**

The Continental is the most lavish hotel you've ever seen. You're not even sure it's a hotel, it might just be a resort if there was a beach outside instead of the city. It's like you're on a different planet.

John parks right in front and collects his bag from the trunk while the valet comes around. You feel particularly modest with your small duffel bag and glad that you decided not to bring your backpack like some teenager. At least you're wearing some of your new clothes, but you still feel out of place. John looks sexy in his slacks and a black button up shirt. He walks with a confidence that you envy and you're not the only one who can't keep your eyes off of him.

The massive doors are opened by a hotel employee, and he nods to John as you both walk inside. All you can see is a polished marble floor down a long hallway with high ceilings and gorgeous chandeliers. It's breathtaking.

"Hey, I should probably tell you something." John steers you into a corner and puts his back towards the lobby, so you're hidden from the room.

"What? Right now?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just..." He's crowding your space, towering over you and leaning in close to whisper. "I sorta have a reputation. People will know me."

You look up at him with wide eyes, not knowing what he expects you to do with this information. "Okay?"

"And with you being here... you'll now be associated with me."

"And that's a bad thing?"

He shakes his head, hair falling into his face. "No... I don't think so."

You're still unsure and then a thought dawns on you, making your hands sweat and suddenly you're extremely hot. "Oh, you're embarrassed to be seen with me?"

John's concerned eyes instantly turn to confusion. "What? God, no, not at all. I just meant people might ask you questions. I don't know how you feel about that."

"Ah, I think I'll be okay." You reassure him and smile. "I'll just tell them I'm your assassin secretary."

He chuckles and gives you one last look, studying your eyes before he walks towards the check in counter. You hang back and look more into the lobby, careful to avoid any eye contact that you can feel from everyone. It's not really any effort though, you've gone most of your life looking down at the floor.

You feel a strong hand on your back and John asks if you're ready to go upstairs. He does know a lot of people and he gives a nod to practically everyone you pass in the hallway. You sigh some relief in the elevator once you're both out of sight and give John a small smile.

"A reputation, huh?"

"Stop."

"What kind of reputation?"

The elevator dings on the fourth floor and he motions for you to go first. "A scary one." He tells you on the way to the room and you can't tell if he's joking or not.

"Is that what they call you? Scary John Wick?"

"Not exactly." The door opens and it's a suite with a living room and kitchenette, and two beds. Well, this is new. John takes the one closest to the door and you put your bag on the other bed. "I hope this is okay, I didn't know if you would want your own room or not. I probably should have just asked you."

"This is great, are you kidding? It's like a vacation!" You're thrilled because you can't even remember the last time you were in a hotel. You just wish the reason for being here were different.

John grins, but shakes his head. He starts to unzip his big leather bag and hangs up a dark suit in the closet. "This is hardly a vacation. But the wedding next month is in the Hamptons, which might be nice. Have you thought about going?"

"Yeah, I thought about it." You stretch out on the bed and it's like heaven. "I'll go if you want me to."

"Really?"

"Yeah, why not? It could be fun."

"Don't sound so excited." John laughs and tosses a pillow onto your stomach.

You lift your head and lean your hand on your chin. "Honestly? I will be nervous, but it's a good kind of nervous. It's good for me to do things out of my comfort zone."

He sits on his bed and tilts his head thoughtfully. "Is that what your therapist said?"

"No." You throw the pillow back to him. "Well, maybe. In a roundabout way. She somehow makes me think doing these things are my own idea."

"She sounds good. I'm glad you have someone to talk to."

"Me too. It's nice to know I'm not completely crazy." You pick at a thread on the bottom of your knit sweater absentmindedly as you talk. "Or at least I'm the way I am because of how I grew up. And that there's hope to change."

John sits forward and leans his elbows on his knees. "You know that you can talk to me too?"

"I might be realizing that." You want to tell him that he can talk to you too, but you also don't think it will matter to him. He'll talk when he's ready and not a minute before. Plus, you don't think he has the same trust issues as you do. He definitely has a wall up, but you think it's for different reasons. You're both two kinds of crazy.

He smiles and stands. "I hope so. I have to go see some people about work, and then I'll have to get ready and leave soon."

"Okay." Shut up, don't ask him a million questions.

