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Give it a week (Traveler & Too Many Thoughts)

T

TooManyThoughts

Super-Earth
Joined
Sep 16, 2014
All her life, she had been treated badly. All her life, she had craved love and attention but got nothing. From her parents who hadn't wanted her in the first place, stayed together because it would look bad to split up despite having a baby on the way, to her grandparents who blamed her for ruining their children's life. Teachers didn't pay much attention to the quiet, shy girl in the last row who always had good grades in writing but never talked much. Her classmates didn't even try to be friends with her, it was much more fun to tease her, torture her even. There were so many days, where she ran from classroom to classroom, just to not be caught in the open so someone could pull her hair, call her names or steal her books.

Books were her life saver. As soon as she could sign up for the library, she did and ended up spending every day after school there. Going home was not pleasant for the girl because her mother was most likely passed out from drugs or alcohol, or both, and her father was often drugged and busy with another woman. As Emily grew older, her father began to show interest in her, which scared her even more. After she woke up one night to him standing at her bed, having pulled off the blanket and staring at her in the darkness, she had made sure to look her room door and often even push a chair in front of it.

The thought of ending her miserable life had crossed her mind from this night on forward. The thought had grown stronger with every year that passed, with every day where someone showed her that she was not worth anything.
She grew up but despite her good grades she never got into a college. She had tried to get into them, had written applications but never got any answers. Emily ended up with a job at a grocery store, stocking shelves and cleaning. It was barely enough money to get her by, especially after she made the mistake of telling her parents that she had a job and they demanded she pay for living with them.

Everything accumulated in one day where a customer harrassed her at the late shift, she slapped him and her boss didn't believe her one bit. He saw the security tape, saw how the man had groped her, had pulled her against him, saw that she was struggling to get away. Yet she was fired because she clearly 'was begging for it'.
There was no crying though, no tears, no struggle. She got her last payment and left. Her decision was made before she even realized it.

It was almost midnight as Emily arrived at the bridge crossing over a river many a feet below. The bridge was connecting two parts of a park at the outskirts of the city, a park where families were happy and children played in the sun. Emily loved the park. And today it would be her last sight.

She placed the small shoulder bag she was always carrying with her on the ground and climbed over the railing. There was a streetlight nearby, shining slightly on her, making her red hair glow a little. The pair of jeans she was wearing was old and rugged, her shoes needed to be replaced but she had no money. She was shivering slightly in the light breeze, the t-shirt she wore had once been black but was now faded. Both hugged her short but curvy frame. She stood at only 5'2, her dainty hands clinging to the rail of the bridge as she looked down into the water and then closed her green eyes, getting ready to let go and for everything to be over. Finally.
 
The air was cool, with just enough dampness to hint at a coming rainstorm. Nights like this were perfect for running. His footsteps were steady on the asphalt, the cadence reminiscent of the days when he covered ten miles in formation before most people had eaten their breakfast. He missed those days, but he also loved the freedom and the life he had earned through the sacrifice of his youth.

Not that Blake Bridger was old, by any stretch, but he no longer had the naive optimism that colored his younger years. He'd seen things that had made his faith in mankind die, and he'd been through the valley of despair. Eventually he had to either remain in that shitstorm of regret, doubt, and anguish, or chose to see the world in another light. Thankfully, he was able to climb out. The climb was with its cost - feelings of worthlessness, surreal moments of guilt, and the haunting voices of 'what ifs' followed him like the memory of campfires. Sometimes he needed nights like this, filled with heart-pounding, quiet, lung-filling runs across the city, to clear his mind.

When he passed the redhead in the park he paid her no heed. She looked like just another girl, wandering through the park from Destination A to Destination B. Something about the way she held her head and her small, steady steps, lingered in his memory. He ran about an eighth of a mile past her before the feeling of dread and curiosity made him curse silently and turn around. Something wasn't right. Blake had experienced enough moments of divine discernment on the battlefield to know to listen to that nagging twinge in the base of his skull.

He was glad he did. Soon his vision brought to him the outline of a small woman clutching the rails of the bridge as she looked over the water far below. There was nothing odd about looking at the river - many people did, their voices lost in the rushing waters below as they dashed off the rocky bottom. This girl, though, wasn't standing on the bridge. She was clinging to the rail, on the outside of the bridge, and the way her chest heaved told him everything he needed to know.

She was going to jump.

Blake's heart did a double thump. No one else was around, and the eerie glow of the streetlight did nothing to make the scene more endearing. The girl's hair was haloed in the blueish glow. He could see that her threadbare jeans and thin t-shirt were doing nothing to keep her warm. Maybe it was just her thoughts causing her to shiver, so, but he doubted it. Her entire being looked cold, as if she was already in the grave.

