked and observed him; she wanted to make him laugh.
MrBurke:
Hedging his bets, he tilted the teapot forward, filling her mug. Robert was able to bring it up and away before sloshing hot liquid down into her lap. He envisioned a bashful apology, dabbing her thighs with a cloth, their eyes meeting, a romantic, cliché kiss. “Brave.” He asserted, nodding. “I always spill.”
Removing the teapot, he set it on the table, along with his own mug to let the steam die down.
“Okay... Awkward time. Show me the feet.” He motioned toward himself, moving to the armrest opposite hers, the small woman afforded enough room that she could stretch out fully without putting her heels in his lap. He liked small women. In comparison to the average, she wasn't abnormally short, but... Small to him. “We're about to get acquainted, honey.” He rolled up his sleeves. “I promise not to touch.”
She was delicate... That's what it was. That's why she caught his eye. Strong, yes, absolutely, he'd seen that. But strong in response to her delicacy. She knew how to motivate herself, which he respected, but the women in his life were so jaded, so worn out, so hard... Seen and done it all, chewed up and spit out, saggy skin and heavy bags under their eyes by twenty-five. Hard wasn't a good thing to be.
People who weren't hard, they coveted that attribute, imitated it, chased it, exposed themselves to distress and hazard in the pursuit of it... Hard people didn't want to be, and if the condition was self-imposed, by the time you got there it just wasn't the point anymore. Eventually you're not fighting and accusing and provoking because you want a rush, want to feel bigger, tougher... You're just doing it because it's who you are, and people like that can't respect themselves.
She respected herself.
Something about her presence made him want that.
“But I do have this thing with smelling toes, if you don't mind - I don't know what it is, but something about the toe-jam just gets me off.” He laughed, then, surprised himself with it. Robert had only meant to smile and imply the joke. His face lit up with it, hands high, surrendering. “Joking! Joking, okay... I'm sorry. You can trust me with this. I promise. G'head.”
Risi:
She giggled and shook her head at him, "You could have told me that. I never spill." Grinning, she lifted her eyebrows and scrunched her nose playfully in a whatever-you-can-do-I-can-do-better sort of way. After a few sips she set down the mug and daintily set her feet close to his lap.
They were bruised and puffy, especially from the walk to the store. The cuts weren't bleeding but they weren't exactly healed either. With his joke, she quickly retracted her feet and hugged her legs to her chest, "Whaat?!" she exclaimed at him. Though, as she thought about it she probably wouldn't mind if he did it, not that she would exactly enjoy it, but she was pretty sure that short of willing her to jump from her balcony, Tara would do what he asked of her. However, her feet were extremely ticklish, and as she slowly lowered her feet back near him, jokingly hesitant, she told him so warningly. "I know you said you wouldn't touch, but still. Just in case."
She then leaned over and grabbed her mug and sipped quietly from it as she observed his gentle movements. A gentle giant, she thought kindly.
MrBurke:
“Aw, hell. You're fine.” He said, waving his fingers at her injuries. “You're obviously not, but... That's in good shape. You must keep them clean. Do you soak them in a saltwater bucket?” He asked casually, lifting his teacup, testing the temperature of the liquid before sipping. “Check this out.” He extended his left arm, overturning his palm, revealing the underside of his forearm, a long, ragged, winding scar that ran from his elbow joint to the heel of his palm. “Looks like attempted suicide, right?” He smiled. “Sidegrinder. Went off the rails, so to speak.” Robert looked almost pleased with himself. “We wrapped it up with a t-shirt and held it in the beer cooler until the ambulance arrived. Caught hell for the beer cooler... Probably a contributing factor.”
“I had this big tin mop bucket I had to dump two cups of seasalt into, hold it under for hours at a time... My whole arm was pale and wrinkly for weeks.” He nodded to her feet. “You're gonna be okay, with those.” Robert found her gaze, and inquired further: “How's the rest of you? With... All that?”
He almost didn't want to know.
Risi:
Tara nodded gently, but figuring she would start the salt tonight because she hadn't thought of simply soaking them. She pulled her feet back to sit crisscross as he talked. The proud smile of it made her smile slightly. "I'm already pale, just not wrinkly, so it won't bother me much," she grinned, though slowly extended a hand to his scar, her index finger slowly advancing on the tight pink line of it. She hesitated slightly, but then placed her finger down the length of his arm, tracing it.
After a few moments of doing so, she pulled back with a bashful smile. "Sorry, scars get me every time. What girl doesn't love a good scar story?" she giggled gently before attempting his last question.
She thought for a moment, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip. Her eyes adverted his gaze as she stared into the couch. "Um," she started softly, but stopped and waited another moment. "Nothing happened really," Tara paused, "It could have been a lot worse. I've just always been a complainer."
She inhaled deeply, a tear dropped to the couch with a slight plunk, and then the fabric of the couch absorbed it.
"They didn't hurt me. I mean one guy was handsy, but I've experienced worse. I think it was the setting really, not having a decision of whether I lived or died." Another breath, another tear, but she continued.
"One of them held me while we were in the getaway car. Like scooped me up and put me in his lap because of the other guy. It didn't seem like he was happy about the situation. I don't think it was the plan." She paused, still looking down, to wipe her eyes lightly. "They made me tell them where I live, I was so afraid they'd break in some nights," she shook her head, "I just sat up in bed with all the lights on." Suddenly, her wall went up, she wiped her eyes again, took a breath and tried a chuckle. "But I'm better now. I have food, and I can almost walk." Her smile was almost cut in half, half up, half down, because that was all she could muster: a one sided smile.
MrBurke:
“Sounds really hard.” He said softly, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. He had to drink it all in. See what he'd done. Watch the pain. Suffer it with her, if only for a minute. If she could live with this, he could watch it for two minutes.
“Hard to imagine... Someone who could do that. So casually, you know? I mean... It sounds like they never came, so... To threaten that and not mean it...” He shrugged. “Sounds like a cruel thing to say.” His big arms crossed. And uncrossed. He felt like squirming in his seat, but he didn't. “They thing about guys like this is, uhm... I mean, from what I hear on television... It's only a smart business decision if they have something to gain. It's not good for them to just... Terrorize randomly. Like, if you go to the police or something.”
His eyebrows knit together. He reached out, put a hand on her shoulder... Tugged at her, shuffled closer. “Have you?” He asked, his heart aching, guilt clawing at his insides. “If you haven't by now, they'd probably never bother with you...” He prayed she wouldn't take this as an invasion of space, curling his huge arm around the back of the couch above her thin shoulders invitingly.
Risi:
Tara melted into his chest, as quick as a sigh. Her frail body was easily wrapped by his. She shrugged slightly, unknowing. "The police came to me, asking me questions, but I didn't know anything, so they left." She shrugged again, "They don't really care about me, just the bank."
Another tear slipped down her cheek and she pulled back away, acting like she was getting her mug. He was a warm body, and a cute one at that, which she hadn't had in awhile but she was so fragile right now. She didn't need an audience to watch her fall apart. She sniffled and sipped her tea, then pushed a stray hair behind her ear.
His body was almost two times hers, but she felt safe. Tara didn't know why, but she was secure with him, she wasn't afraid he was going to hurt her. She could have easily invited a murder into her house and not known it, but she was content with him.
MrBurke:
“That's good then.” He said softly, and immediately realized his mistake. “It's good that you don't know anything... No need to come after you, then. Guys like this... They tend not to chase for no reason, like I said. They hear things, you know? They know cops.” He moved a touch closer, taking her personal space back, playing the hand he was dealt. He could sit back, let the moments stretch, allow her to feel stupid and make useless comments about how it's okay and don't be sad... Women don't want that. They want comfort. They want to asked about feelings, and explore emotion. They don't want distance, as a rule, even when they asked for it.
She wants you to chase you, son. Robert's father had once drunkenly confided.
Who wants me to chase her? He'd inquired sweetly, this being historically prior to his epiphany regarding what actually resided in those shiny pop cans he wasn't allowed to touch.
All of them. He'd nodded knowingly, tipping the can back, winking conspiratorially.
With that pearl of wisdom at heart, he moved closer, but not close enough to touch. “C'mere.” He invited. “I won't bite.” He looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he tried. “I've seen enough girls cry to know they don't like doin' it alone. We've covered a lot of ground pretty quick, here, sugar. Might as well take the comfort.”
Risi:
She didn't really listen to him at first, she was too busy in her head, reliving the experience in her head. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, not wanting to think about it. Tara did notice him scooch closer to her, but she didn't say anything, she preferred it actually.