"There's a card key for you on the desk. Will you be okay here? Order some room service if you want or you can go down to the restaurant. I think there's a hot tub and pool, but I'm not sure."

You can't help but be disappointed. "John, do you know how good a hot tub would feel on your sore muscles?"

He winks at you playfully. "You obviously didn't see the tub in the bathroom."

Instantly you're off the bed and squeal when you see the bathtub with jets. "Best hotel ever!"

You hear John laugh as he closes the door.

**

A few hours later it's getting dark and John finally comes back with another duffle bag, except this one is longer. There's really only one thing that could go in a bag like that.

You turn off the TV and sit up on your bed with your legs crossed under you. The towel on top of your head and the fluffy bathrobe must make for a sight, but John just nods in your general direction and doesn't say anything. You decided when you were soaking that you're just going to observe tonight and not ask any questions. You really don't want to distract him and even though the curiosity is getting to you, you keep yourself composed.

He's very efficient with getting all his equipment neatly placed on the bed in an order that only he must know. John keeps quiet and it's like he's doing math equations in his head, he's so laser focused. Maybe he's counting bullets or thinking about where he has to go? You have no idea. You just watch.

When he steps in the bathroom for a shower you peek at all the guns laid out and you wonder what each of them does and why he needs so many different kinds. There's also plenty of clips and a few knives too, two holsters that look worn but the leather still shines. The shower turns off and you haul ass back to your bed and look normal.

Stunning, is the only word that comes to your mind when he comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. His hair is slicked back and you love that you can see his face, stern and powerful. His beard is shaped and trimmed. You see the appendix scar on his stomach and it's really not that long, but still very fresh. He quickly pushes a pair of boxers under the towel and drops it to the floor. It's like you're not even there and he's in his own world. You stay completely still to not spoil his train of thought.

Pants are next, then a thin undershirt, a bulletproof vest, a white button up shirt, a sleek tie, his leather belt, his gun holster around his waist and then the one around his arms, followed by the guns and clips. He puts the knife in his pocket and gets something from his bag. Cufflinks. That's interesting. The last thing he puts on is his suit jacket.

It was as if you just watched exotic porn and you wish you could save the last few minutes in your brain forever.

He looks at you, and suddenly remembers that you're there. "Hey, I'll be back soon."

You nod and take the towel off your head, letting your wet hair down around your shoulders. It's like he's really seeing you for the first time again and he smiles once he notices you're in a bathrobe. He's preoccupied though and the smile disappears, but he walks towards you like he's on autopilot and bends down to kiss your forehead, and then your cheek.

"Thank you for being here."

There's no where you'd rather be.

**

The later it gets the more nervous you feel. What if he doesn't come back at all? What if he comes back and he's so hurt you can't help him? What if he comes back and he doesn't talk to you? What do you say? What do you do?

You think about all the times he's had to do this though, without someone to come back to. How he would walk into an empty room and have to process whatever he just went through completely by himself. You think about the kiss on the forehead before he left and how it seemed foreign to him, like having you in the room was something so different than anything he's ever had before. You think about the kiss on the cheek and his words, and how just in those small actions showed how much he appreciates that you're waiting for him. You've seen him be vulnerable before, but never like this.

The TV is on low and you're trying to entertain yourself until he gets back. You're trying not to think too much because the questions in your mind won't stop. You can't just google how to take care of an assassin.

The door opens and you feel your heartbeat flutter. You sit up in bed and hold your breath. Suddenly you feel a chill down your spine, the pajama bottoms and thin shirt you're wearing suddenly not warm enough.

Don't freak out. Don't freak out. Don't freak out.

The lights are low and you click off the TV for silence, leaving only the bedside lamp turned on. He finally enters the room, walking slowly and the first thing you see is bright red all over his clothes.

Blood.

Lots of blood.

He's in a trance when you get to him and he's looking over your shoulder as you push his hair out of his face. Your eyes scan his skin. There's a gash over the bridge of his nose and small cuts along his temple. His hair is matted, but it's just dirt and sweat.

You start to take off his tie as gently as you can, but you cannot believe the amount of blood soaked through his white shirt.

"It's not mine."

His voice is deep and it startles you. He's looking at you now and he's back with it, you can just tell.

"What's not yours?" You're trying to make your fingers not shake as the tie finally comes loose.