"Hey!" He was afraid he was going to be too late. "Hey, girl! Stop!" His footsteps took him towards her, but then he was afraid that going too close might make her panic like a deer and bolt off the rail. "You - don't - please. Just... talk to me. Whatever is going on in your life..." he slowed to a walk and held a pleading hand towards her. "Please, just wait. Give me just five minutes, okay? Don't go without telling someone what's going on. Talk to me."
 
Emily inhaled sharply when she heard a voice. Her grip on the rail tightened out of instinct, her heart beat faster in her chest. Ever so slowly she turned her head, blinking away the few tears that had gathered in her eyes. Without knowing what to feel, she looked at the man in his running shorts. Confusion spread inside her and showed on her face, why did he ask her to stop? Why did he care about a stranger?

Her eyes followed his every move as he approached her and stretched his hand out towards her. "W-why?" she brought out, her voice as shaky as the rest of her body. She felt cold, down to her bones and not only because of the weather that was changing. "Just go...please....please go" she pleaded to him, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "No one cares, my family does not care, why would you?"

It all began to break out of her but that was the last thing she wanted. She couldn't feel this pain any longer. She just couldn't. With a shake of her head she looked back down to the water, her freedom, her peace awaiting her. "Just go....I can't do this anymore. I can't feel this pain. I don't want to. I can't" she cried, desperation spread through her, the need to not feel anything at all peaking.

Her fingers began to loosen their grip and her body leaned forward, ready to face the jump, ready to be released from her pain.
 
He slowly approached the real, then peered at her in the dim blue of the streetlights. His cheeks were shadowed in the darkened stubble of a long weekend, and most of his face was obscured by the darkness and her tears, but the earnest brightness in his blue eyes shined through. He could see the glistening in her eyes and that swollen lipped pout that came with too many tears and not enough laughter. It looked like her heart was breaking.

Blake felt, rather than saw, her leaning forward. There was a soft squeak as her fingers released their hold on the hard rail. Instinctively the runner reached out to her, his strong fingers wrapping around her forearm as her weight shifted. For just on moment she was falling...

Then his fingers closed around her arm and stopped her descent, pulling her around like a whip as he changed the direction of her velocity. He grabbed at the rail to keep himself from falling, then braced and slapped his other hand over the first to secure his grip.

"Damn it! Argh!" Teeth gritted at the sudden impact on his shoulder. Had he been shirtless his scars would have been evident - shrapnel torn skin had knitted over the damaged rotator cuff. It had its good days and it's bad days, but Blake was thankful he hasn't lost his arm. He had a lot to be thankful for, starting with the girl who was now dangling from his grip instead of plummeting into the river.

He grimaced and then let out a groan as he hedged her up, avoiding any possible kicks or scratches. He wouldn't be surprised if she acted like a cat fighting to stay out of a bath. Only in her case, she would have been fighting to go in. Once he got her up to his eye level he would wrap a strong arm around her waist and pull her over the rail, his pounding heart pressed tightly against hers as the reality of her near miss took hold.

"What's wrong with you? Nothing is that bad. You couldn't even give me five minutes of your time? What - you got some kind of deadline you have to meet?" He couldn't help but feel angry at her. The night was too pretty, and the girl too young, for it to end tragically. He could feel the womanly curves of her body telling him that this wasn't a girl. She was in full bloom. It had been a long time since he'd held a woman, and for a moment the adrenaline and her closeness roused him so quickly that the ache was almost painful.

He diverted his thoughts back to her.

"I don't mean to pry, but you threw away your life and I saved it. I think that means you either belong to me, or you owe me. I'm not sure which, but do you think you can wait a night before deciding and just fucking talk to me?"
 
The fraction of a second that she felt herself fall, felt like the best and the worst she had ever felt in her life. She squeaked when she felt a hand grab her, then two. But before she could truly understand what was going on, she was halfway over the railing again.
"No!" she cried out, but it was too late and he had her back on the ground, arms wrapped around her and holding her tight against him.

Emily felt that he was strong. He was taller than her and she had to tilt her head to look up at him. His anger surprised her, caught her off guard and she stared at him wide eyed like a doe caught in headlights.
Her body was shaking from the adrenaline, the sadness, the cold around them, with exhaustion and now with tears.

Maybe it was the feeling of a warm body against her own. Maybe it were his strong arms holding her tightly. Or maybe it was the fact that a stranger cared more for her life than anyone else did. Emily would never be sure why, but she broke out into heart breaking, soul cleaning sobs. Her knees gave away, her fingers curled into his shirt as she held on to him for dear life. Her petite body shook from head to toe with every sob, every soft cry. All the pain, frustration, sadness, everything spilled out of her all at once.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry...." She kept stammering between her sobs. If he were to pick her up and bring her somewhere safe and warm, she would not protest. Emily was lost in her tears, crying for herself, mourning for herself. She had never felt this lost before but having a total stranger care for her like this.... She could not comprehend his kindness.
 
