The car door clicked shut behind her, and she felt her heart rate start to climb against her own will to simply treat this as a quick and normal social duty and move on. Add in the fact that Greg had been singing along to oldies on the radio the whole way to the station, and her nerves were already worn a bit thin.
She followed him up to the door of the station, burying her hands into the deep pockets of her black, subtly shiny, puffy down jacket. It fell somewhere between the ratty one she usually wore on a daily basis and the one fancy peacoat she owned for if and when she ever did something that required looking polished and put together.
A whoosh of warm air greeted her cold cheeks as they stepped into the small lobby of the police station. It weirdly felt like being in a library—everything was made of stone and worn wood. And it was quiet. Eerily quiet. Wasn't crime always afoot? Shouldn't there have been civilians lodging complaints at the front desk and overflowing numbers of criminals handcuffed to radiators? She'd been watching far, far too many police procedural reruns instead of sleeping.
"I'll go get Ben, he should be out in just a sec." And with that, Greg disappeared back behind the counter.
All she could muster was an awkward, disjointed nod. It was then, alone by herself and waiting to confront a stranger she'd been an asshole to, she noticed all the coffee sloshing around in her audibly empty stomach.
There hadn't been a lot of time to eat between doing her laundry and getting ready. Weirdly enough, she found it necessary to look more presentable than her usual zero-effort appearance. She had thrown on just a little makeup to complement her mostly black attire. By the time she had finished stressing over painting her face just the right amount, Greg was already ready, waiting on her by the door, arms and hands fidgeting—leaving her without a chance to eat.
So she was left alone in the lobby of the NYPD station, a desk clerk eyeing her as she paced about with a shake in her hands and a distractingly fast heartbeat. She wished she had eaten something, anything, at this point. A piece of bread, a stale cracker. An empty stomach mixed with rising anxiety and caffeine was proving to be a near crippling combination.
She had managed to delay their departure until early evening, but the extra time did not allow for any extra preparation. Her hair had become an afterthought, so it suffered the most. She had settled for pulling on an old dark red cable knit hat. At the very least, her hair was clean—that's more than she could say most days of the week.
Just as she was making some progress on calming her erratic nerves by looking out one of the narrow stone windows, she heard footsteps behind her on the over-polished floor.
"Just so you know, I am armed this time around."
With a roll of her eyes and a deep, coffee-drenched intake of breath, she turned on her heel to face him. He had a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and her lips naturally smirked back, contradicting the bile trying to work its way up into her throat.
Clad in civilian clothes, the only difference between how he looked now and the night before was the gun clearly holstered at his hip and the badge that hung around his neck. His hands were tucked into the pockets of dark blue jeans, and a tight fitting gray long-sleeve shirt clung to muscular contours of his arms. Why was she looking at his biceps? She quickly realigned her gaze to his green eyes.
"I promise I'm not here to spew venom at you again."
"Well that's a relief. You had a lot to spew at a total stranger last night."
His directness stung. She found herself adjusting the knit hat on her head and then finally settled on crossing her arms in front of her chest. Her eyes were now glued to the obnoxiously glossy tile floor. People were not her thing. An honest apology was not in her set of minimal, barely functional socializing skills.
"That was not because of you. I mean, I've been stressed out lately and you just happened to be there to take the brunt of it. That's not to say it was right. Being exhausted and stressed is apparently my own lethal combination resulting in sudden and unwarranted verbal attacks."
"I've been that combination lately too—I get it. I guess I just tend to take it out on the shooting range or on mountains of paperwork. You know, things without feelings. Not innocent bystanders."
What an understatement. He got caught in the flak of her own illy managed life. She cocked her head slightly to the side as he leveled with her. Suddenly her words were ready with no hesitation. Honesty-coated, truth-telling words.
"Much more productive than my coping. Something I haven't quite mastered. Usually that's what my dancing is for, but even that has become a stressor lately. Anyways, I'm stalling. What I'm trying to say to you, Ben, police officer Ben, is that I am very, very sorry. What I did was incredibly rude and I'm trying not to be that kind of asshat of a person as much as I am."
He offered her a tight-lipped smile and a nod.
"Apology accepted. Now, why don't we take this chance to start over."
"Start over meaning I utilize my limited ability to be personable to actually interact successfully with another person?"
"Right. This time avoiding any unintentional aggressive outbursts. Just two people getting to know each other."
His offer hung heavily in the space between them. She would have rather observed him from afar, continuing to make her own judgments in a group of people at a party rather than being one on one.