"The blood. It's not mine."

Relief floods your body and you take a breath you'd been holding. "Oh, well. That's good. Let's still get you out of this, huh?"

"Okay."

You smile at him agreeing with you so easily. "Okay."

No big deal. He lets you slide the suit jacket off over his arms, but you need his help getting the holsters off of him. They land on the bed and you notice they're a lot lighter than when he left. He must have used all the bullets and lost the guns because the very full belt is now empty. The shirt is very sticky and disgusting, and you swallow thickly. Don't throw up. Don't throw up.

"Are you going to puke?" He's watching you with interest and seems genuinely concerned with a hint of teasing.

"Nope, I'm totally fine with this. No problem." You close your eyes. Does blood smell? You feel like it smells. You're queasy and sweating. Maybe you're smelling your own sweat. The blood is such a bright red. From some person. A dead person. Or maybe it's blood from multiple people.

You feel strong hands on your arms steer you to sit on the bed as you start to sway.

"I think I got this." He tells you and starts to undress himself.

You feel like a fool. "I'm sorry. I'm useless."

John smiles as he takes off the shirt. He grabs a garbage bag and puts it in. "Why'd you get near it?"

"I wanted to help."

He stops taking off the bulletproof vest, which has about 5 holes in it, to look at you. "You are helping, you know that?"

You peer up at him and sit back on the bed. "I am?"

"Of course. It's usually very lonely after business is done."

"Oh. I didn't think you noticed that I was even here before, not that I blame you." You watch as he starts to take the vest off again and throw that in the bag too. "You just seemed so focused before you left."

"I was focused. That doesn't mean I forgot you were here. The opposite, actually." He kicks off his shoes and unbuckles his belt, but leaves it on. He does take off his t-shirt though and struggles out of it slowly, obviously hurting. You see the bruises forming all over his chest, where the bullet holes were in the vest. "I kept thinking about you. It was nice. It kept me going."

You don't quite know what to say. "As opposed to stopping?"

He shrugs. "I got done a lot faster. I'm going to take a shower."

"John?"

"Yeah?"

You want to give him a hug, but you feel frozen in place. "Wouldn't you rather soak awhile?"

"Maybe tomorrow. I'm too tired."

"Are you hungry? Do you want anything to eat? To drink?"

He stops to think and says, "There should be some bourbon in the fridge."

"Sure, of course."

He says thank you and closes the door to the bathroom behind him. You can hear the water start and finally you can move. What an intense experience. You wonder what he did and who he did it to, where he went and what happened to all of those guns. Are you allowed to ask?

You think about it while you get a glass and put some ice in it, and then pour a finger's worth of bourbon. You set it on the table beside his bed and get into your own, pulling the sheets up to your chin and wait.

The door opens a few minutes later and you close your eyes to give him an illusion of privacy. You're not sure if he puts on any clothes, but you assume that he does. You hear the bed creak under his weight and he settles. He must grab his drink because the ice clinks against the glass. You only open your eyes once he lets out a soft sigh.

"Are you okay?"

He's leaning back on the headboard and takes another sip. "Starting to feel better."

"How's your appendix scar?"

"Just sore. Doesn't feel like anything ripped open though."

"How can you tell?"

He pauses and sets down his drink. "Let's just say I know where to put sharp objects to make them hurt the most. And I also know what it feels like."

You hope that John doesn't see your nose crinkle. Ouch . "Like where?"

John chuckles and shifts to look at you in your bed. "You want an anatomy lesson?"

"Are you a doctor too?"

"Just an assassin."

You smile, sitting up a little. "Okay, Mr. Wick. I'll take a lesson."

He pats the bed. "Come over here."

It sounds like a move to get you into his bed. "Why?"

"You want to be my secretary or not?"

Sighing loudly, you fling the covers off and crawl over his legs to lay down. "Okay, teach me oh wise assassin."

He sits up more but scoots a little closer. "Let's say you're being attacked, but you have a knife--"

"I'd probably cut myself."

His eyes meet yours and he has a small smile. "I know, but that's a lesson for another time."

"Okay." You look back to the ceiling. He's a lot closer than you thought and you can see he's wearing a soft t-shirt. His hair is slicked back from the shower and the cut on his nose isn't as bad as you thought now that most of the blood has been washed away.