Ah, fuck... She was broken-hearted. Her body dissolved into his as all the pain she had been holding flooded out in her tears. He held her as she cried, her "I'm sorry" playing like a soft mantra.

"It's going to be okay," he smoothed down her crimson locks and let her cry against his chest. She went limp against him, and intuitively he scooped her up in his arms. Her body seemed to fold naturally against him as if they had done this together every day of their lives. "It's gong to be okay," he glanced around, trying to figure out what to do. His city home was only a half mile away - as she cried in his arms he began to walk through the park, back towards his private sanctuary in the big city. Somewhere there had to be someone who was looking for her, right? Surely her absence would soon be noticed?

The time of the night saved them from too many glances. Maybe it was that anyone who was out was either stoned, drunk, or crazy, and they didn't care about a guy carrying a crying woman. Whatever the reason, he made it to his city flat without interference.

He had to set her on her feet so he could punch in his access code. A few moments later and they were in the lobby waiting for the elevator. The lobby was sleek, with modern shades of beige and pale green creating a soothing backdrop to their presence. He had an arm around her shoulders, and when the brushed steel doors shwooshed open Blake picked the young woman up in his arms again. He was content to let her weep as he ferried her into the elevator. There was time to talk later - right now he wanted to get her to safety without a scene.
 
Emily had no clue why she was clinging to a stranger, letting him pick her up and carry her away. But what did she have to loose? She had just been about to jump from a bridge, so really, if he had bad intentions, he would not have stopped her. Probably.

The tears were still streaming down her cheeks but the heart wrenching sobbing died down a little as he carried her through the city. She held on to him tightly, her arms around his shoulders, her face pressed against his shoulder. Surprisingly, no thoughts went through her mind. She just held on to the man who had saved her and let the tears she had held back, seemingly her entire life, wash out of her. The more she cried, the more tired she felt, she was exhausted.

Her eyes were red and puffy when he put her down to her feet to punch in some code at a large door. She stayed close to the man, afraid that he would go inside and leave her at the door. Get rid of her, like everyone else had done too. When his arm came back around her shoulder, she felt relieved. He was not leaving her. A soft gasp left her when he picked her back up, but she melted against his body once more, holding on tightly.

When the elevator reached the floor he had wanted to go to, she looked up into his face. He was bringing her to his home. Without even knowing her name, or if she was dangerous. He had saved her, without questions, without hesitating. "Thank you" she whispered ever so softly, watching as he entered his apartment.

The tears slowly began to stop, curiosity taking over. Her eyes slowly ran over her new surroundings, maybe focusing on something else would be good, would get all those feelings and thoughts away from her.
 
The apartment building was a narrow brick structure that had been built between the world wars. Blake's apartment was half the floor; a flat opened up to reveal the bones of the building and flank wide, city-gazing windows.

Immediately to the right of the entry was the door to the bathroom, and was he walked them past it, a small nightlight revealed a brick-lined room with a stand-alone tub and a farmhouse sink. Next to that was an open space that revealed the bedroom. The most noticeable thing about that room was the lack of personal decorations or a nightstand. The bed was pushed to the side of center, as if making room for something, but the 'something' wasn't apparent.

To the right of the entry was the kitchen and living room, and another large window that looked out onto a private balcony. This room had more personality - at least, the books on the kitchen counter and the myriad of cooking utensils hinted at a man who enjoyed the fruits of this room. There was also a small dining set with room for six, suggesting that he didn't always eat alone.

He set her next to the black leather couch and waited, one hand hovering next to her shoulder, to make sure she was in the condition to stand. "Okay," he breathed, watching to see if she was going to continue to hold her calming demeanor, "let's start over, shall we?"

Blake studied her face for a moment. She looked so lost and alone, it was impossible not to want to protect her. He hesitated a moment and then went to the refrigerator to retrieve two bottles. He twisted off the top of the wine cooler and handed the bottle to her, then uncapped a bottle of IPA for himself - again, a clue that he was accustomed to having guests. It was a rare man who would buy wine coolers for himself.

"My name is Blake." He took a swig from his bottle. "What's your name, and what in the world made you think that you were ready to jump off that bridge tonight?"
 
The apartment was the most beautiful apartment Emily had ever seen. She had never lived in anything even close to this. But she instantly liked it, kind of felt like she could feel at home here. Which was ridiculous, she was in a strangers home and he would let her go rather quickly again she figured. That kind of made her sad, but then again, she didn't know what to feel right now at all.

She had not noticed him coming back to her side and jerked a little when she heard the sound of a bottle being opened. Surprised she looked down at the bottle he held out to her and took it, hesitating for a moment before she took a small sip.