The suggestion seemed genuine. Considering the usual male suspects she was used to hanging around with, she fully expected him to give her a large dose of her own venomous medicine. Greg and Laney had both firmly planted their seals of approval on Ben. Plus, as a potential roommate candidate, she was willing to give their introduction a redo. Apologizing was already firmly under her belt, so hell, might as well attempt to keep stepping in the same basic functioning adult stride.
With a nod of her head and a small smile, she finally responded.
"Yeah, okay. Let's do that."
With that, he stuck his hand out into the space between them. She stared at it for a couple of seconds before she stuck out her own hand to meet his. It was warm, callused, and enveloped hers fully. Another smile slid onto her lips. What was with all this smiling? The contact of their skin, shockingly enough, did not make her uncomfortable. It was pleasant, a welcome change.
"Hi, I'm Ben Johnson."
"Anna Weston. It's nice to meet you, Ben Johnson."
"Nice to meet you too, Anna Weston. Now, call me crazy, but it seems like we could both benefit from an evening out."
"Oh? You forgive and forget quickly. I should verbally attack people more often—I'd have more acquaintances."
Ben laughed and she found herself still smiling. Didn't she usually scowl, or at the very least feign indifference? Laney was the only one who really ever made her smile. What was this? Her hand was absentmindedly moving her hair from behind her back to fall over her shoulder with one quick movement.
"I sense we may have a lot of stress and anxiety between the two of us, and I think a night out would help us both relax a little."
The only plans she had made tonight were with herself and a sweaty, packed dance floor. A chance to make her problems a distant blur while she drank herself into oblivion in time to the rhythm of throbbing dance music.
She was trying to think of a way to politely decline, but her mind derailed as she looked at him standing in front of her, grinning with his hands still tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. If he was going to be a potential roommate to ease her financial burden, there was no harm in feeling him out further as a person.
"Going out and doing things isn't really my forte, but what the hell. I've already apologized today, which is monumental. Let's do it."
A crooked smile met me in return, his eyes instantly lighting up above his stubbled cheeks.
"Let me go grab my coat and we can head out. I'll be right back."
As he disappeared back behind the counter, she let out an audible scoff, aimed directly at herself, and shook her head. The officer at the desk didn't bother looking up from his computer this time. She wondered if Ben would tell Greg as he was leaving with her. Greg would surely think that she was suffering from amnesia or split personality disorder or she had fallen and hit her head on the hard, unforgiving tile floor.
She was glad she had put in a little extra effort into getting ready this morning. Not that it mattered. Or did it? This was a casual outing between, between what? Two complete strangers who might potentially end up living together? Seemed like a good enough reason to put some effort into appearances.
Before she could sink further into her own mind, Ben reappeared. A black, slim-fitted winter coat covered his torso now, and a worn NYPD baseball cap was perched on his head. She wondered if he still had his gun on him somewhere. Not that it mattered, but he probably did. The idea of the additional safety, the fact that he could, in fact, provide that level of protection. It added to his roommate potential.
"You're still here, that's a good sign."
"Trust me, I contemplated sneaking out the window but I suppose they're narrow for a reason."
Another laugh from Ben filled the air as he pushed open the door for her to walk through. A gentleman, too? Maybe she really was suffering from amnesia. Or maybe the lack of food, sleep and surplus of coffee was making her hallucinate.
A thick, hot blush rolled into her cheeks as she walked past him and out into the cold, unforgiving bite of New York air. Doors were usually being slammed in front of her, not being held open. She waited for him to follow and then fell in pace beside him.
"There's a bar just a block from here we can go to. It's sort of a cop bar, nothing too fancy."
"Sounds like a good place to me—the less fancy the better."
The walk only took a few short minutes, but the warm rush of air laced with fried food and hoppy notes of beer that greeted them when they entered the bar was a welcome relief.
She could've sworn that nearly everyone tucked at the well-worn bar or sitting at a high-top greeted Ben as they entered and proceeded to walk towards a table in the back. The bartender proved to be the most prying.
"And who do we have here, Ben? A lady?"
"Just a friend, Rick. No need for alarm."
She found herself blushing again as she walked behind Ben's tall frame to get to a table. He continued his kindness streak by pulling out a chair for her first, which she took while stammering out a thank you. Two gentlemanly acts? He must've been compensating for something. Did he have really smelly feet? A foot fetish? Or was he just that good? That smooth?
They both took a moment to unbundle. She slid off her heavy jacket and the knit beanie that was covering her head, giving her hair a little shake and tousle in an effort to be somewhat presentable. Ben settled for taking off his jacket, but left his NYPD cap on his head. There was a heavy thrum of conversation in the room, mixed with clinking mugs of beer and bouts of sporadic laughter.
