The Warhol Incident (20 page)

“Wait, what?”
His face contorted as he tried to make sense of my words and the picture I was painting for him.

“Tied up and hanging from a hook.
In case you ever wondered, rope is an incredibly unpleasant object.” His jaw was clenching and unclenching, but he remained silent as his eyes bore into the depths of inhumanity. Carefully releasing my arm, his hand worked its way up to my shoulder and traced the slice along my clavicle.

“Dagger.”
Part of me was back in the warehouse, experiencing the terror all over again. “The guy who grabbed me liked his toys but thought going a bit old school with a blade might make more of an impact.” Martin’s hand stopped moving, and I looked up to see anger and sorrow in his eyes. The things I was relaying were unfathomable to him. His life was business and cocktail parties, a place where maids and chauffeurs catered to your every whim.

“How?
Why?” He didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend, and I never wanted him to.

“It’s okay.”
My voice was barely above a whisper. Nodding my head, I gave him unspoken permission. He hesitated before slowly and cautiously circling my burnt and blistered flesh. I locked on to his eyes, afraid if I shut mine, I’d open them to find myself back in that warehouse, having never left. Maybe I should stop now. I didn’t need to revisit the warehouse, and he didn’t need any more details. Too much had already been said, but I couldn’t stop myself. It would never be over if I didn’t finish the story and file it away. “Electric shock by something resembling a cattle prod. He wanted information, and in a few more seconds, I would have told him anything. Done anything.” I inhaled sharply and shut my eyes tightly, forcing the panic away. Martin moved his hand over to circle the second burn location.

“Alex,” his voice was saving me from that place, “you can stop.
I don’t…you don’t need to…”

“I wanted to die.”
This was the first time I verbalized it, but it was the truth. “I screamed myself hoarse, hoping my heart would stop. I just wanted it all to stop.” He stopped circling the burn pattern and wrapped his arm around me again, his grip tight against my side as he held me against him. Firmly keeping me in the present. “I just wanted it to be over.” Martin was afraid to move for fear of hurting me. His face dropped, and his features were dark. I said too much, and I moved my hand to rest on top of his forearm, hoping we could both find some solace.

“But you’re okay?” he asked after some time.
His voice sounded harsh against the silence.

“Just a little worse for wear.”
I tried to smile since I was in the safety of my apartment. It was all going to be okay. 

“Really?”
The green irises bore into me, searching for something to grasp on to.

“Exhausted and a bit dehydrated, but fine other than the occasional room spins.”
Self-preservation was reigning supreme, and my ingrained gallows humor was kicking in. “Muscles are a bit achy from hanging around and all the electric shock therapy, though.” I chuckled. My defenses were working again. “Nothing major.” He took a deep breath and stopped playing with my hair long enough to swallow the rest of his scotch.

“I’m glad you’re home, and you’re safe.”
He still watched me cautiously, as if I were a porcelain doll teetering on the edge of a shelf. Well, since we’re being sappy and dramatic, might as well kill two birds with one stone.

“For now.
Martin, this is where I live. These things keep happening. In the unlikely event I lose my mind and go back to work with Mark, these types of things could be in my future or worse.” I looked at him sadly. “Hell, even if I don’t go back to the OIO, trouble follows me around. I’m a jinx.”

“You’re not a jinx.”

“Regardless,” I took a breath, steeling my nerves, “this is why you should run for the door and never look back.” The protest was forming on his lips. “But I’m tired. Exhausted, actually.” I graced him with a brief smile. “I’m tired of fighting you on this. If you insist on becoming involved with me, at least now you have all of the facts. You have my recommendation to leave and not look back but whatever. You like your unilateral decision-making skills, so have at it.”      

“Okay.”
Not quite the response I expected as I wondered if he was going to head to the nearest exit, but his arm was still protectively around me. My eyes were closed, and I knew falling asleep right now wouldn’t earn me any hostess of the year awards. “We’ll take things slow,” he said at last. I turned my head and looked up at him. “We can re-evaluate when and if the time comes.” He leaned down and kissed me compassionately. It wasn’t sexy or impulsive or any of the things our kiss in the hotel hallway had been. He was scared, and I was to blame. “Just so you know,” he whispered, “I’ve been waiting to do that all night.”