Her big, green eyes rested on his face as he spoke and only averted when he asked why she had wanted to jump off that bridge.
"Emily." She began, her voice still raw with emotion and slightly hoarse from all the crying and lack of fluid. After clearing her throat a little, she started again, slowly sinking down on the couch because she felt too weak to talk about all of this and keep herself standing upright.
"My name is Emily."

She stopped again after that. How should she explain to him what he would not be able to understand?
"I...I just can't. It's too much. It hurts too bad. I don't want to feel this pain anymore." It was the best she could do. He would not understand, but she didn't know how to explain her pain to him better.

"No one would miss me.....Thank you for doing this...but....it would be better if you just forget about me." Carefully she set down the bottle on the coffee table and glanced at Blake for a second before looking away again.
 
Blake could feel the defeat emanating off her like steam. She was filled with it; her voice and the way her body sank into the couch indicated that she was used to being beat down, at least emotionally. Maybe deciding to jump off that bridge was the only way she felt like she could have 'control' of her life. When Emily stated that no one would miss her he could tell that she believed it.

He watched her as she sat the bottle down and looked him before turning her gaze away. She sat there in silence.

He pulled a chair from the dining table over and sat across from her. He crossed an ankle over his knee, then rested the bottle on his thigh. "Emily...I can't forget about you. People come into our lives for a reason, and I was meant to notice you tonight and stop you from jumping. I've reached in and changed the course of your life - now I have a responsibility to you, and I don't take my responsibilities lightly."

Blake took another drink, this one long and deep, as he considered the girl on his couch. This had not been part of his plan for the next week or two of his life, but he was committed the moment he turned around and jogged back to the bridge because he sensed something had been off.

"Alright. If you don't want to talk about it right now I'm not going to push you. You've obviously got a lot going on in that pretty head of yours." He pressed his lips together as he watched her profile. "If you're going to stay here we had better set some ground rules. Rule number one? You're not allowed to hurt yourself while you're here. Rule two - you don't leave unless you leave with me, and rule three, you don't answer the phone or the door. Fair enough?"

He took another quick drink. "Oh, and rule four - I get the bed. I might open doors for you but I'll be damned if I'm going to give up my bed. The couch pulls out. You can stay there until we figure this thing out."
 
Emily blinked in surprise when he began to bring out rules for her staying with him. He was not kicking her out. But why did he care? She did not understand. After studying the floor for a moment longer, she turned her gaze to look at Blake.

"I don't understand..." she began, honestly confused. No one was just doing something this nice for her. Not without wanting something back. A light frown showed on her face as she tried to make sense of his gesture. His rules...he was keeping her locked up in here, not allowed to make a move without him. Or did he truly just mean to protect her?

"Do....do you ... want me to sleep with you?" she finally brought out, this being the only conclusion she could find. He would want some sort of payment for her staying here.
"Or...clean your apartment?" Her entire composure showed her confusion, showed her being unable to handle this situation, never having learned how to handle someone being truly nice to her.
She was thirsty, hungry even, but she would never dare to ask for something. Instead, she carefully grabbed the bottle he had handed her earlier and drank again, slowly, but clearly thirsty. It also gave her time to think, trying to find another way to make sense of this.
"I could cook...I think but...I guess I am not good at it." She offered after finishing her drink, her confusion rising the longer she thought about everything.
 
He nearly choked on his beer. Sleep with her? Didn't she hear him say that the couch pulled out? He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, giving him time to hear her other offers of what she could do in exchange for her stay with him. He felt the air entering his lungs in cold, sharp breaths. He watched her drinking the wine cooler, swallowing eagerly like she was either a lush or... really thirsty. Before too long had passed she had finished the bottle and offered to cook, even if she was, by her own admission, "not good at it".

"I don't want you to sleep with me," he replied, finishing off his beer. He stood up and walked to his kitchen to throw the empty container in the recycling bin under the sink. "You can help with the apartment, if you like, and try your hand at cooking, but there's no requirement for you to do anything at this point to repay me for your stay here."

With help, she'd hopefully only be here for a short duration. He was heartened that she hadn't mentioned suicide or being worthless for the last few minutes. Maybe the distraction was good for her.

He took a closer look at the way she was dressed. Her jeans were wearing thin in some places, not because it was fashionable, but because they had been worn for so long. Her shoes also showed wear. They looked like they were held together by bits of thread and inspiration. And that t-shirt? It, too was thin, and the way her breasts showed through, their soft curves pressing against the old fabric, made him think that she would be better covered by a coat of paint.

He realized he was checking her out. Blake turned his gaze towards the kitchen. "I'll tell you what - why don't I get you something to change into? You can take a shower and I'll make up a late dinner for you. We can discuss this in the morning when we've both had a chance to sleep on it." He set his bottle down and walked over to his bedroom. From the second drawer down he pulled out maroon shorts with a drawstring and a grey t-shirt with the word "ARMY" on the front.

