Alone (2 page)

He fixated those amazing eyes on her, “At
least let me help you to your feet.”

She stared at his hand in mistrust,
but couldn’t help glancing at the rest of him. Well-dressed in a
smart woolen overcoat and expensive shoes, he gave the impression
of someone of importance, of someone who knew his place in the
world.

He was everything Serenity wanted to
be.

His hand was large, strong and
inviting. He certainly didn’t look like a lunatic.

Could this man do much
worse than what I’ve got waiting at home?

The anger melted and she found
herself incapable of resisting. Instead
, she
wanted
to take his hand, touch the soft,
strangely pale skin. Serenity reached out and slipped her small
palm into his.

She gasped and would have pulled away if
not for the strength of his hand closing around her own.

Cold. He was so
cold.

It wasn’t just his temperature
catching her breath. His touch fire
d every synapse in her body and goose
bumps prickled her skin, her heart stuttering in her chest. Again,
her brain jolted like a static discharge realigned her nerve cells.
It felt as though someone had reached in and moved parts of her
memory around, as if she’d experienced something she should forget.
Black blobs clouded her vision. Her legs folded and the world swam
away.

His arms locked beneath her before she
fell, his easy strength holding her, and she came back to the
surface.

“
Sorry,” she managed,
embarrassed. “I don’t know...”

She tailed off, unsure of what to
say.

“
What were you running
from?” he asked.

Serenity glanced up at him. Concern
softened his eyes and the sight melted her; he was the first person
in a long time to show her any kind of compassion.

“
Myself,” she whispered. “I
was running from myself.”

He smiled again. “You didn’t get very
far.”

“
No. I never do.”

She suddenly realized he still held
her in his arms, her breasts pressed up against his broad chest,
his face inches from her own. He seemed aware of their close
proximity at the same moment and stepped away, leaving them both
flustered.

Serenity stared down at the ground, too
embarrassed to meet his eyes. What had gone through her? Had he
somehow reached inside and touched the essence of who she
was?

She shook her head slightly, alarmed
at her own thoughts. The stress must be too much.

“
I...I have to go,” she managed,
pushing past, not trusting herself to look at him again. She sensed
him about to reach out to her, but he didn’t and she kept walking.
Only when she reached the main street, with its lights and bustle
of people, did she dare glance back.

He was gone.

A strange ache of disappointment and
relief filled her and she chewed at her lower lip, worrying at a
piece of dried skin. Serenity found herself trying to commit his
face to memory, to remember how she’d felt when he took her hand.
She would bury the moment deep inside and dig it out like an old
forgotten favorite teddy or blanket when things got really
bad.

The thought made her want to cry but
she pressed her lips together and fought the tears. She wouldn’t
let herself cry. Not anymore.

It was getting late; Jackson would
already be wondering where she was. Hoping to do damage control,
she fished in her handbag and found her cell phone. She only had
three numbers programmed in; home, work and Jackson’s cell. Hitting
home, she put the phone to her ear.

It rang twice before her husband
picked up.

“
Hello?”

“
Hey, honey,” she said,
trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I just wanted to let you
know I’m going to be a bit late. The traffic is terrible and I
couldn’t get on the last bus, it was full of Japanese
tourists.”

He stayed silent on the other end.
Serenity held her breath in anticipation.

“
How long are you going to
be?”

She heard the measure in his voice, as
though every additional ten minutes would buy her another
punch.

“
Half an hour,” she said.
“Quick as I can.”

Air whistled down the phone as he huffed
through his nose, something he always did when he was pissed, a
bull shown a red flag.

“
Fine, but hurry up. I’m
getting hungry,” and he hung up.

Serenity hurried down the road toward
her stop, praying the bus wouldn’t take long to arrive. To her
relief, the big blue bus trundled down the road toward her and she
broke into a trot, ignoring her protesting ribs, desperate not to
miss this one.

Making it in plenty of time, she
joined the line. There was no hint of the panic attack she had
suffered earlier at this same close proximity of a crowd.
Strangely, she felt better within herself, as if the nugget of hope
she had stored within herself fed her strength.

She flashed her travel card at the
driver who barely bothered to check. Passengers filled all of the
seats so she grabbed hold of one of the standing poles.

With her free hand, Serenity fingered
the thin silver necklace nestled at her throat, the letter ‘S’
hanging from the chain. The necklace was the only present she’d
ever received from her mother and she rubbed the cool metal like a
good luck charm whenever she grew nervous, which was
often.

As the bus pulled away, she caught
something out of the corner of her eye. She swung her head around
and peered through the bus window. It was as though her eyes sought
him out through the crowds, like some part of her deep down knew
exactly where to look, exactly where to find him. For there, on the
other side of the street in the shadows of a doorway, stood the man
who had tried to help.

Watching her.

Chapter Two

Serenity arrived home
over an
hour
late.

Standing outside her front door, she
couldn’t help but admire the little duplex despite the person
within. Though the yard was small, she spent what free time she had
keeping the window boxes pretty and the space tidy. Jackson’s
father died a few years earlier, leaving Jackson a good sum of
money and astonishing Serenity, who assumed the man would have
drunk any savings away. With his inheritance, Jackson bought the
two bed duplex in Glendale, a decent district of LA.

She put the key in the lock and, like a
teenager sneaking home from a late night party, turned it as
quietly as possible. The door opened with a click. No sounds came
from inside; a bad sign. When Jackson relaxed, he put his feet up
in front of the television. With the television not on, Serenity
knew she’d find him sitting at the kitchen table, brooding with his
forearms resting on the surface in front of him.