"So if you get a chance..." John gently moves your hair away, then his thumb rubs at your temple. "Right here would be good or here." His finger touches under your eye.

"Gross. The eyeball?"

"Yep. Or here." His hand moves to your throat, right at your pulse point. Fingers move to the back of your neck and he presses at the top of your spine. "This is a hard place to get to, but effective."

"Mmhmm." You let your eyes close shut. You haven't been touched by someone else in a long time and it feels so good. You might as well enjoy it. Until he pokes you in the armpit and you let out a squeak. "What the--"

He chuckles and scoots even closer. "There's actually a large artery in the armpit. Hardly anyone knows about it."

"Have you ever stabbed anyone in the armpit?"

"Well yeah, I usually just twist their arm until it breaks and then that's when I'll do it."

You gulp. "Right."

"Anyway, these are obvious but the heart and the lungs." His fingertips trace down the middle of your chest and you feel goosebumps form on your arms. "The aorta."

"The aorta." You repeat softly and let your eyes close again.

"Yeah." His voice is rough now and you wonder what he's thinking. If he's excited to be touching you like this. "Then there's the liver." You feel his palm on the right side of your stomach. Your shirt lifts up from the movement and he pulls it back down for you. "The next one is in the crotch."

Your eyes fly open and he laughs, his hand sliding down your hip. "It's called the femoral artery and lethal if you get it right."

"Sounds painful."

"Luckily, I wouldn't know."

You side eye him. "Yes, luckily."

"The last one..." He's leaning over you now and shifting down the bed. "Is behind the knee."

"Really?"

It tickles and you squirm away, but John quickly moves and grabs at your thigh to keep you close. "That one's called the popliteal artery. Also difficult but if you're on the floor, manageable."

"If I'm on the floor?"

"It happens."

You stifle a yawn and it's late, but John doesn't seem tired. You roll to your side facing him and tuck a pillow under your head. "Well that was a very interesting lesson, Mr. Wick. I feel very informed of all the places to stab a bad guy."

He takes his hand away and gets comfortable. "Good. There will be a pop quiz tomorrow."

You grin and bite your lip. "Do I get to use your body as my model?"

"Whatever it takes for you to learn the material." He finally yawns too and his eyes are growing heavy. You reach over him and turn off the light. He catches your arm when you pull back and it's as if he knew you were going to get up and get in your own bed. "Stay?"

You don't say anything and push at the covers so you can lay down. His hand is around your wrist, holding your arm across his stomach.

"Do the bruises hurt?" You smooth your hand over his chest.

"Not enough to have you stop."

Smiling to yourself in the dark, you can't help it. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"You're such a tease."

You laugh softly and close your eyes. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Me too."

He doesn't let go of your hand.

**

The next morning you wake up to a text alert from your phone across the room. John is dead to the world and he has you trapped between his body and heavy arm. You can't get up without waking him, but it's time for the day to start anyway.

The text is from Carla that there's someone sick and she's wondering if you can work the afternoon shift.

You text her back that you can and you'll see her later.

"Just five more minutes," John mumbles and turns on his stomach.

You toss your cell phone to the side of the bed and kneel back on the mattress, turning your attention to John's back. You slowly lift his t-shirt up and he eventually shifts his weight to help. Damn. The bruises are ugly and you can see more down his arms and on his shoulders. It looks incredibly painful, but you suppose it's better than being covered in his own blood.

You wish you had some lotion or something. What helps bruises heal? Ice helped the bruise on your foot, but there might be something else. You grab your phone again and google it. Ice, heat and arnica. Well, there's plenty of ice in the room, that won't be a problem.

The mattress is so nice that John doesn't even stir when you get up. There're clean towels left and you grab one from the bathroom, filling it with ice and crawl back in bed. You stop and look closely at his tattoos. The wolf and the flames are dotted with bruises, but the hands holding the cross is oddly untouched.

There are old scars all over, however, and your brow furrows with sympathy, especially when your eyes track over the cross shaped brand in the middle of his back. The sight makes you swallow thickly, you had avoided looking at it before. But now here it is, right in front of you and thoughts jumble in your mind of what it might mean. It's too much to process and you put the towel on the deepest of a dark red color, waiting for John to wake up.

"What're you doing?" It comes out muffled, his face pushed against the pillow.

