My eyes open with slow, painful blinks. I’m on the hard, wet ground in the alleyway, propped up against the brick wall in a seated position. My head pounds. Looking down, I notice that my trench coat is securely fastened and belted tightly across my waist once again. My eyes raise and meet two pools of the deepest blue. Devastatingly deep blue.
Zayn.
“Hi. I think you fainted there for just a moment,” he says, “I sat you up, hope that’s ok.”
“Ugh,” I mumble, pressing my hand to my head, and swaying a bit.
“Whoa there, Doc,” he says, grasping my upper arm tightly. “Move slow. Are you alright?”
“Y-yes,” I stammer, “I think so. The back of my head hit the wall. It just kind of hurts is all,” I explain as I rub my hand across the back of my head.
The bitter taste of vodka lingers at the back of my mouth, and I have the sudden urge to vomit. I swallow it back and look around the ground. My black bag lays just to my left, and I see my cell phone beside it, covered in fat droplets of rain.
Before I can move to grab the phone, Zayn snatches it up and presses it gently into my hands.
“Here, you dropped this,” he says.
“Thank you,” I reply, noting long cracks running over the screen in several places. There are about a dozen missed calls and texts from Bea.Shit.I was going to have some serious explaining to do.
Zayn slowly helps me to my feet, taking care to stabilize me underneath each elbow.
“I think we should call for law enforcement, and probably get you to a hospital,” he says, collecting my bag from the drenched ground.
“No,” I say firmly, “no police, no hospitals.”
I’m not entirely sure where the hard edge in my voice comes from or why it’s there in the first place. My attacker was Josh. I was sure of it. I had looked directly into his eyes. I could identify him with no problem. And sure, I could press charges for assault and battery. Spend hours at the station, under a fluorescent light with an uninterested detective, who will tell me there’s no evidence it was him. I could make a scene and probably get myselfbackon the news.Christ. No, that would not be happening.
And yes, I could go get checked out for a minor concussion at the hospital and pay a hefty bill for it. But to what end, though?I’m fine, after all, aren’t I? Zayn had come just in time. I’m just shaken up.
No, what I needed now was to be safe at Bea’s, resting, and sobering up.
I pull up the map app once again on my phone and see that I am a mere two minutes from Bea’s apartment. The pads of my fingers snag over the cracked screen and I wince a little, looking up to face Zayn.
“I’m, uh, going to walk to my best friend’s house.”
“The fuck you are,” Zayn replies, his mouth a flat line.
My brow furrows as I retort, “It’s fine. She is literally just around the corner from here.”
“I don’t care. You were just attacked, Katherine. At the very least, we need to get you to a hospital to get properly checked out.”
“I’m fine,” I argue, “look…” I gently tilt my head side to side and flex my arms and hands.
“You’re not fine,” he answers back.
“Look, you don’t know me. I’m tougher than I seem, alright?”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt about that. But you’re not walking anywhere else alone tonight.”
“Well, you’re not stopping me,” I challenge.
Zayn surveys me closely for a moment, the briefest look of something flashing across his eyes. It’s gone before I’m even sure it’s really there.Admiration, maybe?Then, slowly, he hands me the drenched leather bag.
“Then let me escort you there,” he counters.
Escortme? What the fuck? This isn’t Derbyshire in 1812 for crying out loud. I’m fine.
A hiccup tasting faintly of vodka threatens to bubble up from my throat and I swallow it down painfully.
