Run! Just turn and run.
The voice in my head screamed at me. Go home! So what if you miss your sister's wedding reception? You've already been to the ceremony and that's the important part, isn't it? The voice continued, and the more I looked at that name on the name card, the more I was going to listen to it. So, I turned, and without so much as another thought, I started to ru—
"FUCK!" I felt it before I knew it was happening. The tug of the dress as my heel slipped into that lace detail at the bottom (probably something else to add, I don't wear heels!) There was a ripping sound, like fingernails down a blackboard, and then there was a moment where I teetered, suspended in the air, neither here nor there. Not falling, but not standing either. It was as if it happened in slow motion too. My arms shot out, I flapped them about, waved, made circles as the teeter turned into a fall which turned into a lean into a...
Double fuck! I was falling. Face first. Fast. Accelerating towards the floor. I could see it, but I couldn't stop it. I put my arms out, closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable big bang! The inevitable feeling of my face smashing into something hard. I hoped it wouldn't hurt too much–mind you, it probably wouldn't hurt as much as being hit in the nose by a drunk man during one of my first arrests, I've become a better cop since then.
Suddenly, my shoulder connected with something hard, my guess was the chair, and then in the next second, like bungee cord reaching the bottom, the momentum of my fall stopped. For a second I was completely still, and then I was pulled back with such force that I was sure I got whiplash. With my eyes still closed, I couldn't make out what was happening. All I knew was that I was no longer falling, and that I was suddenly standing, and that someone was holding me up. I let out a sigh of relief as my body relaxed. But the relief was only temporary because... I recognized that smell immediately.
His smell.
The smell that had plagued me for so many years. That had been embedded in my pillow from that night and didn't want to go away until I'd been forced to throw the pillow away. I stood there, every single muscle in my body tensed, my eyes still tightly shut. I refused to open them. Please do not let this be him. Let it be anyone but him. Not him, not him, not—
"Amantha? Amantha?" Are you okay?" His voice. I'd heard that voice so often; passing by a TV at work, on the radio—the bastard also did husky, sexy, voice-overs–and in the depths of my dreams, I sometimes, much to my horror, had those on repeat. Had those words on repeat...
'Do you know how long I've wanted you.'
"Amantha?" he pressed. Still, I refused to open my eyes.
"Babe?" It was my sister's other bridesmaid Becky. No one in the world called me babe, except her. She called everyone babe, even if she'd just met them. She was one of those.
"Are you okay, babe?" she continued, but still, I refused to open my eyes. If I opened them, then this would all become real. "Oh My God, I saw the whole thing happen, I got such a fright. I was so worried about you," she gushed.
"Sorry. It's the dress," I mumbled. "I tripped."
"But aren't you soooo lucky that Jack was here to save you?" Her voice had taken on a sing-song, flirty quality. "It's so great that you were right here at the exact moment so that you could save her, don't you think Amantha." At that, my eyes flipped open and I took a step back.
"Save me? I don't think so!" I put my hands on my hips and stared at him. Stared into the eyes of the man I wished I could forget. Oh God, those eyes. Those swoony, knee-weakening, green eyes that stared down at me from all those billboards in shopping centres.
He smiled. Wicked, mischievous and, oh god, sexy as hell. "Uh...actually, I kind of did save you."
"Uh...no you did not," I fired back immediately.
"Uh...yes, I actually did. In fact, if memory serves, I've saved you a few other times when tripping. Like at that party when we—"
"Stop it!" I held my hand up, it was shaking. "Do not say it. And NO, you did not save me, and NO, I do not need saving."
I glared at him angrily, but to no avail. Because right now, Jack Emory was smiling at me. And just like that, we were exactly where we'd left of years ago. Just like that, we were five years old again, fighting with each other over the sandpit turf. Eight years old and fighting because he tried to copy my work in class. Twelve years old, fighting because he was blowing little bits of rolled up paper at with with a straw in class. Eighteen and fighting because everyone at school thought we'd kissed at a party. He stared straight back at me, that stupid smile still playing on his lips, and I wanted to pull them off his face. Possibly with a pair of pliers.
