I exit the restroom of a local bar, two blocks from our house, and join Violet at one of the high top tables.
"I ordered you a French martini." She knows me so well. "And I've contacted the detective that's heading the case. He said he will pay them a visit and further investigate."
I'm not sure what that means. Will they just ask questions? Will they run the house for DNA? Fingerprints? Then what?
My martini comes out just in time to fill the void in my stomach, and I take a huge sip, letting the taste of vodka and a hint of pineapple and raspberry tingle my throat.
"Whoa there girl," Violet pulls the glass back down. "I'm not trying to mop you off the floor after this, okay? Besides, I'm gonna have to run in a bit."
I give her a disgruntled look. I really want her here with me, especially after that dramatic scene and coming so close to finding...finding my daughter.
"Dragon lady?" I ask, taking another sip with the remembrance.
"Dragon lady," she answers dryly. I can tell she doesn't want to part from me either, so I decide against giving her grief for it.
"Look, Jas, I don't want to imagine your thoughts right now. But if there's anyone that shares your pain, it's me." I know she's telling the truth, because Violet has been the only person to ever understand me, sharing in my thoughts and emotions. "You have to have faith, stay strong. Daisy needs you to be strong for her right now."
I take another sip to drown out the tears that's welling up, swallowing the alcohol with a side of sorrow. I notice Violet looking up to wave to someone at the entrance behind me. I turn to check who she's so excited to see, only to find Taylor walking through the entrance, still in his blue scrubs.
He looks really good in those, I think as I look him up and down, noticing how nicely those pants hug his hips, wondering if they hold his ass the same way.
Wait, what? Oh my god, it must be the damn alcohol. I haven't had a drink since, well, a really long time, and on an empty stomach at that. Why did I choose today? This moment? Keep calm, Jasmine. What was he doing here anyways?
"Hey guys," his voice immediately alleviates my buzz, but not as much as the scent of cologne mixed with his natural masculinity, activating the butterflies inside of me. I don't know why people call it butterflies because it's more like blue whales making flips and turns inside my stomach.
"Hi, Jasmine." Guess I wasn't part of the "guys".
"Hey Taylor. I'm glad you could make it. I didn't want to leave my sister driving home drunk." I'm staring at Violet like it could burn a hole through her forehead, as much as my cheeks were burning right now.
"Kidding, maybe not. I was just inviting him out for a drink with us, Jas."
"Seriously, Vi? The house is two blocks from here, and I've barely drank one martini. I could have walked if you were that concerned."
I can't understand her intentions, inviting him to one of our favorite bars, only to ditch out on me. She's never tried to set me up with anyone before, believing no one was good enough for me, often times scaring some of my potential boyfriends away. So why now? Why him?
"Better safe than sorry," she smiles innocently. "Well, I gotta go. Duty calls. Since you're not driving Jas, go ahead and order a few more rounds. It's on Taylor."
She winks and grabs her jacket to leave, flying past me before I can respond.
I've always admired her energy. Optimism radiates from her, uplifting the shadows around her. Her spirit says she's never had a care in the world. The scars on her back says otherwise.
The waitress—a gorgeous blonde hair, blue eyes twenty something that I didn't even know we had—rushes over, as Taylor replaces Violet in her seat.
"Can I get you something? Anything?" she asks sweetly.
"Yes, another martini please," I say as I look up at her. Okay, she was definitely not asking me, because she's batting her fake lashes at Taylor like they'll fly her away.
"Just a Coke, please," he replies, not looking away from me.
"Sure thing!" she says as she turns to leave, swaying her hip so hard, I'm afraid it might dislocate from the rest of her body, all the while, the man that she had performed for haven't even noticed.
"I wonder if I'm gonna get that second martini," I say looking after her sympathetically.
"Why wouldn't you?"
"Are you serious? Did you not witness the same thing I did? Do you like women, Taylor?"
He lets out a loud laugh showing of rows of straight teeth, his face lighting with amusement.
"Yes, I like women very much. And no, I was watching you trying to down the rest of that martini before you got your next order in." His eyes are still on mine, causing me to twitch in my seat.
I blush. Great, now I look like an alcoholic. What else? Battered, abused wife with a missing child because she's an incapable mom not enough?
"What are you doing here, Taylor? I can't imagine that you have that much time on your hands, coming to babysit me. Again. And don't dare say to get a drink. Who comes to a bar and orders a Coke?"