“You need to work on your material.
It’s old and tired, just like me.” Letting out a sigh of relief, I turned toward the television, grabbing the remote off the table. “Sorry, I’m not very entertaining at the moment.” I handed him the remote. “Don’t feel obligated to stay and keep me company. I’m perfectly content turning in early.”

“Nonsense.”
He flipped on the TV and channel surfed. “Get some rest. I’ll get out of here when I’m ready.” Closing my eyes, I laced my fingers over his while he continued to absently play with my hair.

The pillow moved upward slightly, and then it gently eased back into place.
Whatever was causing the room to spin was really starting to get on my nerves.

“Alex.”
Martin’s voice was barely above a whisper. I opened my eyes to find him standing above me. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I didn’t want to frighten you.” I didn’t know how long I had been asleep, but I assumed he was on his way out. Muttering something unintelligible, I shut my eyes. He cradled me against his chest and lifted me off the couch.

“You’re going to hurt your shoulder,” I mumbled as he carried me into my room and laid me gently on the bed.
Rolling over, I felt the blankets being pulled up around me.

“I’ll be on the couch, if you need anything.”
I was asleep before he made it to the door.

There was little recollection from the night before. Everything was blending into a colorful blur as I opened my eyes and turned my head toward the intrusive sound. The phone was ringing. I leaned toward my nightstand and squinted at the caller I.D. It was Mark. I ignored it and reached for the glass of water instead.

“Ow.”
My shoulders and back protested. Not moving for an extended amount of time made my sore muscles stiffen into uncomfortable knots. Giving up on the water, I rolled over on my stomach and buried my head in the pillow as I waited for the ringing to cease.

“Alex?” Martin’s voice permeated through my sleep-filled brain.
“Are you okay?” Being too tired to open my eyes or roll over to face the door, I couldn’t be sure if he was standing in my bedroom or if I was dreaming. The mattress dipped down as he sat on the edge of the bed next to me, indicating he probably wasn’t a figment of my unconscious psyche.

“Sore back,” I mumbled, nestling fu
rther into the bedding. Without another word, he swept my hair to the side. His feather-light touch began at my shoulders and slowly and gently continued down my spine. I was on the cusp of oblivion when his hands reached the juncture underneath my shoulder blade and along my ribcage. I let out a whimper, and my body involuntarily drew itself into a ball as his slight touch hit a particularly tender spot. Instantly, he withdrew his hands, uttering countless apologies. If I wasn’t so close to sleep, I would have said something, but instead, I let his words turn into white noise as I drifted off. 

What must have been hours later, I surfaced from under the covers.
Sleep had done wonders. My body was no longer sore, and the room had stopped spinning. Sitting up in bed, I could see Martin at my kitchen table, surrounded by a sea of paperwork. He stayed the night to take care of me, which was not the way I wanted things to begin between the two of us.

I grabbed some clothing and went into the bathroom.
As I showered and dressed my wounds, I regretted everything I said to him last night. He shouldn’t be aware of the things I experienced. After all, he had gone through quite enough in the last year as it was. This was exactly why we were always cautioned not to do anything life changing after traumatic situations. Assessing myself in the mirror, things were going to get awkward. 

When I opened the bathro
om door, he was cooking breakfast. “Good morning,” he greeted. There was a cup of coffee waiting for me on the counter. Martin had turned into a man-servant overnight. I sat down on one of the stools and watched him suspiciously. He looked like hell, and I imagined he hadn’t slept at all last night.

“Were you wearing that yesterday?”
I was out of it but not that out of it.

“No, I went home this morning and changed, got some paperwork to review, and went to the grocery store.
The only thing you had in your fridge was the leftover Chinese and a bottle of mustard.” I was positively baffled by everything he had just said.

“Then
why are you here?” I probably sounded ungrateful in my confusion, but he was used to my gruff edges. “You went home.”

“Well, I had to return your keys.
I couldn’t just leave without locking your deadbolts. Plus, I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, and I felt bad about this morning.” He confused me again, and I tried to remember what happened.