"Face it, Amantha. I saved you. Like a knight in shining armour, sweeping in to save the damsel in distress." He took it up a notch, his smile growing as if he was relishing this moment.
"WHAT?!" My voice came out loudly. "You... a knight? Are you kidding? In shining armour?" I laughed, that was the most ridiculous thing I'd heard in ages. "The only thing shiny about you Jack is your... your....your..." I paused. What the fuck was shiny about him? Not my finest comeback, since I couldn't even finish it.
"My shiny... what?" he asked. Seductive, husky tones now. Bastard!
I pointed a finger at him. "You wish, Jack Emory. You bloody wish."
"Oh my God, are you two at it again?" Becky asked with a huge sigh. She'd also been at school with us and knew all too well what we were like. In fact, everyone knew what we were like; so why the hell had they seated us next to each other? The mind boggled.
"Oh my God, you're bleeding!" Becky suddenly pointed at my shoulder and I looked down at it. She was right. A small red splatter was staining the pastel pink dress and growing slowly.
"Shit." Jack took a step towards me, and without asking my permission, reached up and pulled the material of my dress aside. His fingers brushed my skin and it pebbled; a hot, yet strangely cold shiver ran down my spine. Inconvenient! So bloody inconvenient. I pulled my shoulder away from him quickly, but he only moved towards it again.
"There's a gash. It looks bad," he exclaimed. He looked genuinely concerned and then, again, without asking, he looped his arm through mine and started walking me away. I pulled against him.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To the bathroom. To try and stop the bleeding. See what's going on there. Maybe you need stitches." His voice was high-pitched and almost panicked. This was ridiculous. I dug my heels in and pulled against him, refusing to move.
"Stitches! Oh please, I've had worse on the job."
"Well, you're not on "the job" right now," he said using air quotes.
"Wait? What does that even mean?" I threw some air quotes right back at him.
"Just that, that..." he stopped talking and a strange look swept over his face.
"Just what, Jack?" I asked tauntingly.
"Nothing. Nothing." But it was something, I could see it in the strange expression on his face that made me uneasy and somewhat queasy inside. "Let's just get you to the bathroom," he said and started pulling me again. I bucked against him again.
"I'm not going to the bathroom with you." I stuck my most intimidating pose.
And now he was back to smiling again. Ear to bloody ear. "Is that supposed to intimidate me?"
"Yes!" I shot back.
"Well, it doesn't." He squared off in front of me.
"Well, it should. Don't mess with me, Jack," I said, feeling so childish right now. But I just couldn't help it. Jack Emory brought out the worst in me. I wasn't proud of it, but that was the truth of the matter. It had always been the truth of the matter. We always brought out the worst in each other.
"Really? And what are you going to do to me if I do mess with you?" He took a step forward, lowering his voice. My stomach tightened. He took another step forward, closer, closer, closer, until... his face was mere centimetres from mine. "Handcuff me?" he asked.
I pushed him away. "You're disgusting, do you know that?"
He laughed loudly. "God, I've missed this."
"Missed what?"
"This? Do you know, you're the only person in the world that gives me shit," he teased.
"That's because you deserve it. Ow!" I suddenly winced as a sharp pain shot through my shoulder. His eyes travelled down to the blood on my dress and then widened.
"It's bleeding even more. Please come with me and let's have a look at it," he urged, changing his tone.
"Just because you play a doctor in a soapie on TV, doesn't mean you know anything about wounds." I rubbed my shoulder gently.
"You'd be surprised how many things you pick up." He extended his hand and I looked at it. "Come. Stop being so bloody stubborn, Amantha without an S."
I stared at the hand. The hand that had been all over my body five years ago, and, as if I had no control over it, my hand began to reach out.
Noooo! I shouted in my head, trying to stop my hand from misbehaving in this manner. But it wasn't listening to me, and to my shock/horror, I watched as my hand sailed down into his, as if it belonged there.