I'm spinning my empty glass around by the stem with one hand, my other hand propping my face up, trying hard to sound annoyed and bitter.
He smiles again, not letting it bother him, still watching me. God, I hate that smile. His teeth are so perfect but not in an unrealistic TV-commercial perfect. And the way that dimple keeps showing up, I can't take my eyes off of his lips. Where is my drink?!
"I'm actually on call tonight but I just finished my rounds," he says coolly. "Violet told me to come assist you." Told him.
"Assist me?" I scoff, as our drinks arrive at our table, the waitress's hand lingering a little bit longer around his cup, not that he even noticed. "I can take care of myself, Taylor. And unless she's forgotten, I've taken care of her most of her life."
I pick up my drink and chug half of it. So much for being classy while drinking a martini, but I really don't care right now. I just want to drown this blackhole in the pit of my stomach.
"No one doubts that. But sometimes leaning on others is not a sign of weakness. It's just having someone to hold you up when you're feeling down," he tries to convince me.
"Drink your Coke doctor. I didn't realize you had your doctorate in psychology too." Where is all this sass coming from? I finish the rest of my martini. Oh, that's where.
I won't admit it out loud, but I know my infamy is to mask a deeper admiration, yet, I am clueless as to why I feel this way whenever he is around.
"Jasmine, I know I might not be the person you wanted to see, but I'm here just as a friend, as a support," he says to me, not aware that as standoffish as I am, his presence is more comforting to me than he can understand. My head is starting to spin lightly and my heart is skipping beats again, signaling me that I need to depart this scene away from him, before it leads to anything else.
"Well I think I'm ready to head home. It's just two blocks from here. I can manage. Heard Violet say this was on you. Bye!" I slip off the stool and try to dash towards the door before he could respond, not caring how rude I may seem.
Right before reaching the door, I pause to look over my shoulder, half hoping he's stuck waiting for the check, just to see him place a bill under my martini glass and rush to me.
I turn back to face the door and stumble on a rug, falling forward like a toddler, just as he comes behind to grab me back by my waist. Our bodies collided, the physical impact sending a message to my nether regions, vibrations immediately succumbing to his touch, dispatching a new wave of heat to my cheeks.
I don't know how it's possible, but for a moment, time stood still. As crazy as it sounds, for five seconds, everything around us ceases to exist, only Taylor holding me, and me looking distantly into his eyes. I've read it in books, seen it in movies, but nothing is comparable to this moment, right here, right now, with the single sound of my heart beating against the walls of my chest.
"Yeah, that is not happening," he says to me breathlessly, as if he had just ran a marathon, his proximity so close to me, I can feel his breath on my nose.
"Come on, I'm taking you home." That was not a request, nor have I returned back to earth long enough to configure my thoughts, because he just grabs my hand and is leading me out the door. I feel helpless as I follow him to his fancy, foreign car and gets inside, even though I know I can turn and walk the other way.
The leather beneath my ass makes me squirm, afraid that I will leave a damp mark when I will have to get up.
Two blocks later of silence, we pull up to the front of my house. The car switches off as he comes around to open my door before I can figure out how to open it. Seriously? I had two drinks. I reach for the handle and hurriedly step out before he can get to me. For some reason, I slam the door shut a lot harder than intended, first checking my spot to see that it was completely dry and feeling foolish for doing so. His footsteps mimic mine as we head towards the front door.
Grabbing the key from my purse, I proceed to unlock the door. The cold air is no match for his warm breath against the nap of my neck, forcing a shudder down my spine. I let out a low exhale, hoping he didn't catch it.
"Would you like to come in for some coffee, maybe? For work purposes, of course." I'm twisting the knob, nudging the door to open. What the hell am I talking about? What does coffee have to do with work purposes? Caffeine to stay awake for work, I thought to myself.
"I would like that. For work purposes, of course."
We step inside the dark house and I'm scanning the wall for the light switch as Taylor closes the door, losing what little light it has brought in, our house always with the blinds and curtains drawn. My foot gets caught on something as I let out a yelp, falling over, unintentionally pulling Taylor down with me, landing him right on top of me.
I'm not sure what I'm feeling, inside my chest, that is, because although he is on top of me, he has somehow balanced most of his weight away from my body. So it's not pressure from his weight I'm feeling. But why is it so hard to breathe?