“You didn’t hurt me, but you didn’t have to stay.
And you really didn’t have to make breakfast.”

He ignored me as he always did.
“You look a million times better today. How are you feeling?”

“Better.
About last night,” I began, but the phone interrupted. He lifted the cordless phone from its cradle.

“It’s Mark, again.
He’s called four times.”

“Just pick up the receiver and slam it down.”
Martin frowned and answered the phone.

“Hey, Mark.
It’s James.” He paused. “I don’t know, hang on.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Tell him I’m not here.”

“She says she’s not here,” he relayed my message, and I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh. Okay. I will.” Brief pause. “We talked last night. She’s okay.” He concluded the call and replaced the handset.

“Mark says he’s sorry and you should consider hearing him out.”
Gracing Martin with my ‘yeah, right’ look, I picked up my coffee and sat down at the kitchen table where I was presented with a plate of pancakes.

“Thanks, but you’ve already done so much.”
I looked at the couch. “Did you sleep there all night? You could have taken my bed or went home. I am perfectly capable of staying by myself.”

“I wanted to stay, and you needed a good night’s sleep.”
He glanced at the digital clock. “And a good morning’s sleep, too.” It was almost two o’clock. I picked at the pancakes while Martin watched me eat.

“Not hungry?”

“I ate at home.
So, you and Mark?” He was trying to get the conversation back on track. I put my fork down and studied the ceiling, collecting my thoughts.

“I need to say something first.”
Martin’s expression changed. “Last night, those things I told you. I shouldn’t have. There was no reason why you needed to hear about what happened in the warehouse in so much detail.” I licked my lips. My mouth had gone dry. “A couple weeks ago, when I tried to throw you out of my apartment, I shouldn’t have told you quite like that either. I just wanted you to understand.”

“You have to talk to someone,” he said gently.
“I can be that someone. I don’t like what’s happened, but listening is the least I
can
do.”

“Have you been talking to Mark?
Because that’s more or less what we’re arguing about. He thinks I need to talk things out.” Martin remained silent, and I had a feeling he discussed this with Mark earlier this morning.

“I guess I should be forthright with you.
Mark’s mentioned some things that you’re not going to be very pleased about. If it makes you feel any better, it was for purely professional reasons.” I stared at Martin, not knowing what in the world he was about to divulge. “Before I hired you to work as my security, Mark told me the real reason you quit the OIO.”

“Oh.”
My tone turned cold as I remembered the Bureau shrink’s assessment that I failed to discuss the incident properly and satisfactorily move past it.

“It’s why you were the fourth person I interviewed for the job.
It’s also why I gave you a few chances to walk away when things got rough.” Martin was still talking. He had a guilty conscience for not saying anything sooner. He and Mark both needed to learn how to take a hint. “The point is I don’t care what Mark thinks. You know how much you can handle and what needs to be done. You might have a few scars, but you’re not damaged beyond repair. Don’t let him make you feel that way. You,” Martin paused and corrected himself, “we, can take things at your pace and handle them when and if you’re ready.”

“Only time will tell,” I replied cynically.
I wasn’t sure how to take any of what he just said. Was it a compliment, criticism, or just words to clear his guilty conscience? I put my plate in the sink and leaned against the counter, trying to regroup. He came up behind me.

“Are we okay?”

Turning around to face him, I wasn’t sure the two of us should even be a we.
Maybe things were moving at a pace faster than what I could handle. I shrugged, and he moved to kiss me. It was soft and brief as he carefully touched his lips to mine. His hands brushed against the sides of my torso, just below my ribcage. Maybe things were moving too quickly for the both of us. Placing my palms against his shoulders, I resting my cheek against his chest, but he wouldn’t return my embrace. One of us had to prove I wasn’t completely breakable, even if this wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world right now.

His right shoulder was colder than his left, and one of the icepacks from my freezer was sitting next to the stove.
I pulled away and dropped my hands. “You aggravated your shoulder by carrying me to bed last night,” I surmised, walking away. We weren’t good together. I don’t see what possessed me to think letting him make this decision was a good idea.

“It would have happened anyway.
It just gets sore sometimes.” There was something he wasn’t saying, but we had enough drama at the moment.