As he invited her in closer, she paused for a moment but folded. She shuttered slightly and the tears fell from her eyes rapidly. Pressing her body into his, she broke down. Her head pressed into his shoulder, but then looked up at him. Her blue eyes were bright and watery, she blinked and another tear rolled down her cheek.
MrBurke:
It was getting easier to cope with the notion that he'd done this to her. Guilt can only nag at you for so long, he'd learned, and it was more than possible to push it down for hours, even days at a time. He was slowly letting go of the idea that he'd had something to do with this... Robert wasn't programmed to hurt himself indefinitely over things he'd done in the past. That was then. He'd done his best to protect her, make her feel safe, keep her out of the worst of it... This was now.
He pulled her closer... Cupped her cheek with his hand, pushed her tears aside, her entire face engulfed in his huge palm... He lifted her face to his, forced her to make eye contact with him. His expression was tight, hard. Robert was solid. His eyes were steady, strong but not unfeeling. He drank in her emotion, fed it to the list of things he'd done that he hated. That was a deep, hungry hole; he always had room for more regret.
"Come here." He murmured, reaching across her back, sliding one arm down from her shoulder blade to the opposing hip, and scooped the other under her thighs to pick her up - just as he'd done in the van - and put her in his lap, holding her tightly to his chest and shushing her tears. It was a reflex, something he'd learned babysitting his nieces and carried over into girlfriends. He was a big man... Women liked that, a large body. They liked to feel small, something about childhood kicked in and made them respond. He petted her head, held her face, whispered to her: "It's okay now. You're safe." He said softly. "I know... Shh... I know. You're safe. It's alright." The comforting words he used whenever the situation called for it. He didn't realize they were the same ones he'd used when first they'd met... Men are who they are.
Risi:
As his hands went to her cheeks, holding almost her entire face in his palms, she attempted to look away, but his eyes pierced into hers. She couldn't let her gaze drop from his, she wanted his strength, but Tara couldn't muster it.
But as he pulled her up off the couch and into his lap, she clenched her body together. "No," she said suddenly, pulling herself to her feet, re-introducing the pain. "Please, please don't hold me like that." The tears came faster now, her face was read from both the tears and her embaressment. "I'm sorry," she sniffled, "But that was the way the robber held me in the van." Tara cried harder and collapsed back on the couch to the other side of him now. "I'm such a mess," she muttered through tears.
As she pulled herself together, she wondered what kind of a crazy lunitic he thought she was. He was just a nice guy, trying to help her out, and he got caught up into all of this. She shook her head at herself and folded inwards, pulling her knees to her chest and wraping her thin arms around them. Her eyes hurt from all of the tears, as did her head, and of course her feet. "I wish you could have met me before all of this happened. So you sould know I'm not always a crying imbicle," she whispered into her kneecaps, then snuck a glance at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.
Tara pulled her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. He must think I'm bipolar with this constant on and off crying. One moment I'm fine, the next I'm bawling and pulling away from him. She shook her head again, looking back to her knees, I just need to learn a lesson and forget all of this. Never work at a bank, and only invite hot, tall men to your apartment when you're sane.
MrBurke:
“Me too.” He joked weakly, eyebrows arching up, face strained with worry and concern. What should he do? What could he do? She looked so frail... Robert felt distinctly that he'd struck out, but her continuing interest was obvious. One thing was for sure: action was off the table.
He was a pig to even think it, but no man can help considering the possibility, or at least judge the odds before moving the concept off of the table. She was well and truly a wreck. If she asked him, he wouldn't be able. The pit in his stomach could only stretch so deep, boil so much, before his disgust with himself outgrew every other stimulus.
“Jesus, honey... Don't beat yourself up about it. First time I got mugged? I was shaking in my boots for months.” He lifted his shirt, turning to face her. There was a pair of oval scars on the front of his chest, the lower left quadrant of his ribs stained with what looked like old, partially healed kiss-shaped marks from years past.
“Guy knifed me. I wouldn't leave the house. I'm serious – wouldn't even look out the window. You get kidnapped, put in some psycho's lap, they make you crawl across rocks, leave you all cut up like that... I'm not shocked you're in no rush to play Santa Claus. I feel bad for those poor cocksuckers at the mall every year, I'm sure they'll miss you.” The 'play santa' remark was not at all intended as sexual innuendo, and his inflection communicated that. However, the last of his sentence carried as a compliment, his eyes darting down to her seat. Robert figured he could use one.
Risi:
Stealing a glance at his scars, she longed to touch his skin again, but held back, still feeling vulnerable. As they sat silently for a few moments, Tara wondered what she should do. Offer that he leave if he wanted to? She didn't want it to seem like she didn't want him there though. Ask him to stay, maybe even the night? That was too forward even for her past self.
Past self.
There was now a signficant rift in her life, before and after the robbery. How had she let these men have so much power over her? Where had Tara gone?
Into the lap of a stranger, spread over rocks by the bay, she answered herself, My strength is there. All of me is.
A clap of thunder sounded near by, Tara jumped nearly off the couch, jolted from her thoughts. As they had been sitting there, a storm had rolled in. Morosely, she turned to Robert, "You should prolly go home before it gets too bad out there..."
Tara was afraid of thunder, it was the only thing she had been afraid of ever since she was little. However, she wouldn't tell him that. She didn't want him to feel obligated to babysit her. She was a grown-ass woman and she needed to take care of herself.
After another clap of thunder, Tara suddenly found herself hiding in his arms, shaking slightly. Internally rolling her eyes at herself, Right. Very grown up of you. "Sorry," she told him and attempted to pull back away to her corner.
MrBurke:
“Don't be.” He shushed her, shaking fingers through her hair, pulling her closer. His grip was such that she slid over the material of the couch at his tugging, an easy thing, something done without thought. When they cried, you held them. When they shook, you calmed them. When they were scared, you chased away the scary bits.
Storms don't scare easy, so he'd settle for distraction. “Sounds like it's already bad.” He muttered, shifting in his seat, reaching under himself to withdraw an small flat screen, a phone with several other features that jumped to life at the touch of a finger. She was in a very delicate position, right now... To violate her trust, even if she asked him to, would be a fatal mistake, and he could never get close again.
It's better this way, he told himself. If she's close then he can monitor her. He can make sure she doesn't come up with anything new, doesn't have a change of heart... Make sure she moves on with his life. If that means Robert enjoyed the pleasure of her company for a little while, who's to blame him?
“I have a niece. She's has monsters.” The screen lit up, and he navigated to a directory full of .pdf files for just such an occasion. “Monsters under her bed...” He shook his head, putting her feet up on her coffee table. She could feel the muscles in his body relax, prepare for a long rest. He scanned through them and found her favorite. His niece's favorite, that is.
“Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife.” His voice rumbled through his chest, ruminated inside her head as it lay on his breast. “Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds.”
His eyes slid to her, gathering her closer with his arm. “Just relax, honey... I could do this for hours.”
Risi:
Tara gave him a smile, her face tear streaked. She felt like such a child, but his comfort was addictive. His light, friendly touches and how he didn't seem to mind when she got tears all over his shirt was endearing to her.
Her eyes focused back on the screen, blinking slowly, tired from the crying and worry. Her barriers crumbled a bit with each of his words, nearly cuddling into him now.
"The Wizard of Oz is scary," she said softly, "It has a tornado in it." She then looked up at him with a grin, playing with him now. Her face glowed in the dim light of her apartment that weren't supplimented by the natural light of the day. Her eyelids fluttered gently as she attempted to keep them open, her smile still there though.
She streched slightly, then pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and over herself. "Do you want one?" she offered shyly, curling underneath hers. Then, she closed her eyes and rested against him as he began to read from the depths of his large chest again.
Soon, Tara was asleep. Thunder rolled on, but she never jumped or woke. Luckliy, she was a deep sleeper. However, it was unlucky because a few times she had woken from a one-night-stand to an empty bed, never hearing the man leave. Her eyelashes brushed her cheekbones gently, her lips slightly parted as she breathed deeply through them, peaceful. Slumber was her way of escaping now.
“You ready for this?”
“... Fuckin' better be.”
Sam and Eric scrutinized each other as best they could through the slitted eyeholes of their goalie masks, their eye contact extended as though either one could determine the other's mental state through so simple a look, or somehow reinforce one another at a glance.
In a weird way, they did both of those things within miliseconds.
