Sometimes after you get emotionally slapped in the face, you lose track of time. You just sit there staring at the broken pieces of the human disaster that makes up who you are and forget what it means to do anything else. It's like you are on a merry-go-round with no way off, spinning past the same images over and over until it's just a swirl of emotions that turn you numb as the images blur.
"Allie?"
I spun around in my swivel chair, startled, and with all the grace that came with being scared out of my skin in a pitch-black office, my chair tilted and I hit the floor wrist first, letting out a mouse-like squeak.
Pain snaked up my wrist, needles underneath my skin that pushed the emotional pain out of mind, starling be back to reality. I blinked, finally registering the change in light. When had the sun gone down? Why is it suddenly so quiet in my office?
"What?!?" I hissed through clenched teeth, gripping my wrist tightly as I stared towards the dark doorway. A figure stood tall in the doorway, sending chills down my spine. The office was empty, it was late, and I was alone with an injured wrist. Shit.
The figure moved across the room in a flash, suddenly kneeling in front of me. "Allie, are—" I moved without thinking, body reacting to the sudden danger. Susan had gotten hurt, and I refused to be next on the list. I was going to cause some serious damage. Had been itching for it all day. And my wish was granted as I quickly slammed my palm up and hit the figure square in the nose.
A large crack filled the air as my palm met cartalidge. The figure gasped and stumbled back, hitting the ground in front of me. "Allie! What the hell!?!"
Two painful things clicked into place at the same time...
One, I had just hit Tate in the face.
And two, by the sound of the crack, I had just broken his nose. This is why you can't get close to cute guys. You break them. This is why you can't have nice things Allie!
Scrambling to my feet, ignoring my throbbing wrist, I stumbled over to Tate whose hands were pressed up against his nose. "OHMYGOSHI'MSOSORRY!" I shouted far too loudly in such a fast babble that it came out as one warped word of high pitched panic.
It was nearly impossible to see him in the dark office. A small sliver of light seeped in from one of the office lamps out in the hall, sending a glow across Tate's crumpled white button-up shirt. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, paint splattered across his forearms.
Several splotches of paint had worked its way into his disheveled hair, glistening in the low lighting. He seemed more vulnerable and tired in the shadows of the night with only the light of the hall to frame his face. I leaned close to his face trying to see the damage past his fingers.
"Remind me to keep my distance when you get startled," Tate said to the ceiling, head leand back, strands of chocolate brown falling back out of his face.
The light carved into his lines, like a glowing frame highlighting his jaw, the curve of his neck, the veins in his arms, his beauty in the dark. It was utterly disarming. A filter that threatened to open my heart and swallow me whole. My gosh, how can he look this good while he's covered in blood and paint? This is wrong and should be illegal!
I stared at him for a long beat, forgetting for a moment that we were both injured like a dumbfounded idiot.
"Allie?" Tate asked, his eyes scrunching shut against the pain I caused.
Get it together girl. "We need to get you to the hospital," I blurted kicking back into gear, after a moment of inappropriately timmed gawking.
"NO!" His face turned a shade lighter. His breaths growing shallow. "I'm... fine."
He looked utterly terrified by the idea. Like the idea of getting a checkup was going to be his undoing. Was going to unravel him and leave him with nothing but a shell of his former self. I didn't push it. If he started to squirt blood out like a Super Soaker water gun, then I'd drag him there. But it wasn't necisarry until I checked all the symptoms.
I thought through the mental checklist I went through with Delle every time she had gotten into a fist fight and I had the unlucky pleasure of stitching her back up."Can you breathe?"
"Yeah. I can breathe. Pretty sure I'd have turned blue and past out by now if I couldn't." The joke sounded hollow, pain etching through and ruining his punchline. Why even try right now dude?
Tate's hands did little to hide the blood that began to run down his face. "Um... you're bleeding all over the place."
"I do that when I get hit in the face," Tate replied dryly.