"There are some clean towels on the wall." He walked back to the couch and handed Emily the clothing. "All the razors in there are safety razors, but if I hear anything remotely resembling you hurting yourself I'm coming in."
 
He was so nice. Too nice? Emily watched Blake's very move, always ready to anticipate him lashing out at her or starting to be mean to her. But he didn't. He even refused to have her pay him back in some way so that he would let her stay at his place. She quietly watched how he went to the kitchen to throw away his empty bottle and then return to her. It didn't go unnoticed that he looked at her more intently, but she would never start to think that he was checking her out. Why would he? He had just stated that he didn't want her to sleep with him so he probably found her to be disgusting.

With a nod she accepted the clothes and got up from the couch, listening to what he said about him coming in when he thought she would hurt herself. "I didn't forget about the rule" she mumbled softly, then walked off to the bathroom. His rules were....unusual to her but they kind of made sense. She wondered if she would start to feel locked in, but then again, as soon as he was gone, nothing stopped her from going back to that bridge and jumping. Finally be free.

With a soft sigh she peeled out of her clothes and folded them neatly, placing them in a corner of the room so that in no way they would bother anyone. Carefully she turned on the water and waited until it was warm enough, then stepped into the tub and closed the curtain. Emily stepped under the warm spray of water and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of warmth on her skin. She didn't notice it at all but the water helped her relax so much that she forgot about time and spend almost fourty minutes in the shower. She washed her hair three times and cleaned her body too.

Eventually she turned off the water and stepped out, rubbing herself clean with a towel. Her skin looked cleaner now, fresher. But still pale. Her body was thin, too thin because she was not eating regularly or in any way enough. But without hesitating, she slipped into the shirt and the shorts Blake had given her. Both too big, but she fastened the shorts with the drawstring and left the shirt as it was. Her red hair was still dark because it was wet, falling in light curls down to her back.

Shyly she came back outside and looked for Blake. "Thank you for the shower. It was really nice." She told him honestly. "Could I get some water please?" she asked politely, not wanting to be any kind of nuisance for him but she was still very thirsty.
 
As soon as Emily closed the bathroom door, Blake got a small paper bag and walked over to where she had set her bottle. He slid his pinky into the orifice, then placed the bottle carefully in the bag and rolled the top down to secure it. A few minutes later he was on the phone with an old buddy.

"Hey, I need you to do me a favor. Can you send a runner to pick up a sample for DNA and prints?"

"What the fuck are you doing, Bridger?" Thomas gazed across the precinct office. Even at that late hour, cops were booking peoplle and filing out paperwork. Like the Emergency Room, the police department never slept.

"Possible missing person or runaway. Live. I'll send you a few pics from my security cam."

"Did someone break into your place?"

"No, nah - nothing like up. Just someone I picked up."

"What?" Thomas nearly spoiled his coffee.

"Not like that. She was going to jump into the Hemlock River. She's here now, taking a shower."

"Shit, Bridger. You know how to pick them."

"Just send a runner. It'll be outside my door." He had to laugh. Thomas was right to assume the worst about Blake's intentions. After all, he knew him through his crazy early days in the service when everyone thought they were invincible.

By the time Emily was done with her shower, Blake had the table set. Seared flank steak sliced thin, garlic bok choy, quinoa with red beans, a creamer kale salad, and cheese rolls were portioned onto two plates. Glasses of iced water and a shallow pour of Merlot sat next to each plate. He had already downed his customary after run protein shake and the glass had been washed and put away.

He was just finishing up the dishes and drying them to put away when she slipped out of the bathroom. The stream seeped into the rest of the apartment, making the air more intimately humid.

"You're welcome." He guestured towards the table, palm upwards, at her request for water. "Make yourself at home while you're here. I just ask that you pick up after yourself, but you never have to ask for food or drink." He walked over to the table and pulled out a chair, standing behind it. If she sat in the chair he would assist her in pushing it in, but if she sat in the cady corner chair he'd sit in the one he pulled out.
 
Emily was left speechless at the meal he had prepared while she had showered. It looked and smelled amazing and she looked first at the table then at Blake in awe. At first she didn't seem to notice his gesture to sit down, but when he pulled the chair out for her, she blushed a bit and finally moved again, sitting down in the chair he had moved for her.

"I will pick up after myself. Promise." She swore, while looking on the plate in front of her. "Wow....it looks and smells amazing" Emily complimented softly and smiled over at Blake shyly. She didn't dare to start eating before he did, not wanting him to think she was taking advantage of him being nice to her. But as soon as he started eating, she drank half of her glass of water, then started eating too.

"I don't think I have ever ate any of this...it is really good." The more she ate, the more she realized how hungry she had been and how incredibly good this entire meal was tasting. She got herself to eat slowly, savor each bite but never once sipping from the wine. Seeing the effect it had on her parents had scarred her for life and she had vowed to never touch a drop of alcohol.
It scared her, that Blake could drink. She knew what happened to men that drank alcohol. They lost control. And came after her.