The four men in this van had been through quite a bit together. Brothers all, if not through birth then deemed so by way of a rusty tin clan they'd happened across while smoking weed in their schoolyard one night somewhere in the middle of eighth grade. The barbarous treatment the men here received in their experience within the social care network of this filthy city had hardened and bonded them beyond anything simple blood possibly could have, genetic or otherwise. You don't bring a friend or acquaintance or relative or drinking buddy to a bank robbery. You bring somebody attached to you, helplessly and hopelessly dedicated, for good or ill.
The spring-loaded mechanism on somebody's assault rifle snapped hope and brought a huge round into the chamber. The car slowed to a stop.
“Wake up back there.” Charlie turned his head from the passenger's seat and surveyed the two who seemed to have lost themselves in each other's tension. “Don't you know it's payday?”
They could tell from the wrinkles around his eyes he was smiling.
All four men left the black plumber's van, “Teddy's Pipes” seeming to leap into existence from absolutely no-where, completely innocuous until four men in red-and-black plaid jackets, coveralls, black steel toed boots and white hockey masks exited from all sides. The doorman/security guard's eyes lit up when, after the third blink, he realized what his brain was telling him was actually underway. Today was the day he'd been fearing since the day he took this job.
“Ah!” Said Sam, barking in noncompliance and shaking his head at the hand fumbling around the guard's side. Eric slapped the offending palm away and yanked the revolver out of its holster, Charlie's gun barrel pushing suggestively into the man's chest, backing him into the motion-sensing door with it.
The door swished open, and the frightened man stumbled to his knees in effort to keep balance.
“Listen up! EVERBODY DOWN!” Called out Eric, prepared to rattle off the speech he'd been up until two o'clock and woke up this morning practicing. “We want your money, not your lives! No police means no hostages. I want everybody's cellphones here – RIGHT HERE!” He held a charity donation bucket up in the air, passing it off to Eric, who prepared to make the rounds. “I want everyone to take off your shoes – that's right, take off your shoes, throw them over in this corner here. Right over there, that's right. You're going to throw your wallets against this wall. Wallets, purses, watched, jewelry – I swear to God if I see one Timex you're all gonna get it.”
Robert, the driver, had strafed the mayhem and made it behind the teller's desk, his rifle parallel with the ground, quietly surveying the small crowd. He was tall, well over six feet, perhaps a touch shorter than six five. His build said gym, even in accounting for a bulletproof vest, and his eyes were steady. “You.” He pointed to a balding man in a grey suit complete with matching vest and blue silk handkerchief, the same tone as his tie, just a bit off from his shirt. “You look rich. You the manager?”
“Wh-bwa.... Yes, yes I am.” He nodded, pushing his thick-rimmed brown glasses back up his nose. The man was already sweating profusely.
“You know what I want, right?” Robert said, rapping the back of his knuckles against the thick steel door directly to his left.
There was a moment's hesitation. “Well... You don't understand – I can't open that, the general manager isn't here, and he's got the-”
“You're not Albert Whelpington?” Robert cut him off tiredly.
That gave the man pause, but he didn't drop the guise. “No, you see, he's vacationing in-”
“That's weird.” Robert replied. “Because you look just like the guy in the pictures we took.”
The two men regarded each other in silence for a moment.
There was a woman crouched on the floor who, until that second, had fancied herself invisible to the towering robber. Robert reached down and, through his black leather glove, gripped a sturdy handful of hair and stood, bringing her effortlessly to her feet in agony.
Robert was silent.
“I'll get the code ready.” Albert hastily agreed, rushing the door and fumbling at a card in his breast pocket.
Risi:
Calm, just stay calm, Tara told herself as she watched the men walk in. Surveying the situation, she watched as one of the tellers pressed the silent alarm just seconds before the robber said his line about "No cops". Internally smacking herself in the head as she watched on, now on her knees, throwing her personal items into corners of the bank.
Her boss, Albert, toppled next to her in an ungraceful crash to the floor. Tara rolled her eyes, he couldn't even get on the ground properly, let alone manage anything. But soon, he was yanked from the floor and questioned. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, which is why she didn't see the next thing coming.
Being yanked by her hair, to her feet, she let out a whelp of pain. She attempted to quickly maneuver herself to her heels, but it was painful as she did it. Albert fumbled, yet again, with the code as Tara could hear the soft wailing of sirens approaching the bank. Please, please take him, she thought of Albert, because she knew she had no family that would pay a ransom if it came to that, but neither did he, now that she thought of it.
Closing her eyes, she hoped she would soon wake from this nightmare as the robbers quickly, silently, consulted one-another.
MrBurke:
“Worst case – worst case!” Called out Eric, closest to the door, but the rest of his team already knew. The four men exchanged looks from their respective ends of the bank floor.
They had a decision to make. Leave now, or make a play for the money.
The sirens grew closer as the last mechanical lock on the vault door released, and the thick metal slid open with a gust of air, the air conditioned bank atmosphere sucked in to freshen the hotter, unventilated stale safe.
Charlie looked on from the edge of the teller's counter, opposite Robert's site. The three appeared to be looking to him.
“I need this.” Charlie nearly whispered it, but everybody present was listening so closely he might as well have yelled.
Robert nodded. Charlie hopped the barricade.
Eric turned to face the crowd. “Somebody in here wants to die, huh?” His face turned red hot under the mask. He was furious, and afraid, and needed a victim. “Somebody's got a fuckin' death wish. Who was it?” Whirling in place, he spied the thing he'd been trained to look for, the red-flashing culprit fashioned to the baseboard of a wall. There were three people crouched near it, and only one refused to look up.
“This fuckin' guy.” He pointed, and Sam rushed in to haul the man to his feet. The sirens stopped as police cars collected outside the bank's entrance, and the butt of a rifle left a red mark where the corner of Eric's rifle butt came down on his head. Someone screamed, and the man's bones seemed to wilt.
Sam withdrew a gas grenade from his belt, and waited. Sure enough, within seconds, a policemen's voice carried through a megaphone: “You inside! Come out with your hands up. We've got the building surrounded. You have nothing to gain here. It's too late.”
The two boys out on the bank floor exchanged a look, and pulled the pin on the gas grenade, letting it clatter to the ground. Slowly the room began filling with smoke.
Meanwhile, as Charlie ransacked the vault from the inside, he motioned to the girl in Robert's grasp. “We're taking her.”
“What?” Robert blinked. “Is there even room?”
“We're taking her, because if this fails we've got nothing.” Charlie ripped open bags of money and rifled through them, making a small pile of hundred dollar bill stacks and an ever growing second pile of twenties, tens and fives.
“It was your plan.” Robert balked. Leave with the woman?
“Yeah. I made the plan. Thanks for coming up with our backup.” Charlie finished sorting his bag and moved on to another.
“This is a whole new set of problems. What are we gonna do with her once we're out?” Robert shook his head.
Charlie looked for the woman's eyes, and though he couldn't see it, Robert could damn near hear the man's smile. “We'll think of something.”
Risi:
Tara simply cried out as the man made the decision. "No, please, no!" she screamed as the other man pulled her along, almost unwillingly it seemed. The grouped filed out the back door, pulling her into a damp, dark van.
Suddenly, there was a piece of cloth over her eyes and her arms were bound as the truck took off in a cloud of smoke with loud grinding gears. Tara whimpered her pleas, her eyes now crying under the blindfold. "Please," she cries, not knowing what happened to the mighty police, or even if they knew she was missing. They probably didn't, not yet anyways.
Feeling a hand brush against her pale leg, she cringed, then heard a chuckle. Her tears then fell below the cloth across her eyes. "Please," she whimpers, "Leave me alone. Let me go."
MrBurke:
“Little late.” Robert replied, slapping away Charlie's hand as Sam brought the careening van down a small network of intersecting alleyways, ramming a small cluster of plastic garbage cans and bags behind a restaurant's back door.
Charlie giggled in his seat, putting an arm around Tara's shoulder, squeezing her close to him jokingly. “You know we're gonna kill you, right?” He snickered, reaching over her blouse to cup her right breast. Robert caught his hand before it got there and tossed it away.
Robert's right arm slid underneath Tara's knees, his left digging a path across her back, hoisting her easily into his lap and cradling her small body against his front. He could feel her alarm at her repositioning, but he did his best to quell her.
“Hey – hey – he's lying. You're safe. I know, I know. You're safe. It's alright. We're going to find someplace to drop you off. You're okay. It's going to be okay.” He swept a tear from her left cheek with his gloved right thumb, drawing her closer with his left arm.
“I bet she feels real safe in your lap.” Charlie joked, his eyes drifting over her hair and figure, scorn obvious in his voice from being punished so.