Serenity hung her bag and coat on the
hooks behind the front door. She took a deep breath and tried to
ignore her heart. It thumped so hard she thought the organ might
burst from her chest.

I can’t do it,
she
thought
. I
can’t tell him I got fired. He’ll kill me.

Walking into the kitchen, she found
Jackson exactly as she’d pictured him, sitting with his back to
her. His narrow shoulders and long back hunched over the table, his
too long, light brown hair hiding his neck.

She moved around the table to face him,
but he didn’t even raise his eyes to glare at her through his
rimless, rectangular glasses.

Jackson wore his glasses most of the time,
even though he only needed them to read or for computer work. He
liked to appear intelligent and thought the addition did that for
him. To anyone else he appeared harmless, a slightly geeky guy. He
certainly didn’t fit the look of a wife beater.

“
Hi honey,” she said, trying
to make her voice bright. “Sorry I’m late.” She bent down and
kissed his cheek. “How was your day? How did the writing
go?”

She acted overly cheerful, compensating
for the dark mood radiating from her spouse.

“
It was fine,” he said still
not bothering to look at her. “What’s for dinner?”

Food had been the furthest thing from her
mind, but suddenly the question loomed huge. Giving the wrong
answer would be the final spark to his tinder, the thing to ignite
his temper.

She gave a smile, the expression false
on her face. “I thought I’d do us some old fashioned bacon-burgers
and fries, maybe with extra cheese?”

His shoulders relaxed and she stopped
herself breathing a sigh of relief.

“
As long as you miss out the
cheese and fries for yourself.” He reached out and slapped her on
the backside, a more than playful smack that left her skin
stinging. “You know how easily you pile on the extra
pounds.”

The slap made up her mind. She wouldn’t
tell him about getting fired.

Serenity opened the refrigerator and
pulled out a cold bottle of beer. She cracked the lid off and
handed it to Jackson, who took the brew with a faint
smile.

“
Why don’t you go into the
living room and make yourself comfortable,” she said. “Let me do my
thing in here.”

He was reluctant to leave her. She knew he
still hadn’t made up his mind about whether to punish her for being
late but she was heading in the right direction and so pressed
on.

“
Go on, hon. You must be
exhausted. I understand how hard you work.”

“
I am tired,” he admitted.
“The words just didn’t seem to want to come today.”

“
How much did you get done?
Do you have any idea when you’ll be finished?”

Jackson raised his face to her, head
tilted to one side, his eyes narrowed. “Are you giving me a
deadline, Serenity?”

“
No... No… Of course not,” she
tripped over her words. “But I know how frustrated you feel when
you...”

He was on his feet in an instant, his
chair crashing to the floor behind him. His face pressed up against
hers, breath hot against her skin. His thick fingers wrapped tight
around her neck, squeezing. Her breath caught in her throat as his
fingers dug painfully into her trachea, choking her.

“
Don’t you fucking tell me
what I feel!”

He shoved her backward and she fell,
crashing into their large, silver trashcan. Trash spilled out on
the floor and the can hit the tiles with a reverberating clang .
Pain shot up through her ribs, red hot spears of agony, and she
instinctively curled up into the fetal position, her arms
protecting her head.

“
Look what you’ve done,” he spat,
kicking at the spilled contents of the can. “I hope you’re going to
clean this mess up.”

Jackson snatched the beer bottle off the
table and stalked out of the room. Within seconds, the roar of the
television reached her ears; the rage built up inside of him now
released. What she’d said hadn’t mattered; he’d been itching for a
fight. Even if she’d stayed utterly silent, he still would have
found some reason to hit her.

Despite the pain, part of her was
relieved. Maybe now he wouldn’t read the truth in her face? Maybe
now he wouldn’t see her secret?

Serenity rolled to her side, cheek pressed
against the cold tiles. She stayed there for a moment, waiting for
the pain to subside. Slowly, the initial stabbing pain dulled to a
familiar ache. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for the
fresh wave she knew would come as soon as she tried to move
again.

I will leave him,
she promised herself
for the millionth time.
I don’t deserve this.

From out of nowhere, the
stranger’s face rose in her mind and she remembered
the feel of his
touch. That was what she wanted. Someone who stirred such intense
emotions, it made her gasp for breath, and not because he’d
inflicted pain. She cradled the hand her stranger had touched to
her body and closed her eyes, recalling every sensation. Something
welled up deep inside, a wave rolling through her body, wiping out
the pain. Would she see him again?

Panic jolted through her at the idea that
she might forget his face or how he’d made her feel. Suddenly,
remembering this man was more important than dealing with the
abusive husband she remained terrified to walk away
from.

“
Find me again,” she
whispered to the empty kitchen.

R
ealizing she had spoken aloud, her cheeks
flushed and she worried Jackson may have heard her above the
television. How absurd to think the man would give her a second
thought, never mind come looking for her.

Feeling stupid, she carefully pushed to
her knees and began to gather trash—empty cans, an old cereal
packet, a pizza box—toward her. Tomato sauce and bits of pasta from
last night’s meal clung to the floor. Sauce stuck to her fingers
and she wiped them on the seat of her pants in disgust. Like an old
woman, she climbed to her feet, using the wall for support. She
righted the big metal bin and proceeded to refill it.