Touch - Matt Murdock

Part One

Rabbit Hole
TW: violence, gore

The smell of wood, cologne, and whiskey filled her lungs as she slowly woke up. She groans, rubbing her head as she feels a soft blanket against her skin. She can't remember anything, what happened last night, how she got here. Wherever here was. The smell was calming, the place was cozy, warm. Like it was a place no one could touch her. Hurt her. She wasn't thinking about how she got here, she just took in the moment of calm before the storm she assumed.

"Miss Jacobs?"

She snapped her eyes open, her heart rate increasing as she slowly fell into a fight or flight. Who said that? "... Yes?" She responds. Frozen.

"It's Matt Murdock, your boss." He says, coming into view and sitting in front of her, still wearing his white button up and black dress pants. Yet he wasn't wearing his glasses. She sat up slowly, groaning as staring at him in disbelief that he helped her. Especially in a place like Hell's Kitchen. "I believe you were hurt tonight by—" She interrupts him, tears brimming her eyes with intense embarrassment. He wasn't suppose to see what happens when Harry gets upset. "Mr. Murdock please forget this ever happened." She whispers, sniffling as she wiped the tears that threatened to fall, he stared at her with sympathy, understanding. "It's not the first time, Foggy knows. So please don't fire me for this, I need the job." She begs. Sitting up, her skull pulsing in pain.

"... You were hurt." He says quietly, avoiding her pleas.
"And-And I'm okay." She responded, yet he wasn't having it. Her endorphins were still thick in the air, it was making him shift uncomfortably. His shoulders rounded as he leans forward towards her. "You are lying to me." His voice dropped, "I can tell, so don't lie. I know your boyfriend hurt you, I don't want you go back to him." He shook his head.
"Matt we just met— in meaning of met I mean met formally, you can't make this decision for me. My boyfriend pays rent, that's something I can't do on my own. He— he does things if I don't listen to him, dammit he'd kill you if he knew I'm at your place. I've seen him with a gun." She chuckled nervously, rubbing her throat as she felt how tender it was. How difficult it was to breathe. Matthew was right, but her boyfriend had power he didn't talk about. He had men with guns once come up to her when she was just a shy word away from ending it with him. She hardly knew him anymore, the fact he wasn't like that when they first met blew her mind out of the ballpark.

"... Alice, from a friend to a friend, I cannot let that man touch you, it's abuse. It's a normal thing for a friend to want to protect a friend right?" He questioned, leaning back, man spreading. She couldn't help but stare, it was automatic. "... Right." She nods. Looking at the floor, "He just... has a lot of friends too that would probably kill someone to keep me with him." She chuckled nervously, her head hurting worse.

"I'll... get you a Tylenol." He stood, not feeling around the furniture. Almost like he wasn't blind in the first place. He walks to the kitchen confidently, opening a cupboard and feeling the braille on the cup. Before walking over to her and handing her two. "Take it." He says monotone. Finding himself back in his seat.

"How the hell do you know I am in so much pain?" She pops the pills in her mouth. Taking them dry as she tried to not think too hard on how he knew. Yes, she has a cracked open head but how did he know she needed them at that exact moment? He didn't respond, he sat back down in front of her. His brows knitted together in thought. "I can call you a taxi... you just... if I see any more shit on you. I'm going to call the police, understand?" He says, standing. She snickered, "Your joking right." She smiled.

"No." He frowns.
"... your blind, Matt. You can't see if I've got bruises." She argued.
"I can just tell, Alice." His voice came out a little harsher than he liked, he could hear her heart rate increasing. Smell the sweat rising in the air. He knew that he made her feel that she suddenly was unsafe, unwelcome. He sighs, leaning his head against the back of the leather chair he sat on. She stared at him, wondering if he could "feel" her watching him. It was a justifiable idea. But it was true, she felt afraid that he was getting mad at her.