She crossed her arms against her chest and leaned forward slightly onto the table. The bar scene had never really been her vibe. Taking it in was an odd delight. Before they exchanged any words, Ben raised a hand to the bartender.
"Two beers and six shots of whatever you want, Rick."
Her mouth fell open as she took in his request to the bartender, her eyebrows raising as far as her forehead would allow. His two acts of gentlemanliness suddenly seemed much, much less impressive. Another drink-first-ask-questions-never guy? But he seemed so genuine, so respectful.
"Six shots? Okay, now I'm starting to regret agreeing to this outing."
"I thought maybe it would be interesting to play a game while getting to know each other."
"A drinking game?"
"Right. We'll start with some basics and then move on to the game."
"Why do I get the sneaking suspicion that these are get-her-out-of-her-pants shots?"
"Trust me. These are chill-out-and-have-some-fun shots. Your pants might as well be glued on. Plus we're at a cop bar. If I pulled any crap I'd get my ass kicked."
In her experience, drinking had never been the start of anything positive. It led to fights, to mistakes, to hurt feelings and usually to sloppy, forgettable sex. But he looked her in the eye as he spoke, adding a certain seal to his promise of pure intentions.
"Alright, I trust you. But I am watching you, officer Johnson." She kept her gaze pinned on him, looking for any signs that his gentleman facade was starting to crack and crumble. "So what exactly does the 'basics of getting to know each other' entail?"
He crossed his arms onto the table and leaned forward in his chair. With a slight squint of his green eyes, he posed the first question.
"What do you do?"
Easy enough. She tilted her head slightly and shifted so her hands were clasped together on the table in front of herself before responding.
"I'm a dancer. And no, not the erotic kind. The artsy-fartsy kind. I'm currently working with a small dance company in the city. I have a desk job I work a few days a week to make ends meet. Hopefully someday I won't need it."
As she was finishing, the bartender brought the beers and shots, which appeared to be tequila. She couldn't even remember the last time she did shots, probably due to the fact that when she did, her memory blanked. Worrisome, but she brushed the thought aside. They thanked Rick, and she took a sip of her beer. Gloriously refreshing.
"I would have never guessed artsy-fartsy dancer. Although you've been a bit of a spitfire since we've met. That's no small feat, I'm impressed."
"Well how about you? I mean I know you're a cop, but is that the dream or?"
"Currently somewhere between a beat cop and becoming a part of SWAT. Greg's been trying to talk me out of it. Says it's too dangerous. I've considered moving on all together and going into construction. It's been on the back burner since my mom got sick. Now that she's passed, I'm even more unsure of what the hell to do with myself."
He paused and took a long swig of his beer. She watched as muscles from his shoulders and down his arms flexed beneath his fitted gray shirt. Everything about him seemed so strong, so immovable. Capable. It didn't seem like he would have any doubts or troubles. That was wrong. Really wrong.
"How long have you been a cop?" she asked, and then proceeded to take a swig of beer.
"This will be my seventh year. I joined when I was 22, after a few years of hopping around jobs aimlessly. It was after my dad had passed. He'd served as a cop in our small town his whole life. He died shortly after he retired."
She looked at him in awe. He was revealing a lot to her—a complete stranger, essentially. He looked back at her, anticipating a response. She couldn't help but feel that on some level this was a test. Maybe a test to see if she was really just a cold hearted, spiteful bitch. She had been anything but clear and straightforward with her own personality.
Without a second thought, she responded in what she considered to be an appropriate, honest manner. Grabbing one of the shots of tequila, she slammed it back in one gulp and placed it back down onto the table with a clink. His eyebrows were raised, a smile that seemed to say 'not bad' spread across his face. His head bobbed in approval.
"That is very impressive, seven years. Career choices are never easy to make." She paused as she worked through her response in order, taking a moment to lick some of the remaining tequila off her lips. "I'm sorry about your dad, and your mom. I honestly can't imagine what that would be like."
"What about your family?"
Even though in her gut she knew that this would be the follow up question, her heart still dropped. She was never prepared for it. She never knew how to handle it. It always came so close to unhinging her. For the first time since they had sat down, she looked away from him and down at her folded hands.
With a few quick blinks, she tried to gather her thoughts and articulate a sentence that didn't convey all of her deep rooted sadness.
"I've been an orphan my whole life. Never knew my parents, or what became of them. I did the orphan kid thing, bounced around to a lot of foster homes, a lot of bad situations that I mostly created. Moved to the city to be a dancer, the artsy-fartsy kind. Dated a lot of toxic men. A lot. Recently even more disheartened by your gender when some creep decided to kiss me at the subway station randomly. But yeah, other than that, I'm the same as you. Trying to figure it out and get by tactfully without too much bullshity heartache."