I'm not scared, even though I feel like I should be. Because whenever Tim was on top of me, his fist was usually meeting my face or he was holding me by the throat, forcing himself inside of me. I flinch, trying to rid the thought from my head.
It takes me a few seconds too long to register everything that has just happened. "Sorry," I mumble, "I thought I knew where the switch was. It's been a while."
"It's ok. I like it like this," he replies, his lips so close to mine, I can feel its every movement. I'm caught in his gaze as my eyes adjust to the darkness, neither of us making an effort to move. His finger reaches up to where the slash is on the side of my forehead.
"Does it still hurt?" he asks.
"No," I answer quietly.
"Am I hurting you?" His voice is very serious now, concerned. I shake my head.
No. This is different. It is anticipation. Excitement.
"Even in the dark, I can feel your frown, Jasmine. And it hurts me." I'm struggling to comprehend how my frown can hurt him. How can my emotions hurt him?
I feel him moving in even closer, turning me into a statue, locked in under him, waiting for the moment, knowing I should turn away, but somehow craving the taction. His lips finally touch mine, and my heart explodes like a thousand drums beaten at the same time.
He's kissing me softly, moving slowly, but not from inexperience, because he knows where to move and which part of my lips to prolong at. It's almost as if he's experimenting, being very careful with me, waiting for me to react.
My head struggles to process, trying to conclude a decision. I know there are so many reasons that this moment should not happen, should not proceed, but I couldn't withdraw myself from him.
My body starts to ache from the resistance, as I finally succumb to his lips, parting it to allow his tongue inside. We shift our heads in opposite directions, pushing deeper, and I reach up to put my hand behind his neck, tugging gently at a lock of his hair. It's so thick and smooth, and I can smell the scent of his shampoo, and my middle parts start to pulsate, extracting warm liquid from it.
Our tongues meet, interlocking, twisting, turning, until our whole body is burning with heat. I am searching every delicious spot inside of him, tasting the mint he has just eaten minutes ago, not understanding how I can feel such confidence with him, but my curiosity of his body pushes me on.
His finger runs through my hair, sending static into my scalp, his other hand under my back, pulling me closer to him, until I feel the hardness beneath his pants, involuntarily pushing myself harder against it, wetness completely soaking me. I grasp the seat of the couch for grip, afraid that my body, mind, and soul will float away.
"OW!" I scream. The remote control flies from the couch and hits me right on my wound. I start to feel my eyes stinging within seconds.
Taylor stands up without hesitation and shuffles to find the light.
"Jesus, Jasmine!" he exclaims, as the light comes on, rushing over to me. "Your wound opened slightly." He carries me to the beige sofa in one swift movement.
"Do you have a first aid kit?" he asks me, a look of pain and anger washing over him.
I nod. "There's one under my bathroom sink." He lifts me into his arms, carrying me to my bathroom. I am not used to this kind of treatment, being handled like a delicate individual.
"I could have walked you know. There's nothing wrong with my legs." With his upper arms flexed like this, the sleeves around it are straining to stay intact.
I haven't noticed how muscular he is, but now being held to his toned body, my arms wrapped around his neck, I can see and feel it's sturdiness against me, still tasting him on my tingling lips.
"Between your two martinis and the bleeding, I don't think I wanna take that bet," he smiles smugly as he says this.
The door to my bedroom is slightly open, and he uses his shoulder to push it wider, allowing both of us to enter. Walking to the bathroom, I notice he glances over to my closet, before quickly turning away.
We finally arrived, and I'm so grateful that I have just cleaned my bathroom this morning, even though it wasn't very messy to begin with. He easily lifts me to the top of the bathroom counter, shifting my hair behind my ear to examine the wound. I can see myself in the side mirror of the medicine cabinet, and besides a little bleeding, it didn't look all too bad.
I use my foot to open the door to the cabinet beneath me, Taylor following my movement to recover the small, red box, straightening himself in front of me, seriousness taking over.
"This might sting a little," he says to me.
I don't feel a thing, watching him work quietly, as he grabs several materials and starts to patch me up. I'm completely unaware of the procedure as I'm lost in his green eyes, wondering what he is making of this situation. His face is so grateful, although stern, and it just makes me want to know what a guy like him wants with a girl like me.