Risi:
Tara shook gently as the touchy man put his arm around her shoulder, violating her. Then, she folded inward as the first man set her in his lap, her tears still pooling, now more so as the threat to kill her has rose from the man's mouth.
Shrinking away from the first man's touch, she sniffled, tears slowing at the kind touch, but it was still unwanted. "Please let me go," she whispered to him as he cradled her body. Her hair was stuck to every part of her nervously sweaty body and she absent mindedly attempted to push it off of her, wondering what would happen to her next.
MrBurke:
“Jesus...” Robert made a slightly disgusted grunt at her sweating and pouring tears, shaking his head and raising his hands away from her. “Fucking Christ. Why did we have to take this one, man?” Robert's eyes squinted under the mask, looking her up and down, knowing that these moments would be imprinted on her for the rest of her life. Everything he did would be etched into her memory, cause trauma, bring about neuroses... He felt uneasy for his part in her undeserved punishment.
“You'd rather have the bank manager in your lap?” Charlie asked, motioning with his hand to have her back. “C'mon, man.” Both arms extended, now, he reached for her.
Robert felt torn. Typically he was the cool headed one, the first to make the hard decisions, the man his crew looked to first and foremost for advice and direction. Here, he felt lost. Give her back to Charlie? Leave her in his lap, after she'd asked to be released? Sometimes there is no right answer.
“I don't like him touchin' on you like that.” Robert grumbled, shifting his knees under her, rocking Tara's small body with the motion and causing her to bump against his chest. “He's just going to do it more.” Taking a small, defeated breath, he continued. “You stay. Get comfortable. We're taking you out to the water.”
“Nah. She'd be happier over here with me.” Charlie just wouldn't let up, moving closer. “Hey – hey, what's your name. Hm? What's your name, girl? If you lie to me... Well, you can just imagine what I'm gonna let the boys do.” He laughed, tugging on a small lock of hair. “Where do you live, honey?
Risi:
Tara pulled her head to the man's chest, shivering slightly in the cool air now blasting in the van, attempting to relax with his soft words. As the touchy-man began to call for her, she felt the pause in his touch.
She held her breath as the pause continued, but as he held to her she finally exhaled. The tug on her hair reminded her that the man could still bother her, but she hoped the man holding her now wouldn't let him.
Once again threatened, she spit her name out quickly, "Tara, I live on the other side of the city. Well, the side opposite the bank." She shivered, and attempted to pull away from his prying hands and questions, ending up closer to her protector
MrBurke:
"No, no: what's your address, you stupid bitch?" Charlie demanded, swatting the back of her head. "I want to know so we can find you if you squeal."
Robert's hand reflexively cupped the back of her skull where he'd hit her, and in doing so brought her face more firmly into his chest, angling her small body further into his. Speaking softly, he did his best to keep the emotion out of his voice.
"We need to know." He reaffirmed, his right hand heavy on her left thigh, tugging her into him protectively.
"And you just know what it's gonna be like if I gotta come down there. You got any nieces? Sisters? Are they as pretty as you, sweetie?"
"We're just going to look you up later. Tell him." Robert continued, stroking her outer thigh with short, inoffensive movements in what he hoped was a semi-comforting gesture.
"Almost there." Eric said from the front seat, angry at Charlie, and at the same time jealous of the power he was exerting over this young woman.
Risi:
Tara cringed once again with the smack to the head, then shaking her head at herself and her stupity. Though, she appreciated the protective nature of the touch that followed. "486 Cinter Way, Underbridge," she sputtered out quickly for him. "And no, I don't have any sisters or nieces," she added quickly to please as the driver told them they were close to where ever they were headed.
Pulling herself in closer to her protector, Tara whimpered with the added information, worried once again. Though her tears and perspiration had faded, her fears had not. "Please," she said under her breath to him, hoping that it would aid in keeping her life.
She then gave an additional shiver in his arms as the van came to a halt and she heard the gears grind into park.
MrBurke:
"You did good." Robert assured her, stroking her mussed hair gently, further ruining the already destroyed hairstyle she'd likely labored over that morning. Sliding the door open, he hooked his arms under her once again and lowered her shoeless feet to the rocky edge of a beach. The smell of the harbor was strong, and the sandy banks below sloshed lazily with the sound of crashing water.
"Walk in a straight line until you feel the water." Robert said, hands on her hips, steadying her until he felt confident she wouldn't fall down. "If there's anything you think you saw, you didn't see it. Remember that. We didn't talk in the van, you didn't say anything, we didn't ask anything. You don't remember." Reluctantly, he released her. "If we get word that you're cooperating with the police, we will kill you."
Charlie leaned out of the van: "Not before we take what's ours." Cracking a hand across her ass, he fell back into his seat laughing, high on the rush of threatening this young woman, evading police and earning himself a tidy thirty thousand dollar payday.
Robert breathed through his nose. "Keep your mouth shut and you'll be fine. You can do this. Just walk in a straight line."
Risi:
Tara took deep breaths, breathing in the smell of the salt in the air, hoping with all of her that it was real. That if she did as he said, she would reach the water, and not fall off a cliff. He protected her in the van, but would he let her die if they'd already left?
She got down to her knees, crawling along the beach to her hopeful safety. The rocks poked into her knees and bare hands. The sand beneath her grew wetter, then she suddenly felt the water lap against her fingers. It scared her at first, but then she wrenched up the blindfold and sat in the sand. She knew where she was, but that was all she really knew.
Sitting in the sand, she looked down at herself. Sad, pitiful, shaking, Tara pulled her legs up to her chest and cried in the harbor. After an hour of sitting alone, she finally rose and headed to her home.
A few weeks later, she rubbed her feet as she sat on her balcony. The bruises and cuts were still healing on her heals from the walk home from hell.
MrBurke:
Robert, a block down the street, watched back.
He had binoculars wrapped in a newspaper, and every so often he'd raise the makeshift disguise to his eyes, but he could see her figure plainly enough from where he was. If she left, he'd know, but something about the look on her face made him check back often. He could see the red lines and welts he'd helped create. To go back, would he do it all again?
Every individual decision made sense, in retrospect, but the outcome... He didn't know. Dressed in blue jeans, a brown horizontally striped polo shirt, green aviator sunglasses and a pair of Nike runners he looked like anyone else on the street. His watch, a white gold Rolex, read one twenty three. It was his only piece of jewelry, everything on him clean and pressed as though he'd bought it that day.
What was she thinking? Robert knew it was a ridiculous thing to wonder, but he couldn't help imagining her reliving their brief time together. No doubt she'd had nightmares about him. Feared him. Winced with disgust when picturing his mask, hearing his voice... The idea make him feel dirty. He sipped a bottle of iced tea and stretched on the bus stop bench, waving by yet enough driver who held their door open expectantly, waiting for him to enter.
Risi:
As she caressed her feet gently, a tear fell slowly down her cheek. Hating herself for crying again, she wiped it away. "God dammit," she said angrily and rose to her feet, wincing slightly as she took each step.
Hobbling back into her apartment, Tara found more tears falling, this time from pain. Though the pain she slipped on her favorite pair of converse, broken in over a number of years. She then grabbed a maroon zip-up jacket and pulled it over her arms gingerly. Hugging herself lightly she took a deep breath and grabbed her keys and purse. No matter how much she wanted to sit at home and cry, she needed to go to the grocery store and run some errands.
As she walked out onto the street, she looked down to the ground and pushed her straight blonde hair out of her eyes. Each step wore on her soul, reminding her of the walk before. Another tear, another curse under her breath, but she walked on.
MrBurke:
"Fuck..." He muttered when she crossed the street, unfolding the newspaper and leaving the binoculars in his lap. She rounded the street corner opposite his seat, and he folded the top left corner down to watch her pass.
He looked to his right, finding a man in a business suit eying him suspiciously. Robert gave him a tight smile, holding up the binoculars. "No good birds this time of day."
The man furrowed his eyebrows, looking increasingly concerned. Robert stood up and revealed his height, his size, his demeanor, and the stranger's expression changed.
"Have a nice day." Robert nodded, his eyes serious. The man looked away.
Robert continued down the street at a leisurely pace, having to check his speed, long legs carrying him faster than was advantageous at that particular moment. He noticed something in her walk, evidence of the cuts, a sort of limp that carried on both feet instead of just one. Something tugged at his insides...