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The rush of words betrayed what she knew about herself. Maybe it had something to do with drinking half a beer and a shot of tequila. Maybe it had all been pent up too long. Laney knew some, but not all. She was the only one Anna ever told about her past. With other boyfriends and could-be friends, she made something up. That her family lived far away in the mysterious land of the midwest. Or that they disowned her for her bad behavior. Or that they were estranged. Ben was here, he was listening intently, and he hadn't tried picking her up with some shitty line in a crowded club. He was here because she had apologized to him for being a self righteous prick. What an odd way for any relationship—friend or other—of hers to begin.
His eyes had grown softer as she spoke, but he remained silent. As she finished talking, she waited anxiously for his response. Her heart raced at the thought of him turning into every other guy who she encountered. A guy who didn't want to deal with the hard things. A guy who wanted to smoke, fuck and have her be okay with him sleeping with other women and feeding her lines he knew her ears needed to hear. After a few painful seconds of silence, he reached up to turn the hat on his head so the bill was in the back. He then proceeded to chug the rest of his beer.
Looking on with surprise spreading across her face, she felt a surge of, of what? Happiness? After clanking the empty beer glass down onto the table, he proceeded to slam the three tequila shots lined up in front of him. Her mouth fell open as she looked on in shock. It was clear that he understood the gravity of what she just told him. She was about to commend him thoroughly for his actions, but he spoke first.
"Rick! Two beers!"
A huge, roaring laugh erupted from deep in her chest. He started to laugh himself silly too, the both of them lost in a mix of shock from honesty and listening. She managed to get words out around her breathy, dwindling laughter.
"Wow! Well color me flattered. You definitely didn't need to do that, but the sentiment is greatly appreciated."
"If the spitfire is going to be that brutally honest with me, I'll drink a thousand shots."
"You're well on your way to being incoherent, I think."
"That's why we need to even it out a little now!"
Rick was shaking his head as he dropped off another two beers. Ben gave him a firm pat on the arm, maybe a little too firmly, and thanked him.
"This is supposed to be a fun, relaxing evening, and now that we know a little bit about each other, let's loosen up. We'll play a simple question game. You drink if you've done it.'"
"Oh god ... alright, alright. Let's hear it."
Ben leaned forward onto his arms and eyed her with a mischievous grin spread across his face. She leaned in slightly to meet him. Something about the stubble all over his cheeks made her want to reach out and feel its scratchiness. She calmed her inner teenager and easily smothered the urge.
When he finally came up with a question, his surprisingly sweet, alcohol coated breath hit her square in the nose.
"Have you had a pet?"
"Not once. Not even a fish. Taking care of things isn't one of my strong suits."
He scratched at his stubble with one hand as he thought of another question to try and get her to drink.
"Have you ever been arrested?"
She rolled her eyes with a sigh and shot back one of the two remaining tequilas sitting in front of her. It went down surprisingly smooth. Her buzz was climbing fast, and she could feel herself loosening up from her crippling stress.
With his eyebrows raised in surprise, he reached up to adjust his hat. "No shit! What for?"
"Breaking and entering. One of my douche sack ex-boyfriends stole my wallet from me, so I broke into his apartment to get it back."
Ben shook his head and took another swig of beer.
"You are full of surprises! Good for you, though. That guy was clearly a piece of shit." The disgust that filled his face at my omission dissipated as he took in the drinks laid out before me with thoughtful intention. "You've got one shot left. If I don't get it on this next question, I'll shoot it."
She shook her head at him in disbelief.
"You are insane. And clearly more proficient at drinking than I am."
He clapped his hands together and rubbed them together as he thought of his next question. She was actually hoping he'd get her on the last one. She wanted that shot, she wanted to take another step further from the struggle of everyday existence.
"Have you ever verbally abused a cop?"
"You shit."
With another clap of his hands and a huge roll of laughter, he leaned back in his chair to watch as she finished her last shot. It went down as smooth, just as she expected it would. As soon as she finished, she pointed a finger at him from across the table.
"Now I get three chances to make you chug the rest of your beer!"
He nodded in approval and motioned with his hands for her to bring it on. She had eagerly been holding onto the questions in her mind. He was too nice, too good looking, too cool. There had to be some flaw, some blemish in his past.
"Have you ever used a corny cop pickup line?"
He feigned hurt by bringing a hand up to his chest, his face wounded.
"Oh come on now, I've got standards, Anna! Not once. Next."
She squinted her eyes at him as she thought of her next question.
"Have you ever done drugs?"
"You do remember that I am a cop, right?"
"You weren't always a cop!"
"Nope. Not even before I was a cop. You're gonna strike out!"