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Wick. I'm healing your bruises."

"I've never had someone heal my bruises before."

"Does it feel good?"

He turns over to his side and looks at you sleepily. You fix his unruly bedhead hair and tuck it behind his ears for him. "That feels good."

You set the towel on his collarbone, which is currently blue and green. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really. Are you?"

Nodding, you raise his arm to lay over his head. There's another bruise on the inside of his bicep. You delicately trail your fingers over it. That makes nine bruises total. "Yeah, I'm going to order some oatmeal and fruit."

"And coffee?"

"Yes, and coffee. And then I'm afraid we have to go. I have to go into work today."

"Was that the text you got?"

"Yep." You get up and dial room service, then place your order for a bowl of oatmeal knowing John will surely eat at least half. There's a pamphlet on the table with all the hotel services and you take it back to the bed. John has his hands behind his head now, just watching you. "Ohh. You should go to the spa and get a massage." You tell him, flipping through the pages. "I've never had one but I bet it's amazing. Oh! A facial and a pedicure! Wow. And you can get champaign... so fancy. You should totally spoil yourself."

"Why would I do all that when I have you to put ice on me?"

"John." You fold the little plastic book and tap his stomach with it. "I don't think ice in a towel is the same as a massage."

He takes it from you and opens it up, squinting at the words.

"Do you need glasses or something? Readers?" You hide your smile, but his shocked glare makes you laugh.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I like the grey. It's very distinguished." You rub at his beard and smile wider when he gets more annoyed.

"Distinguished?" His hand moves to your ribs and his fingers dig in, starting to tickle you.

"And handsome!" You shriek, laughing and squirm away before he gets under your armpit.

"What? I can't hear you."

You try to pull his hand away, but he's too strong. "Handsome! I said you're very handsome."

His fingers stop and you lay out on the bed panting, exhausted from laughing so hard. "John, I almost peed my pants."

He shrugs. "Accidents happen, it's okay." He picks up the booklet again and points to a section. "You want me to get a massage? This is the only one I'll get."

You're curious so you pull the book away from him and read Couple's Massage. You roll your eyes and toss it back on the table. The doorbell rings and someone calls out room service from the other side. The coffee smells amazing and you roll the tray to John who is sitting up in bed, still looking tired. You feel bad for him so you quickly make his coffee the way you know he likes it and bring it to him. He smiles, a silent thank you, and you grab your oatmeal to eat in bed.

John sips his coffee carefully and closes his eyes. "You should come with me to all my jobs."

"Why's that? I was freaked out all night."

He opens one eye. "You didn't enjoy the bathtub?"

"I did enjoy the bathtub, but I was thinking of you the entire time."

He opens both eyes and his eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"

You take a bite of kiwi and swallow wrong when you realize what you said. "Not like that. I just started to think about you having to work and it sucked. I wish you could have enjoyed the tub too... in a very platonic way."

"Hmm." He sips his coffee some more. "Well, having you here was a morale booster for me."

"No one has ever stayed with you before?" You think about the tan line that was around his ring finger. You assumed that maybe his partner would have been with him. From the way he was acting before and after leaving, you couldn't be sure.

"Never, unless you count the doctor stitching me up and then leaving when I'm about to pass out."

You slowly shake your head. "I don't count that at all."

"That's why this was nice. I don't usually smile and laugh the morning after work."

You offer John a spoonful of your oatmeal and he takes it. You don't know why he always says he isn't hungry when he usually is. "Well, just tell me when your next assassin assignment is and I'll clear my calendar for you."

John swallows quickly. "You would do that?"

"Yeah, of course. But just because the tub is so nice." You tease and he smiles.

"I could get you your own room next time. I know you like your space."

You pause and look at him questionly. "And how do you know that?"

He shrugs and the towel falls off of his collarbone. You move it to the bruise on the side of his ribcage. "I can just tell."

Well, he's not wrong but still, you can't imagine not being close to him on a night like last. "And how would I take care of you if I'm in a separate room?"

"Take care of me? You almost threw up all over me."

Your mouth gapes open. "That's not true! I would have been fine. I just needed to sit down for a minute." Before you fainted.

He's just smirking and nodding. "Uh huh."

"And this was the first time, I didn't know what to expect." You frown and look at him with big eyes. Did you really do a bad job?

