A Study in You (Part 2)
Karen turned the page of her book, pretending not to glance at the clock. Her fingers fluttered against the smooth paper, a nervous little tick folding and unfolding the corner of the page. Ten minutes past five o’clock and she was desperately trying to convince herself that she hadn’t been stood up by a smug history teacher.
Thirty minutes past the hour and her foot began to tap on the hardwood floor, the page turns becoming a little sharp. The paper tore along the gutter halfway down the spine, eliciting a curse from Karen. She snapped the book shut and tossed it angrily on to the coffee table.
She should have known this would happen. The smug bastard would smirk at her tomorrow morning, ask her how her evening had gone. Or worse, he would make some power play, turning up hours late expecting her to fall all over him. She was angry, but that anger was fueled by embarrassment. How transparent was she? Thirsting after the big jerk like one of the hormonal teenagers she was surrounded by every day. Had he sensed it? Had it made him want to toy with her?
Six came and went, just as she’d suspected. She jumped up, blushing profusely as she caught her reflection in the mirror. The low cut of the dress she’d changed into was reflected by at her like an accusation. Jerking open drawer after drawer she looked for her ugliest baggiest sweats. They were the most comfortable things she owned, and she was determined that Frank Castle not even know what he’d missed.
Two hours later Karen was finishing off a cheap bottle of wine, using her coffee table as a foot rest, fully immersed in the last scene of Casa Blanca when she heard a knock at her door. Three raps rattling the cheap wood in its frame.
She scrambled to get up, knocking half a dozen books and a stack of ungraded papers into the floor, head swimming when she finally stood. When she looked through the peephole, a wave of heat shot through her, despite her current irritation with the man standing on the other side of the door.
She undid the chain, and swung the door open. “Just what exactly do you think--” She stopped short, mouth dropping open when she was his face, bruised and battered, blood drying on his collar. Suddenly she felt a little dizzy. “Holy shit, Frank. What happened?”
He shook his head. “Hey, I’m sorry about being so late--”
Karen cut him off, hooking her hand under his arm and dragging him into her apartment, flipping on lights as she went along. She was astonished by the sight of his face. Deep purple bruising spreading along his cheek bone, swelling puffing up the skin around his eyes, blood dripping from a painful looking cut above his left eyebrow.
Then she noticed the him holding his side gingerly, wincing in pain as she pulled him along. Without waiting for permission she snagged the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to see a mottled pattern of bruises along his ribs. Her fingers traced the contusions, trembling at the contact. “What happened?”
He cursed under his breath, pulling away from her. “Shit, I shouldn’t have come here. Asshole busted my cellphone and I didn’t want you to think I forgot… I’ll go.”
He turned to leave, but Karen darted between him and the door, hands coming up to grasp his arms. “You cannot show up on my doorstep bleeding and bruised and not tell me what happened!”
She could feel his body heat beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, her pulse racing at the contact. This is why she didn’t drink wine, it went straight to her head. He was smirking at her, even under his rapidly swelling face he was still exactly the irritating ass he always was. “What’s the matter Page, can’t stand to see me go?”
She rolled her eyes, stomping over to her bathroom and coming back with her first aid kit. “At least let me get you cleaned up.”
She pushed him over to her couch, urging him to sit on it’s edge, whipping out some cotton balls and peroxide. Wiping away the blood dripping down the side of his face, she waited for him to tell her what the hell was going on.
“Did you know Ellie is an orphan?”
The question was soft, hot air puffing out against the skin of her arm as she held a cotton ball suspended in front of his face. It caught her off guard. “What?”
“Ellie Natchios, the foul mouthed little spark plug that caught us necking in the lounge. She’s lived in a group home for the better part of the last year, and a couple months ago she was fostered out.”
“That’s good isn’t it?” Karen dropped the bloody cotton balls into a waste basket, plucking a butterfly bandage from her kit. She peeled off the backing and carefully applied it to his eyebrow, biting her bottom lip in concentration
Frank stared at her while she worked unaware of his gaze. She was beautiful when she was focused on something, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her fine eyebrows. Blinking, he cleared his throat and continued. “It could have been, I suppose. But this guy… I had a bad feeling the first time I met him a parent/teacher conference.”
Karen smoothed the bandage down, her touch lingering half a beat too long. Frank’s story made her frown. “A bad feeling?”
He nodded. “And today, I was walking to my car, and I saw them both in the parking lot. She was smarting off at him about something, typical teenage stuff, and he just… he just backhanded her like it was nothing, knocking her to the ground.”
Karen sat across from him, her mouth falling open. “That’s awful.”
He took a deep breath. “She was so small, lying there on the pavement. I saw red. I don’t know. It happened so fast. I was across the parking lot, fist to his face in less than ten seconds.” He shifted, the pain at his ribs drawing his attention. “Old bastard had cat-like reflexes, took me by surprise. Beat the shit out of me with his walking stick before a couple of cops intervened.”
“Oh, Frank…”
He ignored her soft exhalation, shrugging like it was nothing. “Anyway, that’s why I’m late. The cops wanted a statement, and I had to convince them to let me find a place for Ellie to stay instead of taking her back to the shelter. I’m sorry.”
Karen was already up, crossing the short gap between them. Maybe the wine was making her a little reckless, but she couldn’t resist the urge to cradle his injured face, tracing the swelling along his cheek with her thumb. She bent down, capturing his lips with hers, moving in softly so as to not bump his bruises. She pulled back. “Don’t be sorry.”
He laughed, a low little rumble in his chest. He tugged her down into his lap, grunting from the faint twinge of pain. “Maybe I ought to get the shit kicked out of me more often, if this is how you nurse me back to health.” His hands slipped beneath her ratty gray sweater, palming the smooth expanse of her back. “Interesting choice of clothing for a date.”
She laughed, feeling a blush creep up her neck. She pushed him back on the couch, straddling his hips. “It’s all the rage, baggy college-era sweats.”
Frank slipped his other hand underneath the sweater, finding the smooth skin of her breast, nipple pebbled under his brushing thumb. “You drive me to distraction.” The sweater was up and over her head before she could blink, Frank pulling her down to him so he could taste the hollow of her neck, inhale the scent of her hair. He wanted her to surround him.
She complied, wiggling off of him to quickly shuck off the sweatpants, tugging at his boots and jeans until he gave up in frustration, kicking the things off. The fog of Karen’s desire dissipated when he tossed his shirt aside, revealing the expanse of bruises on his side. “Fuck, Frank. We shouldn’t be doing this. You’re hurt.”
He growled, scooping her up and carrying her to the bed. “Like hell I am.”