Her last one. It had to get him. There had to be something. She had to go big. Way outside of questions they had already asked. The tequila and beer had coated her weak set of nerves and feeble courage with a strong suit of go-for-it armor. Suddenly the question rolled into her mind, and she subsequently let it roll off her tongue without thinking twice.
"Have you ever been caught masturbating?"
And there it was. He looked down for only a moment before he picked up his three quarter full beer glass and chugged it all. She had never, never, laughed so hard in her entire life. Tears were streaming down her face. She couldn't breathe. Ben just sat there and shook his head with a tight lipped smile. Others in the small bar looked over at them, two drunken idiots navigating a reckless, crash course in getting to know each other. She couldn't believe that she was there. In a cop bar. With a cop.
The night rolled on, her thoughts becoming more slippery by the second. Her words started to plow into each other like cars unsuspectingly catching black ice. She loved the green of his eyes. Did she tell him that out loud? He kept smiling at her, his cap still backwards on his head. It was douchey, but she liked the sentiment of it, the honesty of why he had turned it around. Were these words she was actually saying? The lights of the bar began to blur. Her stomach began to churn against itself. How would she get home?
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Sunlight started to sear through her eyelids, and she groaned through an incredibly hoarse throat. She flung her arm up to cover her eyes, only to hit herself forcefully in the face instead.
"Jesus Christ," came out in murmured defeat and annoyance at her own lack of control over such a simple movement.
With her other hand, she reached out to feel what was next to her. A coffee table? Was she on the couch? She felt a pair of sunglasses and greedily shoved them onto her face. Her head throbbed viciously with every small motion. She managed to flip herself over on her side while wrapping one of her arms around her stomach. The smell of the exhale through her dry lips was pure booze. Her stomach churned.
Someone shuffled into the room. She heard it, but chose not to acknowledge whoever it might be. She had a sneaking suspicion that whatever she might've said would've been far from pleasant. At least this time her venom would have some legitimacy.
"Anna? Anna. Anna."
Persistent son of bitch.
"What?" It came out a deep, raspy and pathetic utterance. It could've been worse. Much worse than that one word. She lifted up the sunglasses to crack open her eyes to the world and the morning for the first time.
As she blinked the room into hazy focus, she started to make out Ben, or rather the shape of Ben. He stood towards the end of the couch, just having come from the hallway. He was in a white undershirt. White undershirt? She blinked a few more times. Yes, there Ben stood, with his ridiculously well maintained physique. A sad laugh escaped her chapped lips as she dropped the sunglasses back over her pulsing eyes. She reached up to further block out all light and semblance of the world by placing her hands over her eyes, thoroughly ignoring the genuinely confusing, nausea-inducing morning.
"Go away."
She heard a small chuckle and then the sound of coffee being made. Her ears and heart perked up just ever so slightly. A small bit of redemption for aiding and abetting her into this crippling hangover.
"Why am I on the couch? What happened?"
An audible sigh escaped Ben's lips as he launched into a mercifully quiet explanation.
"Well, I thought it was probably time to leave the bar when you started laughing and literally could not stop. You kept on wanting to touch my biceps, and my face too, so I figured you'd probably had enough."
She groaned while shaking her head back and forth.
"No, no, no."
"Yes, yes you did. Anyways, I got you outside as you tried hanging off of me like a jungle gym. While I was hailing a cab, you ralphed all over the sidewalk. Don't worry, I held your hair as best as I could. Somehow you kept on laughing while you puked. Truly impressive."
"Oh fuck me."
"Needless to say I felt pretty horrible for letting you get to that point. But I got you into the cab where you laid down on my lap. You actually did really good in the cab. A lot of groaning mixed with an occasional chuckle. I got you up here after you started arguing with yourself—that was interesting—and you insisted that I stay here. I tried taking you back to your room, but you demanded that I sleep in there. You passed out on the couch instantaneously, and I followed orders and went to your bedroom. And that gets us all caught up to now."
"Laney? Greg?"
"They were never here, they must've stayed at Greg's last night."
The gurgle of the coffee pot masked the series of muttered swears that left her lips, directed only to herself. Drunk Anna apparently was less filtered around attractive men than she remembered. Touching his face? His biceps? Apparently alcohol eliminated my physical boundaries. Usually she just watched her boyfriends drink themselves into rages. Her sobriety would clean up their messes, deflect their punches and allow her to lay into them herself.
After a soft whoosh of air and a tap on the top of her head, she slowly removed her hands from her eyes to see Ben sitting in front of her, perched on the coffee table, offering her a steaming mug of coffee. With more distressed groaning, she made the effort to at least sit up enough to be able to hold the cup in her hands and sip it without spilling—it proved to be pathetically difficult. She knew her muscles existed, but every movement filled her with nausea and searing head pain.