"I...I will sleep on the couch, yes? And...you in your bedroom?...Do you lock the door?" she asked hesitantly, after eating half of her plate. Maybe if he locked himself in, she wouldn't need to worry so much about him changing his mind or the alcohol making him do things to her.
 
She seemed genuinely modest, or perhaps she played it well, but Blake didn't sense any deceit in her compliment of the dinner, and when she waited to eat until after he picked up his fork he assumed that meant she had been raised by polite parents. He wondered what would cause a person to leave home. As she downed half the glass of water he heard the soft steps outside his door that signaled Thomas's runner had arrived. Blake hoped that the tests and her identity would solve the mystery of his guest.

He allowed her to eat without pressing her for answers to his many questions. She didn't seem picky, which lead him to assume that she either was well-traveled, and thus learned to adapt to any culinary situation she was presented, or she was regularly starved. Looking at her lean form he wasn't sure which was more likely to be accurate, but she ate with a gusto that leaned towards the latter.

Her question about the bedroom caused him to widen his eyes slightly. "Lock my door? Why would I do that?" Unfortunately it hadn't occurred to him that her trepidation had anything to do with alcohol, so after he asked his question he raised the glass of wine to his lips and took a sip. He saw the involuntary way her expression reacted to the wine, and then assessed her body language - changed pupils, pale lips, arms held close to her body... she was scared.

Of him.

Well, that wasn't going to work.

"I am going to sleep in my bedroom, and you on the couch." He reaffirmed. "There's no reason for me to close or lock my door, unless you happen to be a sleepwalking homicidal maniac." Blake smiled at her, amused at his own joke. He leaned forward and rested his left forearm on the table. "Emily - you're going to have to eventually explain to me what happened to bring you to that bridge tonight. My goal isn't to hurt you. I wouldn't have saved you if it had been. I'm here to protect you, and the first person I'm protecting you from is yourself."
 
She winced lightly when he asked why he would lock his door. Of course, he had to be mocking her. It was a stupid question, she realized that now after asking. And it was rude. She was in his home and had asked him to lock his door. He would kick her out now.

Emily was already preparing herself for getting up and walking straight to the door, when he spoke up again. Slowly she allowed her eyes to meet his as he spoke, not breathing for a moment. He was so nice. And he deserved the truth.

"Okay." She started after a long moment of silence.
"My parents hate me. And no, it is no exaggeration. They told me just that since I was two. They never wanted me in the first place but it was too late for an abortion. They are both drug addicts and either drunk or drugged up. My father....he wanted me in a way he shouldn't want his daughter. I slept with my door locked and barricaded every night." Emily spoke slowly, tried to keep the emotions out of her voice but failed as her voice was shaking and she had to clasp her hands together tightly in her lap.

"I don't have any friends. People tend to like to hate me or at least make fun of me. School was horrible. But I had good grades. I applied for colleges but I never got replies. Not even letters of rejection, just plain no replies." She had to hold back her tears now as talking about all of this was stirring everything back up again. If she knew that her parents had kept every letter she got from the colleges and destroyed them, she would have jumped off of that bridge sooner.

"And today...today was just the last straw. A customer groped me and out of shock I slapped him. My boss fired me because he believed that I had been asking for it and had slapped him out of nowhere." Emily dared to glance at Blake when she finished, shaking again. "That's it. My story, I guess." She added quietly, trying to focus on something other than the pain she was feeling yet again filling up her entire being.
 
Either she was on over-reacting drama queen, or she was telling the truth and her life was shit. Whatever the reason was for her story, though, Blake was one to take people at face value. If she claimed that her father had abused her, her mother had hated her, her life was crap and her boss was a fucking moron... well... who was Blake to contradict her? He knew nothing about the people in Emily's life. If she said it was fucked up, then it was fucked up.

Blake took another sip of his wine and then laid his fork across the top of his plate. "So... I assume, since you applied to college, that you are either close to eighteen or already eighteen." He glanced across the table at her for confirmation. "So, now you are out of a job." He finished off the shallow glass of wine and set it aside. "The questions are these, then: One - do you want to go back home? Two - What do you want to do with your life? And three - what do we do to keep you from trying to end your life again?"

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Emily. There's a reason that we ran into each other. Your life doesn't have to end, or even continue the same way it's been. You have a choice about where you go and what you do. The only limiting factor is you."
 
Emily watched him while he spoke, not moving, thinking about what he said. When he said she had a choice, he seemed to believe it, but Emily couldn't. No one wanted her. No family, no friends, no college. Not even a job. Everyone pushed her away, was better off without her. Why would it matter if she had a choice when all that was happening was Emily getting hurt one way or another.