Occasionally, he would glance at me, but proceeds back to his work. I imagine this is how he looks when he's working on a patient, very austere.
"It'll be fine. The bleeding should stop by tomorrow."
He leans in and kisses me on top of my forehead, a gesture that takes me by complete surprise, yet sending trembles to my heart.
"I'm sorry." His expression is confused as I say this. "I shouldn't have led you on. That's very unlike me. We barely know each other. I don't know what's gotten into me. I should have known better. I should have stopped—"
"Jasmine," he interrupts me, holding my face between both his hands. "You shouldn't feel that way. Does your intuition tell you that we aren't strangers? That the first time you met me was not when you came out of your coma?"
I do feel like I've known him for longer than I do. It's unexplainable, and his voice is very familiar. But I considered it as a side effect from being in a coma, all the deja vu things. It's not like I've ever been in one prior to this to know any better.
He rests his palm on the counter beside me, leaning against it and taking a deep breath.
"It was the ER." There's a struggle within him. It's visible how much it takes for him to continue the story.
"Well, in the ER, when they pushed you in on a girdle."
"Oh." My reaction is unsure. It's not a moment that I can grasp, probably because I was out cold, but I'm sure it was a gruesome image.
"When I first laid eyes on you, your face was unrecognizable. Not that I would recognize you either way. After checking your report, I could not fathom how inhumane a person can be." His fist tightens, and I recognize those storming eyes from when I first told my story to the detective.
"Blood stained the bandages and gauze placed around your head, bruises covering every part of your upper body. They had to place you on your side from the shards of glass that were still there. You were unconscious, yet, I can recognize the beauty under all the pain."
He shuts his eyes forcefully and reopens them after a moment, as I patiently wait for him to proceed on.
"When you were in the coma, I came by everyday, even when I wasn't on shift. I knew Violet was the only one that came to visit, so when she couldn't come, I was afraid you would be lonely, scared that you might awake with no one there for you. I prayed to whoever was listening, that this wasn't your end. Because this life still had so much it owed you, from the unjust that you have received up until now."
He punches the marble counter, startling me. His anger is sincere, but I ponder at the reason why he felt so strongly about my tragic life, knowing that he must have witnessed these tragedies—or even worse—along his line of work. Nevertheless, having someone to share my agony gives me a sense of amelioration. I reach out and take his hand in both of mine, appreciating the fact that he had felt something for me long before I even knew his name.
"I spoke to you every chance I had," he continues, "begging you to come back, so I could have met you, officially. Everyday I would tell you about my thoughts and feelings, because there was no judgement. I swear, sometimes you smiled."
His voice; that's why I felt like I have heard it in my dreams. Is that why he feels more familiar to me?
"Taylor, I-I didn't know. I wish I was aware." What drew him to me? I was no more than a vegetable at that point, having no sense of reaction or response. What about me that he had sought comfort in?
He chuckles. "You're apologizing for being in a coma?"
He pulls both of my hands to his chest. "Jasmine, from everything that Violet told me about you, I was sure I had to get to know you." He pauses, but it seems that his statement is incomplete, because there's a discomfort to him, as if there's something more he wishes to share.
My wonder is answered with silence and gazing, as we just continue to look into each other's eyes, studying each feature, inhaling the enticing essence surrounding us.
"I should be the one who is sorry, Jasmine," Taylor finally lets out. "As hard as I have tried to stay away from you, I don't think I'm strong enough to do that."
My eyes are damp, tears dwelling behind them. When I woke from my coma, I swore to myself that I would never let any man in my heart again. They had the capability to bring you an extraordinary amount of happiness, only to follow it with excruciating pain. But with Taylor, he makes me feel safe. Genuinely. I can't, though. All love starts like this. This feeling of security. Passion. It's all a facade.
No. I have never felt anything like this. It is different. But it is still a risk. An unpredictable risk. One that I am not willing to take.
"Jasmine, I'm not your priority right now, I know that. Of all the things I want to be for you, a burden is not one of them." He places one hand on my back and pulls my face to his chest. "I'll bring her back to you. I will."
My thoughts have become an intricate web of bewilderment. As hard as I've tried, there is nothing that I can deduce from the mess I feel within.
The front door opens just in time, as Violet's voice floods in through the hallway, filling the house with light and euphoria. One thing I am certain. She is my light and euphoria.