"This is not how I make friends. I don't make friends."
"That is definitely not how I make friends either," he paused, sipping from his cup before moving his head in a questioning way before continuing. "At least usually not the good kinds. It has been a long, long time since I've drank that much."
"We had fun, right? It was worth it?" Fuck if she knew since she couldn't remember anything past the first few hours at the damn bar. It felt fruitless to ask him since he didn't seem like the type to say he had a terrible time even if it was the truth. He'd sugar coat it, but the bullshit would be obvious.
"I know I certainly did. Like I said before, I think we both needed some time to cut loose."
She considered her pathetic physical state, her aching skull. Truthful Ben was still here, sitting in front of her. Sipping coffee from one of her mugs, looking out the window and squinting at the bright winter light. It had been fun. Genuinely. It had pulled her from her deep rooted spot in her comfort zone. She had smiled, she had laughed. They had talked a lot about who they were in a general sense. A foundation for maybe the first real friendship she had ever had with a man.
"I'll admit, I did have fun."
"I'm glad. I was thinking you might be ready to throw more verbal fire at me this morning. I knew coffee would help tame the beast."
She sneered at him over her mug. He certainly wasn't wrong.
"Well, it's Sunday. I shockingly have the day off with no plans. What about you?"
After a few sips of coffee she felt comfortable taking the sunglasses off of her face. There was no doubt in her mind that she looked like shit. She could feel the shit. Her eyes were swollen and her skin was tight and dry. She brought a hand up to her forehead and thought about what the day had held before yesterday so unexpectedly unfolded as it did.
"Supposedly I'm going to work on my solo routine today, get caught up on household crap, and think about organizing some of my important files."
His eyebrows raised at the ambition and general unpleasantness of her list.
"But given my current body and mind condition, I would settle for anything less worky, thinky or adulty."
He diligently placed his mug beside himself on the coffee table and leaned forward onto his jean-clad knees with his forearms. There was a brightness in his eyes that seemed impossible due to the amount of drinking they both had participated in last night. She did everything she could to keep her scowling face focused on his eyes and not on the deep lines of muscles that dominated his arms—she was only human. And he did have a stupidly in-shape body that made her abs hurt just thinking about doing that much damn exercise. But focus. Focus was key.
"How does this sound: greasy breakfast, shooting range, movie night here. Greg and Laney already had one planned, so I figured you might prefer participating this time instead of yelling at me."
She swished her coffee around in her mouth as she contemplated her response. Ben screwed up his face and looked more than slightly disgusted.
"That was nasty."
"It's like coffee mouthwash, wakes up the gums!"
He stared at her, his face appalled.
"Okay, that was gross. I'm obviously not used to being around people, can you tell?"
"I think I can look past it? For now, anyway. If it happens again, we're definitely having words." With a crooked smile, he took another sip of his coffee before returning his questioning gaze to her.
"Well, what do you think? Can you handle another day of people? And being out in the world?"
She bopped her head back and forth for a second and then decided that having plans made for her was better than tending to her actual list of adult responsibilities that made her grouchy just thinking about them.
"Alright. I will shower and compose myself as best I can and then will need more coffee before we go."
With that, he stuck his hand out into the small space between them. She shook it firmly and started assessing the current shambles of her body to attempt to stand upright. As she slowly made her way down the hallway to the bathroom, she heard whistling coming from the kitchen. She thought to herself, with a slight smile on her lips, that this was all very, very different.
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Guns had always seemed unreal to her. She understood the capability that they possessed, the nature of their power. But they always seemed distant. In movies. On TV. Casually slung on a cop's waist. Holding one in her hands seemed incredibly bizarre. She felt ridiculous. This was something other people did, actors, cops, villains. Not her, anyone but her. But here she stood, head slightly less pounding, belly full of loaded hash browns and coffee, pistol in hand.
"The key is to keep your arms engaged, focused. Not locked. Whatever you do, don't lock your arms. There's recoil, so you have to be prepared for it. Like when you're waiting for your feet to find the floor again after a jump. Prepare for impact."
"You're speaking a lot of words to a still mostly hungover person. Are you sure I should be doing this?"
"You'll be fine. Granted I've never brought anyone to the range before and never taught anyone but myself how to shoot, but I think you'll be okay."
Something like bemusement and shock crossed her face as she considered his admission.
"Well after those reassuring words I definitely feel better now. What could go wrong!"
He smiled widely and motioned with his head towards the paper target downrange.
"Just squeeze off one shot, see how it feels. If you feel alright, shoot off the whole clip. If you don't like it, then stop."