"I am twenty-two actually." She finally spoke, correcting him about her age. "To answer your questions, I don't have a home. The place I could go back to is a roof over my head, nothing more. And no, I don't want to go back. What I want to do with my life doesn't matter. It is not as easy as you think it is. Don't you think I tried? I did....I tried, I tried to be good, I tried to be enough. But apparently I am just a waste of space. My father was right all the time."

Tears filled her eyes again and she angrily wiped over them with the back of her hand. She was exhausted and all this talking was only making it worse.

"I would like to lay down now. If that is okay." She murmured, looking away from Blake.
 
She did not look like twenty-two. Blake's first inclination was to disbelieve her, but he decided to wait until he had evidence of who she really was. For now he would treat her as a minor. There was no reason to risk a charge of indecent anything with her, no matter the circumstance.

"I have no reason to doubt that you really feel that way, Emily. Sometimes we're so close to what is going on that we can't see the rest of the world around us." He slid an index finger along the rim of his glass as he watched the emotions playing across her face. Tears filled her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away before asking to lie down.

"Of course," he conceded. "Just...promise me that you won't do anything drastic tonight, okay? I really need a shower and some sleep. Let's both agree to let this lay until the morning, and then we can talk about what we're going to do next."

He wanted to reach across the table and put his hand on hers, but he thought she might flinch or think he was being forward. Right now she was exhibiting a lot of the same signs as some of his men did when they were shell-shocked.

Shell-shock. That was the old name for PTSD before they knew that such a thing existed. The good thing about being in the valley of despair was that there was only one way to go. Up.

That was, if you let yourself live long enough to see that things changed. Things got better.

He stood up. "I'll clean up. Let me give you a blanket and pillow - don't worry about this," he indicated the table. "I'll get it."

He only had his two pillows, so he took one for her. His scent was on it - a mixture of Irish Spring and cologne, but he didn't have a spare pillow case. He didn't usually have a reason to have anyone sleep over, and when anyone had it had been in his bed, but it had been a long time since he'd had that kind of guest. A year or more, actually. He frowned as he considered that fact. Had he really been celibate for over a year?

Thankfully he had an extra blanket for winter. He pulled it out of the linen closet and brought it over to the couch for her. Then, once he was sure that she was going to be okay, he excused himself to take a shower.
 
Emily couldn't promise anything to Blake but she wanted to show him that she tried, so she gave a nod when he asked for her promise.

She waited for him to return with the blanket and pillow, feeling silly that she should let him do the cleaning. But he had said he wanted to do it, so she stayed put. She didn't want him to hit her because she had gone against what he had said.
"Thank you." She said softly as she took the pillow and blanket from him and went over to the couch. It looked comfortable and she knew she was going to sleep good on it. It wasn't like her 5'2 figure would be too tall to fit on it nicely.

Emily waited until Blake was in the bathroom, then finally settled down. She placed the pillow and spread the blanket out over her as she curled up on the couch. Quietly she listened to the sound of the shower, pulling the blanket around her more tightly. She curled up on her side and let the sound of the flowing water sooth her and lull her into a light sleep. She never slept deeply, she always had to be careful, had to be ready to wake up at any second as soon as someone got near her.

That was why she woke up again when the sound of the water stopped. She opened her eyes and stared across the room at the TV that was not on. Maybe she could sneak out. Maybe when Blake fell asleep she could quietly leave and go back to the bridge. He thought he could help her but Emily doubted it. She felt so broken, no one could help her.

Emily tried her hardest to push all thoughts away, listen to the sounds of the apartment and Blake and fall back asleep. It took her a while, but finally she fell back into a light sleep. Filled with nightmares.

In the middle of the night, Emily woke up with a short, soft cry. She sat up, breathing heavily, starting to cry again. Immediately she pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them, hiding her face against her knees. The nightmare had been about her childhood, relieving a day that she never wanted to think about ever again. But her nightmares kept remembering her. She sobbed into her knees, knowing that now it would be impossible for her to fall back asleep.
 
The water was warm, and as he ran his soapy hands over his body he tried not to think about the fact that the young woman in his living room had been standing here herself a short while ago, her body bare and wet under the same stream of water. He strained to hear any sounds of her leaving but there was none, and soon he had no other reason to be in the shower other than to post-pone going back out into the apartment. He ran the still-damp towel over the hard lines of his body, drying off the damp crevices and stripping his dark brown, short hair of the majority of the water.

It was only once he was dry that he realized he had forgotten to bring anything to change into. He normally didn't have to worry about such things in his apartment, but he had a guest, and not 'that' kind of guest.

Blake wrapped the towel around his waist. It would have to do.

He could tell from the stiffness in her spine that Emily was still awake. He padded by the couch and into his room, where he pulled on shorts and a t-shirt behind closed doors. He draped the damp towel over his foot board and then went back to small dining room / kitchen to clear their dishes from dinner.