Jumping to my feet, I grabbed several handfuls of tissue paper. Pushing his hands away from his face, I assessed the damage. Yeah, I definitely broke his nose. I quickly dabbed at the blood, and used my free hand to tilt his chin up to keep the trickle from turning into The Shining waterfall of blood.
I stared at his nose, eyes narrowing as I scanned the damage. Then I slowly let out a relieved breath. "It's a clean break." He was going to be okay. "Let's get you some ice."
...
What do you do when your driver can't look at the road, and your wrist is sprained? You drive like a snail, each turn taking FOREVER, like an old lady in slow motion as she tries to gather the strength to get up out of a rocking chair.
It didn't feel right trying to fix Tate's nose at my office late at night when someone had broken into the night before. And Tate had refused to go to the hospital, looking as white as a sheet at mere suggestion. So after some hesitation, I drove him to my apartment, knowing I had all the tools for both of our injuries.
It took all of my calm girl energy to look like it was a normal suggestion and not like a "your hot, I'm hot, let's go back to my place, with some lame excuse to look you over more closely," suggestion. But Tate seemed too exhausted and in pain to care.
So after I slapped a bag of some mysterious frozen packageing that had been left in our office freezer for far too long onto Tate's nose, and after a thirty minute drive that would normally be fifteen, we stumbled into my apartment, both injured and cranky.
I slowly lowered Tate onto my couch and walked out of the room with mysterious frozen food makeshift ice pack. Chucking the mystery into the garbage, I came back in a moment later with a deep feeling of dejavu as I gently placed an ice pack against Tate nose. Susan and Tate are both getting their butts kicked for being close to me today.
He was to tall for my couch, limbs spilling over the sides. Head back at an uncomfortable angle. After shoving several pillows behind his head so he wouldn't wallow in his own blood, and snatching up my first aid kit, I sat on the edge of my coffee table, embarrassed by the events that lead Tate to be lying on my couch in my apartment.
"Sorry about your nose," I whispered gently, feeling him wince under my touch as I wiped more blood away from his lip.
"You did a thorough job," Tate muttered, green eyes watering. "You've got good form."
I sighed, trying to decide if he was giving me a compliment or was making another joke. "You aren't the first guy I've hit first and asked questions of second." I shrugged looking away. "Not my best feature."
I held out some asprin and a glass of water. "For the pain."
Tate glanced the pills with a wary expression. "Have anything stronger?"
"That depends..." I stood up and walked over to my kitchen. "Are you a Sangria guy, or a Whisky guy?" I asked, ignoring the fact that my wrist had started to swell. It's not so bad. I'll deal with it later.
Tate leaned up, brow following suit in judgment. "This is a Whisky kind of injury Allie. Don't give me that flowery crap when I can feel my heartbeat in my nose."
I snorted. "Fair." I poured us each a glass and pulled an second ice pack out of the freezer for my wrist. What a freaking disaster of a day.
Settling down into the chair next to the couch were Tate lay, ice pack resting against his nose, I swirled my glass of Whisky, watching it glisten in the warm living room light. I wanted to punch Laurence... not Tate... well, at least not anymore. I rubbed my temples. It's a miracle that I'm allowed to go anywhere.
Staring down into the gold liquid like it was a crystal ball, I tried to wrap my head around the days events. When looking at my glass served to be a useless exercise in wisdom, I took a deep swallow of my Whisky, feeling it spread like liquid fire down my throat until it settled in my belly, leaving behind a warm comfort that took the edge off the pain in my wrist.
Two injured people drinking Whisky at eleven o clock at night alone in an apartment... yeah... this is a terrible idea.
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Thank you for reading chapter fifteen! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes!
UPDATE DAYS - A NEW CHAPTER EVERY FRIDAY!
Allie has been tempted to smack Tate a few times... looks like she finally did it!
Tate refused to go to the hospital, why do you think that is? Will he be okay?
What about Allie? Is her wrist sprained, broken, or is it just sore?
And more importantly, they are alone in Allie's apartment at eleven o clock at night... will something happen between them?
CHAPTER QUESTION - Are you accident prone? If so, how many bones have you broken or sprained?