With a deep breath, she shook her head and pointed the pistol downrange. She felt ridiculous. Like she had just casually put on a lab coat and was ready to diagnose a real person. An imposter. Ben took a few steps back and looked on in anticipation. She tried to mimic the countless stances she had witnessed on screen throughout her life. A surge of false confidence washed over her as she squeezed the trigger on the weighty pistol.
Much to her own surprise, she managed to shoot the white blank space of the paper target, just a little left of the head. Just as Ben was starting to speak, she squeezed off the remaining bullets in the clip in quick, short bursts.
She managed to shoot the actual silhouette of the person on the target a whopping three times. She stuck out her lower lip and nodded in approval. She turned around to face Ben, making sure she kept the gun pointed downward and towards the range. What an embarrassing rookie mistake that would've been.
"Not bad, huh?"
"I guess it felt alright then!"
"It was more comfortable than I thought. Must be all that 007 Goldeneye I played as a kid paying off."
He raised an eyebrow and laughed. As he stepped towards her, he reached out and took the gun from her hands with firm intent and slammed another clip into the pistol. She stepped back and folded her arms against her chest to see how mister hotshot cop would shoot. He took his stance, which came quickly without any adjustments. It looked natural, like how someone would start casually walking down the street. He waited patiently for a new paper target to appear, and then fired off his entire clip at an even, steady pace.
All of his shots were in the chest, all but one. One went clean through the forehead. She nodded slowly and took in the accuracy of his shooting.
"Well now that's totally surprising coming from a seasoned cop."
"Always good to practice, you can never be too prepared."
She grabbed one of the other clips from the table next to them and reached forward to take the gun from his hands. He resisted her tugging and looked down at her, raising his eyebrows and opening his mouth in O-shaped surprise.
"Look at you trying to take a gun from a cop. Someone's a little eager."
While smiling, she looked him in the eyes and tried to make herself a little taller.
"You did drag me off of a perfectly good couch while I was in the first few critical stages of hangover hell. Although you did feed me a delicious breakfast and fill me with coffee, I still think I deserve more than one clip's worth of shooting."
He released the gun and moved his hands up to a surrender position.
"Minus the use of the word 'dragged' you may have a few valid points. Seems like the coffee and food is finally waking up that spitfire in you again."
She playfully punched him in the arm as he walked past her to resume his position against the wall. While she would have never stepped foot in a shooting range of her own volition, she found herself enjoying the new experience with an open mind. Generally she disapproved of guns and the havoc they were wreaking throughout the country and on the streets, but having someone teach you to shoot was a way to appreciate the power without being victimized by it. It felt something like confidence—the confidence to choose. The power she could understand intrinsically to protect.
Just as she was about to load the clip and begin finding her position, Ben spoke from behind her.
"Before you shoot, Tex, how about a bet. If you can shoot him in the head, and I mean in the head, no white at all, you don't have to see me tomorrow. If you miss, well, I think you know what that means."
With a nod she pushed the clip into the gun and cocked it back.
"You're on, Johnson."
"Fire away, Smith and Wesson."
After an eye roll she could've sworn felt audible, she took the most comfortable stance she could find, the one that made her feel most in control and steady on her feet with her arms raised. Adrenaline was already pumping through her, which made the second round of shooting easier to slide into. With an exhale, she squeezed off the clip more quickly than she had before. She lowered the gun to find that she hadn't missed any of the target. One of the shots was just inside the black outer edge of the head.
"Well look at that. Looks like you narrowly escaped a terrible fate."
She turned and gently placed the gun down on the table and pointed a finger at Ben's chest.
"Looks like I get to sleep in and be a recluse all I want tomorrow." She couldn't stop the huge grin that spread across her face as she gloated, victorious.
"I should've known the spitfire would be a good shot."
Glancing down at her watch, she noticed it was already getting close to dinner time. She looked up at Ben and placed her hands on her hips, feeling a bit more authoritative after having just shot a gun, albeit amateurly, for the first time in her life.
"Well, it's somehow already almost five—should we head back for dinner with Greg and Laney?"
"Sounds great to me. You've proven that you're a natural sharpshooter."
She scoffed at his last remark as they started to shed their gun safety gear. He spoke again through the layered sound of both of them peeling off velcro.
"One thing, before we go. Can I ask you about something?"
She didn't skip a beat as she started taking off the kevlar vest Ben had strapped onto her earlier. She barely got the word out without laughing with glee.
"Shoot."
With a quick smile and eye roll acknowledging her horrible pun, he crossed his arms against his chest and leaned his back against the wall.
"When you blew up at me when we first met, Laney had mentioned something about you being bothered at the subway station. What happened, exactly?"