For a few weeks he'd been sitting on her apartment - there had been a lot of traffic, mostly concerned looking people who later via license plates revealed themselves to be co-workers and concerned relatives. No cops. She'd been having food delivered, people were bringing her necessities... Lately she'd been getting back on her feet. It was good to see, really. He'd never suspected he and his brothers had caused her permanent harm, but after several days it had certainly begun to feel that way.
It was difficult to imagine... Here she was, a square girl, a banker no less... Never been in a fight, never held a gun, never took a vacation... Then suddenly she's shaking in some killer's lap with Goddamn Charlie smacking her ass and pulling her hair, talking about rape and murder... Generally speaking the kind of people Robert associated with didn't bother much with civilians. That's what they called them. Civilians. Unaffiliated people.
If you did what he did, if you were from where he was from, you were part of a different world. People like her just didn't come t across them unless they were doing something they shouldn't be. For something like that to happen to him, or his boys... they'd signed up for the life at an early age. Her? The was far and away the most traumatic thing she'd probably ever go through. “Better chance'a getting hit by fuckin' lightning...” He whispered to himself, watching her thin figure saunter down the sidewalk.
She was beautiful.
As marks go, he could have done a lot worse. Watching her was something he'd gotten used to, even looked forward to. He'd begun taking note of little things... how and when she fussed over her hair, the way she pursed her lips when she thought, the expression she made when she cried...
He had trouble admitting it to himself, but he found her most striking, most undeniably beautiful when she cried. That was when he used the binoculars the most... She spent so much time mustering strength, being strong... But when she cried... It all fell away, and she was naked, right there in front of him. He saw so much strength, and pain, and sorrow... Every time she wept he felt a little closer, a little more remorse.
Then, immediately after, felt pangs of guilt, and worried about the creepy nature inherent to spying on a woman during such an intimate emotional thrall.
Those things came back to him now, watching her behind sway down the street through his sunglasses, unable to keep his eyes from her hips for long. Why not? He might as well enjoy his task... It felt like free money, when the kiddy got divvied up, but as far as the actual work involved he might as well apply for a job at one of these banks instead of robbing them.
Risi:
The automatic doors slid open as Tara walked into the grocery store, though as she entered she was almost trampled by a woman and her cart. Tara simply moved out of the way without a word, where before the event she would have called the rude woman out, asking what her problem was.
Pulling a basket to carry her things was a personal challenge for her. She knew if she got a cart she would lean on it, but she wanted to be strong instead. As her basket began to fill up, she found this was a bad idea as it added weight to her feet, making them hurt more. Letting out a sigh as she entered the cereal aisle, the basket dropped from her hands and she had to lean against the rows of boxes for support. "Really?" she questioned herself out loud, disgusted with her weakness now. "Fuck you feet," she said under her breath.
Pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders she mustered up the strength to pick up her basket, grab a box of Captin Crunch to add to her basket, and hobble down the rest of the isle. She had to stop a few times, but she never dropped the basket again.
Almost proud, she neared the checkout line then saw that it was eight people long. This would take at least twenty minutes. Tara shook her head sadly and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the frozen foods section. "Fuck," she added as she turned, putting her back against the door, and slid down to the floor. She held her face in her hands and cried.
Tara wasn't sure what she was crying for anymore. The pain, a little bit, the touching in her abduction, not at all, not having a job because she refused to return to the bank, no. What am I crying for? she thought as she began to pull herself again, embarrassed at the loss of control in public. Looking back at the line around the corner, she winced. It had gotten longer. Do I really need this stuff? she began to question herself, Yes. Rising once again to her feet, she mentally cut running errands from her list, those could wait. She limped to the line and stood, attempting to hid the pain in her face by looking at the magazine rack absently.
MrBurke:
“Good God...” Something in him made his body lurch when she dropped her basket, holding himself back. There was a part of him he'd come to know well, it was just above his stomach, a few inches below his heart, and when he needed to do something hideous Robert had learned to cool it, make it stiff, push it down before it had a chance to react. He knew in advance before these things happened – people didn't typically seek him out for violent purposes, and when they did, he was the victim. When he knew someone was about to be victimized, he prepared himself. This? Watching her stumble and fall apart, cry in public... There was no preparing for it. It wasn't something he was doing to her.
It was something he'd already done.
Robert was aware that the things he did... They didn't go away, not for a long time. That was the idea – you hurt a man, humiliate him, destroy his confidence. You make an example, so that the next time you want something you don't need to ask twice. But once he'd done these things, he left, and his absence only intensified the mystique around himself and his gang. It's easier to intimidate a community if every time you're seen, someone gets hurt.
They didn't victimize women out of habit.. You don't get much done that way – people will only tolerate so much, that was a tenant of the business passed down from the neighborhood bosses and enforced. Now, approaching the checkout line, he could see why. That thing, that muscle, that guilty throbbing parasite, it tugged at his heart strings and pointed to the suffering he'd caused. Weeks of this, now.
“Are you in line, sweetie?” Asked a middle-aged African American mother, short and chubby. He'd wandered close enough to the lines that his patronage was in question.
“Yeah.” He nodded, stepping forward into the checkout line directly behind Tara.
“Where are your groceries?” The woman asked, furrowing her eyebrows at him.
He looked at his empty hands. “Just driving by... Needed a drink.” He blinked, reaching into the cooler on his right, sliding the glass door aside and grabbing an energy drink. “Besides, I couldn't help but wonder...” He fingered the glossy magazines Tara stared so intently at. “Brangelina, you know? Are the kids safe?”
He smiled to indicate he was making a joke. What the fuck are you doing, Bobby... “Listen, I don't want to sound like an asshole, but... You okay? I saw you, ahm... In the isle, and...” Shut up... Leave the poor woman alone. "I didn't know if you needed a hand with the bags."
Risi:
Tara blinked up at him, confused by the first question. She was really unaware of where she had been looking until he asked her that. But as he mentioned the crying, she turned hard instantly. I thought no one had seen. I'm so stupid. Shaking her head at him she turned away and said, "No, thanks," curtly. However, as she said it, she stumbled over her tired feet slightly, causing more pain and spilling her groceries.
"Fuck it all!" she cried out and dropped to her knees to collect her things. Unknowingly, tears had begun to slip down her face, her eyes red. Now everyone was watching.
Tara took heaving breaths through her tears, pressing her forehead gingerly. "Maybe I do," she said, looking up to the stranger in line. What's the worst he could do to me? she added sarcastically in her head.
Finally after pulling her things together into the basket, she stood slowly, wishing she hadn't as soon as she did. This was such a stupid idea, Tara she told herself in painful anger.
MrBurke:
He reached out to lift her basket away, slowly, swallowing as he did it. His mouth opened to speak, but the first set of words died in his mouth. “Robert.” He offered, placing the handle into his left hand, offering up his massive right. “I hope you don't live too far away, I got a bad knee.”
It occurred to him a second later he should have smiled when he'd said that. “Small talk... Not my strong suit.” He gave a thin smile, looking her up and down. “You hurt?” He did his best to sound innocent. Again, not his strong suit. “Not that it's my business, but... Seems like a rough day.”
He began to walk, worried at her ability to keep up. It seemed like her condition was worsening by the minute. She'd gotten here mostly okay, but he'd seen her drop her things twice now... Robert had to hope the alleviation of her added weight would help.
Risi:
Tara gave him a light smile as she pressed her small hand into his large one, "Tara," she said softly. She giggled softly, nervously, "I don't live that far, and I'm not that great at small talk either."
As he look her up and down a slight tingle went through her body, but she pushed it away. She was not in a place to attempt play the part of a girlfriend, she was way too fragile right now. She checked out silently, then paid for her things. The woman working the counter looked at her enviously, for what Tara didn't know.
"Its not that far," she said to him as the woman began to scan Robert's items. "A few blocks. What happened to your knee?" Her attempt at small talk wasn't that great either, prying into a stranger's life.
MrBurke:
"Football pile-up." He replied, moving out of the store with her, onto the asphalt, still paying careful attention to her condition as she walked. "It's okay, though." He admitted, nodding. "I sucked anyway." This time he did smile, and surprised himself with it. Robert didn't flirt, as a rule. Most women didn't like the notion of somebody six and a half feet making a play for sweetness - it didn't play well, and nobody likes a stereotype. He was bit, he was under-educated, and he tended to think along the basics of whatever was going on.
Like, now, for instance. The words 'pretty girl' ran through his mind consistently, overriding the constant pleas from his rational mind to disengage, distance himself, fade back into the background. Here he was walking her along like they were going to a picnic.
"Your turn. You got some bruises, there..." He motioned to the heels of her palms, the scratches on her elbows... "You alright?"