"Hey, I'm just joking. Come here." He pulls on your arm and you move to sit next time, offering another bite of oatmeal. You feed him a few times before you put the bowl on the bedside table. "You're the best nurse slash secretary I could ever ask for."

"You're just saying that because you don't know anyone else."

He laughs. "I know a lot of people. I wouldn't want anyone else."

"Alright fine." You move to get up and leer at him, eyes tracking up and down his body. "I do know where to stab you, so you should be nice to me."

"You're very scary."

"Thank you, I know!" You laugh at your own joke and grab some clothes to change into for the day. "So, Mr. Wick, what do you usually do on a day after work? Rest?

"It depends on how I feel. And I have to replenish." He tilts his chin towards the empty holster on the desk.

You keep your voice light, not knowing if you should ask. "Did you lose the guns?"

"Sorta. Had to use one of them to knock a guy out. I ran out of ammo."

Curiosity is getting to you. "Knock a guy out?"

"Guns can hurt if they hit you in the face."

You can almost imagine it. John throwing a gun as hard as he can at some guy's head. "Well, that's creative."

He slowly gets up and puts the towel full of ice on his shoulder. "Should we go soon?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I can catch a ride into town if you want to stay here?"

Shaking his head, John goes into the bathroom and grabs his clothes on the way. "No, it's fine. I just need to get dressed and I'm ready." He leaves the door open and you can see him struggling with his shirt.

"Do you need help?"

He doesn't say anything and just gives you the shirt instead. You slip it up his arms and over his shoulders, walking around him to button it. He's staring down at you as your fingertips work across the fabric and buttons. When you're done, you slide your palms up to his shoulders and before you lose the nerve, you push his hair out of his eyes. You comb his strands through your fingers and then tuck it behind his ears again.

"There, now you look presentable. I wouldn't want to damage that reputation."

It's very quiet and he's just watching you, but you can't bear the thought of making eye contact. Because if you did, you don't know if you could hold back kissing him. Instead you take a step back and breathe deeply. If John is disappointed or relieved, you'll never know.

**

You park next to Carla's car and you're glad she's still here. Sam's bicycle is also chained to the side of the building and the sight brightens your day.

John dropped you off a little over an hour ago at your apartment. He was fairly quiet on the ride home but it was comfortable. He kept sneaking glances over at you while you pretended not to notice.

"Hey! Thank you SO much!" Carla is working in the back office and she's very happy to see you. You're glad that you were able to help out.

"Is everything okay?" You ask, hoping no one is too sick.

"Yes, Sarah has cramps." She tells you, lowering her voice. "Sam is here for a few hours and he'll leave after you take your lunch. I really appreciate you coming in, I would have had to come back."

"It's no problem. Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you a question. Not about work or anything."

She points to the chair next to the desk. "Yeah, of course you can. What's up?"

"Well, I know you're in the city more than I am and remember I told you about that wedding I'm going to? I need a new dress and I have no idea where to get one."

A pen taps at her lip as she thinks. "Hmm... there's so many good places."

"Yeah?" You had hoped that she'd be able to help you. You have no idea where to start. "I figured you would know."

"Well, plus you need a purse, and shoes. Do you need to get a present?"

Crap. You hadn't even thought about a present. You'll have to ask John. "I don't know about a present right now, but I might need to find something."

"Okay, I know the perfect place. It's a little boutique but they have lots of options. How about I go with you? You drive up on your day off and I can take a long lunch."

Carla is in charge of four other gas stations in the city, overseeing all operations. "Really? You'd be willing to do that?"

"Oh yeah!" She tells you enthusiastically. "I'd love to go with you. I'll text you the address of the station I'll be at that day and we can go from there."

"That'd be so nice. I think I'm off next Friday if that works?"

"It's perfect. And I'll take you to my favorite sandwich and coffee place for lunch. You'll love it!"

All you can do is smile and nod as she's talking. You can't remember the last time you had a girlfriend to go shopping with. After a few minutes you excuse yourself and go give Sam a break. When he comes back he talks your ear off about a girl he likes and asks your advice about dating. You have no idea what to tell him, but try your best at answering his questions.

You can't help but smile when you give him a simple suggestion. "Just remember to open the car door for her. That'll make her feel special."

**

How are the bruises?