There was something soothing about the simple act of cleaning. He liked the soap and the hot water, and seeing the shine in the dish once he was finished. There was satisfaction in drying and putting away the tools he had used. Once he was done, the kitchen looked as if no one had used it. Emily was asleep by the time he was done. He sighed, thankfully. A sleeping suicidal girl was safe. For the moment.

The sound of soft sobbing woke him from his sleep. He could hear her, and at first he thought that she was just talking in her sleep, but the sounds continued. Blake laid there for a moment wondering if he should interfere. Her sadness broke through his indecision and he sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the edge and stood, the quietly walked out to the living room. The sight of her curled up, her knees tucked against her chest, made him think of her as a child. She looked vulnerable, and he wanted to protect her.

"Emily?" He walked out, not thinking about how she might interpret his presence in the middle of the night. "Hey..." he said, sitting down on the end of the couch. He placed a hand on her ankle. "It was just a dream, Emily. I'm here now."
 
At the sound of his voice, Emily tensed for a moment. But she knew that Blake had saved her, had carried her safely in his arms to his home to get her away from bad things. She remembered that she had felt safe in his arms.

It took quite a few minutes for her to react to him, the sobbing didn't stop but finally she moved. She unfolded her body and then moved over, more or less crawling into his lap, curling up against his chest. Her arms went around his shoulders and she hid her face against his neck, quietly crying.

"Please don't send me out there..." she whimpered after crying for a minute on his lap. Finally she began to talk to him, mixing up present tense and what happened in her past. "They are after me....five boys. They made fun of me because my clothes were old. They hit me and I ran away, ran home." She shivered and pressed against him more, seeking protection like she had when she had run home.
"My dad opened the door, my mom was yelling who was knocking on it so loudly, disturbing them. He....he pushed me back outside, he saw the boys, saw my red face, the cut lip, he didn't care.....he pushed me back out and closed the door."

Emily cried harder again, her entire body shaking with fear from the memory and her tears. "They beat me and took away my clothes....they touched me..." she broke off after that, just crying into his chest. Her arms stayed tightly around Blake as she failed to calm down. "Please don't send me back out there, please. They will hurt me."
 
He didn't understand what she meant at first, and even when Emily began to explain to him what it was she feared, he thought she was talking about the present. Was it possible that she was still dreaming? He let her crawl into his arms, then fold herself on his lap, even as the oddity of the situation struck him. What was he doing? She was half-naked, possibly talking in her sleep, and now...crying against his chest. Though Blake had never been a father he instinctively began to stroke her hair and her back, letting her weep as much as she needed for as long as she needed.

"The boys aren't there anymore," he reassured her. "I won't send you anywhere, Emily. You're going to be okay. You're safe." He wondered at the kind of parents who would push their daughter back out like she had claimed. Could people really be so cruel?

He had been exposed to another kind of cruelty when he was overseas, where girls were property and men often raped them one day and then beat them for being 'sluts' the next, but he never thought to encounter someone in this country who would push his daughter, even a stepdaughter, out into the arms of her abusers like that. "Emily, you're safe. No one is going to hurt you here."

Blake wondered what his investigator friend would find. Was she truly an abused runaway? Or was she a con artist? If she was a con artist, why the suicide ruse? He didn't think that she was kidding when she threatened to kill herself - he'd seen desperation in people's eyes before, and she had been desperate.

And scared.

He let her hold him tight as they sat on his couch. One arm wrapped around her to keep her stable. The other hand gently stroked her head, down her shoulders and back, like one might sooth a frightened filly or a child. She was no child, though. No matter what age she turned out to be, she was certainly mature enough to be thought of as a woman, yet she had that perpetual stunted emotional state, that made her more a woman-child than anything. It was as if she had stopped growing internally at some critical juncture in her youth.

He rested her head against hers, listening to her soft sobbing. Eventually the weariness of the day took over, and his eyes slowly closed, until he drifted off to sleep with her in his arms.
 
The stroking of her hair, his warmth and even breathing, all that soothed Emily and slowly lulled her into a light sleep. The tears and the sobbing stopped and she clung to Blake even more tightly as she allowed his presence to sooth her and help her relax completely.

She fell asleep with him and stayed in his arms for the rest of the night. Emily had never slept this peaceful before. She felt save and warm, her head resting against Blake's shoulder, her body curled up but snuggled close. He had saved her in more ways than just getting her off of the bridge, but Emily wasn't aware of that just yet.

When she woke up the next morning, she felt refreshed, if a little stiff. For a moment she kept her eyes closed, just listened to her surroundings, inhaled Blake's scent. She allowed her fingers to run over his t-shirt covered chest, just feeling the cloth of the shirt with her fingertips. She opened her eyes and looked around the room without moving from his lap.

"I hope you meant what you said....I hope I have another chance at life....I need help learning how to do this..." she whispered, assuming he was still asleep.
 
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