For the first time since this morning, she felt herself grow uncomfortable. She stopped amid taking the kevlar vest off and started to wring her hands in front of her chest. It was a legitimate question. What harm could come from telling a cop about the strange incident? Ben had proven that he was not some douche jock meathead, and she felt no reservations telling him about that day.
"Ah. Well, I was waiting for the train one morning as I was heading to the dance studio for rehearsal. I had my earbuds in, like I always do, and was standing in the back of the platform where there were less people. I like to people watch. The lights started to flicker, and suddenly the station was completely dark. Someone grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me, and slammed their mouth onto mine. They kissed me. Hard. Too hard. It was disgusting."
She took a moment to pause, letting the images from that bizarre day replay in her mind. She took a breath, then continued. Ben's brows were knit together, his eyes on her, listening intently.
"It was just so random. I haven't had a boyfriend in ages, and none of them would be up and functioning that early to stalk me at some subway station. I don't even know if it was a stalker. Like Laney said, it was probably some punk ass kid who thought it would be a funny prank. I just, I've spent a lot of my life trying to not be paranoid about people. I've been around my fair share of people suffering from the crippling fear of others. It was just, it was random and bizarre."
Ben stood up straight, his arms still folded. He took a small step towards her. She continued talking but moved her eyes to the concrete floor. This truth telling was making her feel vulnerable. Ben made her want to tell him how she really felt. Like some good would come of it. Maybe it was because he was actually listening instead of wanting to move on to something else more lighthearted. Or jump to grand conclusions like Greg.
"I hate feeling that way. I've become so observant of people, so aware. And then something like that happens, and it just shook me. I hate being that person. That next day when you were in the subway car with me, I felt safe. You were there, and I was able to relax because I knew that, that if anything were to, if anything were to— "
Tears had started to roll out from her eyes, onto her hot cheeks. She never allowed herself to be upset in front of Laney or Greg. She needed them to think that she was constantly stubbornly independent without skipping a beat. The last time she had cried in front of anyone had been when she took the train from the midwest to New York City. Tears to wave a bitter farewell to her old life, tears to wash it away and try to welcome something better.
Adrenaline and the remnants of a hangover were apparently the correct combination to her emotional vault. As she reached up to wipe away her tears and attempt to put back on her stubborn-and-independent face, Ben stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.
Her breath caught in her lungs in a rush of surprise. The hug was tender, careful. He was measuring her response. At first, she felt the need to pull away, to stand alone as the strong woman who she tried so desperately to be every day. She never got hugs. She never wanted them. They were usually half hearted and reeked of booze or weed. This one was different.
His arms were solid and warm. The smell of detergent and faded cologne lingered on his shirt. She liked the way his head felt pressed against hers. As he started to rub her back with one hand, more tears escaped her tired, still hungover eyes.
She let her arms wrap around his broad shoulders. They were bigger than she thought they would be. The longer he hugged her, the more relaxed she became. She felt small quivers and sobs escape her lips and disappear into his chest. He spoke softly into her ear as she continued to unload some of her anxiety and fear in the form of tears.
"I'll make sure that you are not bothered again. I want to make sure you always feel safe, just like that day on the subway."
She nodded into his chest and let out a small chuckle.
"What? What's so funny?"
"It didn't hurt that I thought you were pretty cute, too. Also I think our velcro is stuck together."
He laughed, a rumble that traveled through his body and into hers. He gently pulled away from her embrace, velcro screeching. Placing one hand on her shoulder, he used the other to wipe tears away from her cheeks with his thumb.
"You have nothing to be afraid of, not with me around. Okay? I'll make sure that station is covered with blues every day of the week."
She nodded and started to wipe off her own face.
In an attempt to regain some of her composure, she reasserted her frustration.
"Trust me. If the son of a bitch is going to do it again, I will not hesitate to sprawl him out on his ass."
"Make sure you verbally assault him too, I'm lucky I recovered so quickly and got to know your real charm. Otherwise I still might be a shell of a man."
She made a false lunge at him as if she was going to hit him, and he didn't even flinch in the slightest.
"All right Rocky, let's get out of here huh?"
With a nod and a sniffle, she started to walk forward toward the exit. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she felt herself relax into his side. Not all people could have bad intentions, right? They couldn't all be malicious and have selfish motivations. Ben felt different, and she didn't trust her feelings all that often.
For right now, she took it for what it was worth. For what she knew. Ben had accepted her honest apology. He actively listened to her. He made her laugh. They were having fun. If it was going to blow up in her face, an end result which life had taught her well, this part, the refreshingly good part, made it seem at least worth tagging along for the ride.