I sat on the corner of the couch, curling my legs under me.
“You should go home and prepare for your meeting. What time is your dinner with Luc?” I tried to cover my retreat with a work distraction. Martin was a workaholic after all.

“I have
time. We’re meeting at five for drinks and going from there. All my files are here, so if you’ll allow me the use of your table,” he wasn’t falling for my distraction tactics, “Marcal can bring something more business appropriate I can change into when he comes to pick me up, if I’m permitted to change in your apartment.” His tone wasn’t lost on me, but I chose to ignore it.

“Of course.”
I wasn’t going to fight with him, even though I hated how emotionally manipulated I often felt when he was being genuinely thoughtful and I was so difficult to handle. Most likely, that had more to do with my own take on the way things were and less on how they actually were, but that was beside the point.

“What are you doing today?” he asked, sitting down on the couch next to me.

“Absolutely nothing.”
His expression was akin to if I suggested I wanted to live on Jupiter. “I might get the mail. Watch some TV. If I feel overly ambitious, maybe I’ll do some laundry.”

“Really?”
 

“Hell
, yes. I’ve been busting my ass for a month now. It’s over. I’m done,” I paused, thinking about things, “at least for today.” He chuckled and placed the remote control beside me before heading back into the kitchen. Since my one bedroom apartment was comprised of a single large room, containing my living room, kitchen, and dining room, it basically meant he was walking from the couch to the counter. “However, if you touch those dishes, I will be forced to kick your ass,” I warned. He stepped away from the sink, his hands in the air.

“Yes, ma’am.”
He detoured to the stack of papers he placed on the corner of my kitchen table. I hated being called ma’am, and I glared at him. He smirked and sat down.

Over the next two hours, he reviewed and made notes for his working dinner while I spent the same time lying on the couch
, alternating between reading a magazine and watching television. Marcal knocked on my door, carrying a garment bag. I let him in and offered the few meager items I had in my house, but he declined and went to wait for Martin outside in the car, insisting he parked in a tow-away zone. Martin changed into a designer suit. His shirt buttons were undone, and his tie was hanging untied around his neck as he went into my bathroom to check his hair. Men, I thought ironically. I got off the couch and leaned against the doorjamb, watching him.

“Here, let me.”
Despite his lackadaisical attitude, his shoulder hurt, and his right hand wasn’t being as dexterous as it should. Standing in front of him, I buttoned his shirt. He was absently playing with a strand of my hair, using his left hand and staring unnervingly at me. “I think it’d be best if you kept whatever this may or may not be quiet.” I was working on figuring out how to knot his tie.

“I agree,” he responded coyly, still staring.
His eyes were getting a little too alluring as I finished the knot, so I turned and walked out of the bathroom and back to the safety of the couch. He double-checked his appearance in the mirror before emerging. “If it’s not too late, I can come back later tonight.”

“That’s okay.
I’m going to work my way through all those leftovers and go to bed early. I’ll see you Monday at the office. New surveillance equipment, exciting stuff,” I feigned enthusiasm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex.
By the way, you need to work on your compromising skills.” I made a mental note to remind him to have Bruiser escort him from the car to my door and vice versa because you never knew what kind of crazies could be lurking in the hallway.

I
just started washing the dishes when the phone rang. It was Martin.

“Mark’s on his way up.
I just wanted to give you the chance to run down the fire escape.” He mocked my avoidance. “However, he is carrying a pizza, y’know, from the good pizza place, so perhaps you should knock him out and keep the pizza. I can send Bruiser up to help you hide the body.”

“Go to work,” I insisted, hanging up the phone.
I went to the door and unlocked the deadbolts, opening it before Mark even knocked.

“Hey.”
Mark was shocked I opened the door.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” I asked snippily, gazing at the pizza box.

“Can I come in?”

“That depends.
Mushrooms?”

“Yes.”
Stepping away from the door, I gestured him inside. “Alex, I believe you misconstrued my words yesterday.” I took the pizza from him and placed it on the counter, opening it to verify the bribe of mushrooms was legitimate. “I was worried about you. You can’t blame me for that.”