Risi:
Returning his smile, she nodded, somewhat actually interested in what he was saying. Though, as the subject focused to her, Tara shrunk back into herself slightly. Do I lie?, she wondered. But as the pregnant pause grew larger she blurted "I was in a bank heist actually. I was their hostage...?" she said, clarifying. "The let me go, obviously, but I had to walk from across town in my bare feet. I really hated mid-town because there was a bunch of broken bottles there..." she rambled when she was nervous. She hadn't told anyone this, but she was spilling her new life story to a complete stranger.
As she stumbled along with him, Tara just gazed upwards at him. Surprised at his height compared to her five-four, the line of his jaw... Tara!, she interrupted her thoughts, What the hell? They soon approached her apartment, but she didn't exactly want to go back to her lonely flat. "Um," she paused, "Would you like repayment for your kindness? A beer maybe? I make a mean mac and cheese if you're hungry..." she trailed off, attempting to find something that would please his unknown tastes. Her smile was back, pulled from the depths of where it had been hiding over the last few weeks. Her small lips quivers at the thought of being rejected, but she stood strong. Or attempted to.
MrBurke:
“Jesus...” He mumbled, unwilling to say anything bad about the robbers, not really wanting to contribute to the topic at all. She glossed over it so quickly, he was happy for the respite. “I really should be going...” He started to say. “I have a few things to do, and I really don't want to bother...” He saw the defeat in her eyes. The loneliness in her face. The quiver of her lip, the meek way she held herself, the tense set of her shoulders...
You fucked up, Robert. Bad. But now you're fucking up worse. Do not send this girl upstairs alone.
He struggled for the words. “Fuck it. Yeah, I'll come up. But no funny stuff, okay?” He pointed an accusing finger at her, working up a little smile. “Just because we're going to your apartment doesn't mean you're gonna get lucky. I have standards.” The smile grew, became more genuine. He even laughed. Her delicacy drew him in... She was so fragile, and so strong at the same time...
He couldn't take his eyes off her. “Lead the way. Let’s get you off those feet.”
Risi:
She giggled lightly at him, nervous but successful, "I can't promise anything," she winked jokingly. They turned the corner near her building, then to the elevator. She tenderly stood on one leg at a time, crossing her left over her right at the ankle gingerly as they rode the elevator. When the two reached the third floor, they disembarked and Tara led him down a hall to her apartment. "Home sweet home," she said softly, kiddingly.
As they entered she asked, "What do you do for a living?" not trying to be nosy, just create conversation. As they walked in, they approached her kitchen, where she opened a drawer and dropped her keys. Then reached for the bags of her groceries from Robert, hoping to put them away quickly then stop standing as soon as possible. Tara shifted from foot to foot painfully as she slipped her shoes off, hoping it would help.
MrBurke:
Robert withheld the bags. “Sit down.” The words came short, but with a smile. “I can figure this out.” Refusing her the effort, he skirted the woman standing in place to approach her fridge. Without permission he opened the door. “Wow... You... Really needed groceries.” He chuckled, setting the perishables inside, moving on to her cupboard.
“I work in construction.” He fed her the stock line. People who didn't work in construction didn't really know what to ask about, and even those who did, didn't care. “Drywall mostly, painting... I've got my welder's certificate, but I got promoted to union delegate six months ago. The fellas trust me to speak for them, I guess. Wouldn't take anyone else.” It was an easy ruse, and reflected the reality of his place in the organization ironically. The story was something he had close as hand whenever someone asked. Running the tap to fill up her kettle, he set it on the stove and lit the burner.
“We get cut up sometimes. On the job. You gotta learn some first aid.” He said over his shoulder, withdrawing two mugs and a tea bag. “You should let me take a look at those feet. You strike me as a little too stubborn to go to the doctor... If they get infected you could loose 'em.” Turning back to face her, he smiled. This time it was a little more pure. His shoulders relaxed, his chest swelled... He felt big in her little apartment. Robert had always chosen places with high ceilings and big rooms, having the money to choose and the size to warrant it.
Robert didn't like to keep a steady girlfriend. You didn't really meet new women, where he was from... You just got back with the old ones. Everyone in his neighborhood had grown up together. It was this perpetual whirlwind of drama and recycled lust. He didn't date, he didn't mingle, he didn't seek out connection. It was easy to feel like the five block radius between the freeway and the ballpark was the entire world. Women would seek him out, for money, thrill or a status boost. He didn't need to look. His lifestyle made the consequences for dating outside the pond severe. When women got scared, they talked. Even when they weren't scared they talked. Half the appeal of being with someone like Robert is showing him off, bragging about him, whispering sinful details of his work life... Even when he didn't tell them anything little clues cropped up, enough to hang him with. Women tend to be very intuitive that way.
With this convenient little lie in place, he didn't need to worry about all that, and it felt nice to just talk with someone who didn't know his business. Again, the culture was very tight-lipped, and the more someone of his caliber spoke the less intimidating he seemed. With no fear, there was no gang. His brooding was imposed, not his preference.
“And if that happens, I'm not carrying you and your fucking groceries back and forth every week.” The kettle whistled, and he filled a teapot and brought it along with the mugs to her coffee table. It occurred to him that he hadn't been asked to stay. She invited him up, but nothing beyond that. “Sorry if I'm forward... I'm Irish. Tea's implied. I didn't see any whiskey, so...
Risi:
Palms on her cheeks, her legs folded in to a pretzel as her elbows perched on her knees, Tara looked almost comfortable. After he had commanded her to sit, she figured she didn't have much of a choice, which was what she was beginning to feel about him taking a look at her sore feet as he began to talk.
Her head tilted to the side as he heated the water using the kettle, for her the kettle was almost for show, she always used the microwave. With a smirk, she watched him navigate around the kitchen. Compared to her, he was a giant, reaching the most top shelves that she had to use a stepladder to dream of touching. She listened intently as he continued about his job, though her mind began to wander as she watched his strong hands place her groceries.
"I suppose, for your sake, you can check out my feet. That way, I'll hobble to the store and you can just be my bag boy," she smiled bashfully at him. It was impossible to call him anything close to a boy, but that just made it funnier in her mind. As the kettle blew, she shook her head at his kitchen skills. Definitely would have used the microwave..., she thought as he poured them each tea with a smart remark on the side. It seemed to be his style, and her's as well.
"I haven't had company in a while, besides some wayward members bearing over-cooked lasagna. I enjoy that you made yourself at home, because I wouldn't have been able to get home without your help. Sorry I'm such a terrible host..." remarking with a blush as she took the mug from his hand. "Thanks though, for everything."
A smile still hung on her lips as he sat beside her.
MrBurke:
“My pleasure.” He said, the couch slouching deeply when he creaked down onto the springs. He gripped the table, pulled it a few inches closer, and relaxed. “Hard for pretty girls to be poor hosts. Men are supposed to do everything anyways.” He tugged his shirt down, set his sunglasses on the wood surface. “If not for carrying heavy things and reaching stuff on high shelves, then what?” He gave her another one of those big toothy grins. “It's not for lookin' pretty.”
“At least it shouldn't be.” He wet his lips, glancing around her place. “Some of these guys you see out here, in these shops...” He shook his head absently. “Way I was raised, you don't use hair gel. That's makeup. I can still hear my Grandmother: 'Don't you let me catch you in gold rings and silk shirts like these pretty boys, Robert. You're conspicuous as it is. I'm not buying you skirts!'” He chuckled to himself, putting his right ankle on his left knee, tugging up the sock his pantleg exposed. “Special lady.” The word 'special' came out the way you might refer to a cooky neighbor with a porcelain doll collection as 'gifted'.
“This is a nice place.” He nodded appreciatively. He forced himself to turn to her, his instinct to look straight ahead, avoid her gaze... He realized with a start that he felt nervous. There were a myriad of reasons why he ought to be, given their unique situation, but mostly it was butterflies. She was enchanting... Sweet, inviting, self-conscious without being meek... He liked her.
Like... liked her, liked her.
His big eyes searched her face for an inquisitive five seconds, and he lifted the teapot, pouring himself a cup. “You're brave to hold that mug.” He said, holding the ceramic container in the air, fresh beads of teawater still running down its spout.
Risi:
"Brave?" she questioned him, though still laughing at his 'pretty boy' tale. He was pretty though, but more in the handsome, rugged way or at least she thought so. His body dwarfed her's, even when they were both sitting.
She leaned back, relaxing a bit more now, still holding the mug. With a soft sigh, she shut her eyes for a moment, remembering what a fool she had made of herself at the store. Well, if it gets me tall dark and handsome men in my living room, it might be worth it... she thought with a smirk as he surveyed her apartment. She openly watched his expressions, something that had always intrigued her in people, how it went from a smile to a thoughtful look in no time at all, then back to the slightest smile. Sometimes he seemed to smile like he had forgotten how to truly laugh with his whole being. Tara blinked and observed him; she wanted to make him laugh.
MrBurke:
Hedging his bets, he tilted the teapot forward, filling her mug. Robert was able to bring it up and away before sloshing hot liquid down into her lap. He envisioned a bashful apology, dabbing her thighs with a cloth, their eyes meeting, a romantic, cliché kiss. “Brave.” He asserted, nodding. “I always spill.”
Removing the teapot, he set it on the table, along with his own mug to let the steam die down.
“Okay... Awkward time. Show me the feet.” He motioned toward himself, moving to the armrest opposite hers, the small woman afforded enough room that she could stretch out fully without putting her heels in his lap. He liked small women. In comparison to the average, she wasn't abnormally short, but... Small to him. “We're about to get acquainted, honey.” He rolled up his sleeves. “I promise not to touch.”
She was delicate... That's what it was. That's why she caught his eye. Strong, yes, absolutely, he'd seen that. But strong in response to her delicacy. She knew how to motivate herself, which he respected, but the women in his life were so jaded, so worn out, so hard... Seen and done it all, chewed up and spit out, saggy skin and heavy bags under their eyes by twenty-five. Hard wasn't a good thing to be.
People who weren't hard, they coveted that attribute, imitated it, chased it, exposed themselves to distress and hazard in the pursuit of it... Hard people didn't want to be, and if the condition was self-imposed, by the time you got there it just wasn't the point anymore. Eventually you're not fighting and accusing and provoking because you want a rush, want to feel bigger, tougher... You're just doing it because it's who you are, and people like that can't respect themselves.
She respected herself.
Something about her presence made him want that.
“But I do have this thing with smelling toes, if you don't mind - I don't know what it is, but something about the toe-jam just gets me off.” He laughed, then, surprised himself with it. Robert had only meant to smile and imply the joke. His face lit up with it, hands high, surrendering. “Joking! Joking, okay... I'm sorry. You can trust me with this. I promise. G'head.”
Risi:
She giggled and shook her head at him, "You could have told me that. I never spill." Grinning, she lifted her eyebrows and scrunched her nose playfully in a whatever-you-can-do-I-can-do-better sort of way. After a few sips she set down the mug and daintily set her feet close to his lap.
They were bruised and puffy, especially from the walk to the store. The cuts weren't bleeding but they weren't exactly healed either. With his joke, she quickly retracted her feet and hugged her legs to her chest, "Whaat?!" she exclaimed at him. Though, as she thought about it she probably wouldn't mind if he did it, not that she would exactly enjoy it, but she was pretty sure that short of willing her to jump from her balcony, Tara would do what he asked of her. However, her feet were extremely ticklish, and as she slowly lowered her feet back near him, jokingly hesitant, she told him so warningly. "I know you said you wouldn't touch, but still. Just in case."
She then leaned over and grabbed her mug and sipped quietly from it as she observed his gentle movements. A gentle giant, she thought kindly.
MrBurke:
“Aw, hell. You're fine.” He said, waving his fingers at her injuries. “You're obviously not, but... That's in good shape. You must keep them clean. Do you soak them in a saltwater bucket?” He asked casually, lifting his teacup, testing the temperature of the liquid before sipping. “Check this out.” He extended his left arm, overturning his palm, revealing the underside of his forearm, a long, ragged, winding scar that ran from his elbow joint to the heel of his palm. “Looks like attempted suicide, right?” He smiled. “Sidegrinder. Went off the rails, so to speak.” Robert looked almost pleased with himself. “We wrapped it up with a t-shirt and held it in the beer cooler until the ambulance arrived. Caught hell for the beer cooler... Probably a contributing factor.”
“I had this big tin mop bucket I had to dump two cups of seasalt into, hold it under for hours at a time... My whole arm was pale and wrinkly for weeks.” He nodded to her feet. “You're gonna be okay, with those.” Robert found her gaze, and inquired further: “How's the rest of you? With... All that?”
He almost didn't want to know.
Risi:
Tara nodded gently, but figuring she would start the salt tonight because she hadn't thought of simply soaking them. She pulled her feet back to sit crisscross as he talked. The proud smile of it made her smile slightly. "I'm already pale, just not wrinkly, so it won't bother me much," she grinned, though slowly extended a hand to his scar, her index finger slowly advancing on the tight pink line of it. She hesitated slightly, but then placed her finger down the length of his arm, tracing it.
After a few moments of doing so, she pulled back with a bashful smile. "Sorry, scars get me every time. What girl doesn't love a good scar story?" she giggled gently before attempting his last question.
She thought for a moment, her teeth tugging on her bottom lip. Her eyes adverted his gaze as she stared into the couch. "Um," she started softly, but stopped and waited another moment. "Nothing happened really," Tara paused, "It could have been a lot worse. I've just always been a complainer."
She inhaled deeply, a tear dropped to the couch with a slight plunk, and then the fabric of the couch absorbed it.
"They didn't hurt me. I mean one guy was handsy, but I've experienced worse. I think it was the setting really, not having a decision of whether I lived or died." Another breath, another tear, but she continued.
"One of them held me while we were in the getaway car. Like scooped me up and put me in his lap because of the other guy. It didn't seem like he was happy about the situation. I don't think it was the plan." She paused, still looking down, to wipe her eyes lightly. "They made me tell them where I live, I was so afraid they'd break in some nights," she shook her head, "I just sat up in bed with all the lights on." Suddenly, her wall went up, she wiped her eyes again, took a breath and tried a chuckle. "But I'm better now. I have food, and I can almost walk." Her smile was almost cut in half, half up, half down, because that was all she could muster: a one sided smile.
MrBurke:
“Sounds really hard.” He said softly, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. He had to drink it all in. See what he'd done. Watch the pain. Suffer it with her, if only for a minute. If she could live with this, he could watch it for two minutes.
“Hard to imagine... Someone who could do that. So casually, you know? I mean... It sounds like they never came, so... To threaten that and not mean it...” He shrugged. “Sounds like a cruel thing to say.” His big arms crossed. And uncrossed. He felt like squirming in his seat, but he didn't. “They thing about guys like this is, uhm... I mean, from what I hear on television... It's only a smart business decision if they have something to gain. It's not good for them to just... Terrorize randomly. Like, if you go to the police or something.”
His eyebrows knit together. He reached out, put a hand on her shoulder... Tugged at her, shuffled closer. “Have you?” He asked, his heart aching, guilt clawing at his insides. “If you haven't by now, they'd probably never bother with you...” He prayed she wouldn't take this as an invasion of space, curling his huge arm around the back of the couch above her thin shoulders invitingly.
Risi:
Tara melted into his chest, as quick as a sigh. Her frail body was easily wrapped by his. She shrugged slightly, unknowing. "The police came to me, asking me questions, but I didn't know anything, so they left." She shrugged again, "They don't really care about me, just the bank."
Another tear slipped down her cheek and she pulled back away, acting like she was getting her mug. He was a warm body, and a cute one at that, which she hadn't had in awhile but she was so fragile right now. She didn't need an audience to watch her fall apart. She sniffled and sipped her tea, then pushed a stray hair behind her ear.
His body was almost two times hers, but she felt safe. Tara didn't know why, but she was secure with him, she wasn't afraid he was going to hurt her. She could have easily invited a murder into her house and not known it, but she was content with him.
MrBurke:
“That's good then.” He said softly, and immediately realized his mistake. “It's good that you don't know anything... No need to come after you, then. Guys like this... They tend not to chase for no reason, like I said. They hear things, you know? They know cops.” He moved a touch closer, taking her personal space back, playing the hand he was dealt. He could sit back, let the moments stretch, allow her to feel stupid and make useless comments about how it's okay and don't be sad... Women don't want that. They want comfort. They want to asked about feelings, and explore emotion. They don't want distance, as a rule, even when they asked for it.
She wants you to chase you, son. Robert's father had once drunkenly confided.
Who wants me to chase her? He'd inquired sweetly, this being historically prior to his epiphany regarding what actually resided in those shiny pop cans he wasn't allowed to touch.
All of them. He'd nodded knowingly, tipping the can back, winking conspiratorially.
With that pearl of wisdom at heart, he moved closer, but not close enough to touch. “C'mere.” He invited. “I won't bite.” He looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he tried. “I've seen enough girls cry to know they don't like doin' it alone. We've covered a lot of ground pretty quick, here, sugar. Might as well take the comfort.”
Risi:
She didn't really listen to him at first, she was too busy in her head, reliving the experience in her head. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, not wanting to think about it. Tara did notice him scooch closer to her, but she didn't say anything, she preferred it actually.
As he invited her in closer, she paused for a moment but folded. She shuttered slightly and the tears fell from her eyes rapidly. Pressing her body into his, she broke down. Her head pressed into his shoulder, but then looked up at him. Her blue eyes were bright and watery, she blinked and another tear rolled down her cheek.
MrBurke:
It was getting easier to cope with the notion that he'd done this to her. Guilt can only nag at you for so long, he'd learned, and it was more than possible to push it down for hours, even days at a time. He was slowly letting go of the idea that he'd had something to do with this... Robert wasn't programmed to hurt himself indefinitely over things he'd done in the past. That was then. He'd done his best to protect her, make her feel safe, keep her out of the worst of it... This was now.
He pulled her closer... Cupped her cheek with his hand, pushed her tears aside, her entire face engulfed in his huge palm... He lifted her face to his, forced her to make eye contact with him. His expression was tight, hard. Robert was solid. His eyes were steady, strong but not unfeeling. He drank in her emotion, fed it to the list of things he'd done that he hated. That was a deep, hungry hole; he always had room for more regret.
"Come here." He murmured, reaching across her back, sliding one arm down from her shoulder blade to the opposing hip, and scooped the other under her thighs to pick her up - just as he'd done in the van - and put her in his lap, holding her tightly to his chest and shushing her tears. It was a reflex, something he'd learned babysitting his nieces and carried over into girlfriends. He was a big man... Women liked that, a large body. They liked to feel small, something about childhood kicked in and made them respond. He petted her head, held her face, whispered to her: "It's okay now. You're safe." He said softly. "I know... Shh... I know. You're safe. It's alright." The comforting words he used whenever the situation called for it. He didn't realize they were the same ones he'd used when first they'd met... Men are who they are.
Risi:
As his hands went to her cheeks, holding almost her entire face in his palms, she attempted to look away, but his eyes pierced into hers. She couldn't let her gaze drop from his, she wanted his strength, but Tara couldn't muster it.
But as he pulled her up off the couch and into his lap, she clenched her body together. "No," she said suddenly, pulling herself to her feet, re-introducing the pain. "Please, please don't hold me like that." The tears came faster now, her face was read from both the tears and her embaressment. "I'm sorry," she sniffled, "But that was the way the robber held me in the van." Tara cried harder and collapsed back on the couch to the other side of him now. "I'm such a mess," she muttered through tears.
As she pulled herself together, she wondered what kind of a crazy lunitic he thought she was. He was just a nice guy, trying to help her out, and he got caught up into all of this. She shook her head at herself and folded inwards, pulling her knees to her chest and wraping her thin arms around them. Her eyes hurt from all of the tears, as did her head, and of course her feet. "I wish you could have met me before all of this happened. So you sould know I'm not always a crying imbicle," she whispered into her kneecaps, then snuck a glance at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.
Tara pulled her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. He must think I'm bipolar with this constant on and off crying. One moment I'm fine, the next I'm bawling and pulling away from him. She shook her head again, looking back to her knees, I just need to learn a lesson and forget all of this. Never work at a bank, and only invite hot, tall men to your apartment when you're sane.
MrBurke:
“Me too.” He joked weakly, eyebrows arching up, face strained with worry and concern. What should he do? What could he do? She looked so frail... Robert felt distinctly that he'd struck out, but her continuing interest was obvious. One thing was for sure: action was off the table.
He was a pig to even think it, but no man can help considering the possibility, or at least judge the odds before moving the concept off of the table. She was well and truly a wreck. If she asked him, he wouldn't be able. The pit in his stomach could only stretch so deep, boil so much, before his disgust with himself outgrew every other stimulus.
“Jesus, honey... Don't beat yourself up about it. First time I got mugged? I was shaking in my boots for months.” He lifted his shirt, turning to face her. There was a pair of oval scars on the front of his chest, the lower left quadrant of his ribs stained with what looked like old, partially healed kiss-shaped marks from years past.
“Guy knifed me. I wouldn't leave the house. I'm serious – wouldn't even look out the window. You get kidnapped, put in some psycho's lap, they make you crawl across rocks, leave you all cut up like that... I'm not shocked you're in no rush to play Santa Claus. I feel bad for those poor cocksuckers at the mall every year, I'm sure they'll miss you.” The 'play santa' remark was not at all intended as sexual innuendo, and his inflection communicated that. However, the last of his sentence carried as a compliment, his eyes darting down to her seat. Robert figured he could use one.
Risi:
Stealing a glance at his scars, she longed to touch his skin again, but held back, still feeling vulnerable. As they sat silently for a few moments, Tara wondered what she should do. Offer that he leave if he wanted to? She didn't want it to seem like she didn't want him there though. Ask him to stay, maybe even the night? That was too forward even for her past self.
Past self.
There was now a signficant rift in her life, before and after the robbery. How had she let these men have so much power over her? Where had Tara gone?
Into the lap of a stranger, spread over rocks by the bay, she answered herself, My strength is there. All of me is.
A clap of thunder sounded near by, Tara jumped nearly off the couch, jolted from her thoughts. As they had been sitting there, a storm had rolled in. Morosely, she turned to Robert, "You should prolly go home before it gets too bad out there..."
Tara was afraid of thunder, it was the only thing she had been afraid of ever since she was little. However, she wouldn't tell him that. She didn't want him to feel obligated to babysit her. She was a grown-ass woman and she needed to take care of herself.
After another clap of thunder, Tara suddenly found herself hiding in his arms, shaking slightly. Internally rolling her eyes at herself, Right. Very grown up of you. "Sorry," she told him and attempted to pull back away to her corner.
MrBurke:
“Don't be.” He shushed her, shaking fingers through her hair, pulling her closer. His grip was such that she slid over the material of the couch at his tugging, an easy thing, something done without thought. When they cried, you held them. When they shook, you calmed them. When they were scared, you chased away the scary bits.
Storms don't scare easy, so he'd settle for distraction. “Sounds like it's already bad.” He muttered, shifting in his seat, reaching under himself to withdraw an small flat screen, a phone with several other features that jumped to life at the touch of a finger. She was in a very delicate position, right now... To violate her trust, even if she asked him to, would be a fatal mistake, and he could never get close again.
It's better this way, he told himself. If she's close then he can monitor her. He can make sure she doesn't come up with anything new, doesn't have a change of heart... Make sure she moves on with his life. If that means Robert enjoyed the pleasure of her company for a little while, who's to blame him?
“I have a niece. She's has monsters.” The screen lit up, and he navigated to a directory full of .pdf files for just such an occasion. “Monsters under her bed...” He shook his head, putting her feet up on her coffee table. She could feel the muscles in his body relax, prepare for a long rest. He scanned through them and found her favorite. His niece's favorite, that is.
“Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife.” His voice rumbled through his chest, ruminated inside her head as it lay on his breast. “Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds.”
His eyes slid to her, gathering her closer with his arm. “Just relax, honey... I could do this for hours.”
Risi:
Tara gave him a smile, her face tear streaked. She felt like such a child, but his comfort was addictive. His light, friendly touches and how he didn't seem to mind when she got tears all over his shirt was endearing to her.
Her eyes focused back on the screen, blinking slowly, tired from the crying and worry. Her barriers crumbled a bit with each of his words, nearly cuddling into him now.
"The Wizard of Oz is scary," she said softly, "It has a tornado in it." She then looked up at him with a grin, playing with him now. Her face glowed in the dim light of her apartment that weren't supplimented by the natural light of the day. Her eyelids fluttered gently as she attempted to keep them open, her smile still there though.
She streched slightly, then pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and over herself. "Do you want one?" she offered shyly, curling underneath hers. Then, she closed her eyes and rested against him as he began to read from the depths of his large chest again.
Soon, Tara was asleep. Thunder rolled on, but she never jumped or woke. Luckliy, she was a deep sleeper. However, it was unlucky because a few times she had woken from a one-night-stand to an empty bed, never hearing the man leave. Her eyelashes brushed her cheekbones gently, her lips slightly parted as she breathed deeply through them, peaceful. Slumber was her way of escaping now.