Fine.

You sigh at your phone. It's been a few days since the hotel and while you haven't seen John, he's been texting every day to check in. He's asked you out to an Italian restaurant that he wants to go to but you've been dodging an answer. You want to go, but you don't want to give him the wrong idea. You don't want to give yourself any wrong ideas either.

I don't believe you

A few minutes pass and you decide that you need to get back to buying books for school. The wedding is in two weeks and then school starts right after that, so you want to be ready. Books are expensive though, and so is a new dress, but you can afford it now and that makes you proud. Your nerves have been on fire lately, about the wedding and about the classes you're taking. You wonder if you can go to campus early, so you can find all the rooms without getting lost. Like a test drive.

An image pops up on your phone and John is in his bathroom, taking a picture of his reflection in the mirror without a shirt. The bruises are purple now, much better than deep red you saw at the hotel. You zoom in to look at his face and you see how he hates taking a selfie by his grumpy expression, but it's still cute. You look closely at the appendix scar and it looks almost healed, from what you can tell. His hair is soft and he's wearing jeans low on his hips. It's a really sexy picture, even if he didn't mean it to be.

Just to be fair, you take a selfie and send it back. It's the first one you've sent him. The late evening lighting at your kitchen table is really good right now. You have a pencil stuck in your hair and a tinted gloss on your lips. Your skin looks good against the black tank top you're wearing and it dawns on you that you're actually getting a tan. Usually that never happens because you don't go anywhere except work. You have the next two days off though and can't wait to get outside while the weather is still warm.

He calls you immediately.

"Hi, John. How are you?"

"I would be better if you would let me take you to dinner tonight."

You smile and push your laptop closed on the table. "I can't tonight, I have to finish getting my books for class and I wanted to read about orientation."

"Doesn't a girl have to eat? I can make something instead."

"I had a late lunch actually." You tell him, getting up to clean the kitchen. "Sam likes the girl who works at the Thai place across the street from work, and he makes me get lunch there so he can go pick it up. I've had Thai food every day this week."

"Damnit, Sam." John mumbles, his tone teasing. "Always getting in my way. I might need to have a little conversion with him."

"Poor Sam." Laughing, you start to put dirty dishes in the dishwasher. "You'd scare the crap out of the poor kid."

"He needs to learn a lesson."

"I don't think--" There's a knock at your door and you tell John you'll call him back. You hang up and you're still grinning when you answer, half thinking John will be on the other side wanting to take you out. Your smile fades when you see that it's Max.

Fear floods your body, but you stand your ground and you look at him dead in the eyes. "What're you doing here?"

He smells like cigarette smoke and he looks disheveled, with a dirty black t-shirt and stains on his pants. The baseball cap he has on casts a shadow over his eyes, but when he moves into the light you can see they're glazed over. And then you smell the alcohol on his breath. "Came to see you."

"You could have just called." You tell him sternly, your hands shaking. You tightly grip your cell phone, trying to think how you can call Jimmy. Your mind is blank. You're frozen.

"Didn't want to call." He takes a step to come inside, but you block him.

"You can't come in."

He pushes your body easily out of the way. "Don't remember asking."

"You need to leave, Max. Now." Your throat is dry but at least you don't feel like you're going to cry. You're too angry.

The kitchen looks so tiny around his big frame and he takes up practically all the space in your apartment. He's disgusting and all consuming. He slowly walks around the kitchen island, like he owns the place, stopping at the table and chairs.

"That's not very polite. Aren't you glad to see me after all this time?"

You don't close the door. Maybe Francis or a neighbor will walk by and be able to help you. Or at least hear you scream. "No, I'm not. I thought you were staying at your mother's. What happened?"

"Mama don't like me and my friends no more. Said I needed to get a job n'shit."

You try a different tactic and walk more into the kitchen, putting your cell phone on the island but it's hidden from Max's view by the toaster. You casually look down, like you're nervously playing with your hands while you find your contacts. "Well, that's too bad. Why don't you get a job?"

"I got better things to do than work at some shitty gas station like you."

I'm an assistant manager. You want to say it, but you play the sympathy card. "Yep, it's so shitty. You would probably hate it. You're too smart for a job like that."

He's leaning on the chair with John's suit jacket laid over it. Crap. You hadn't forgotten it was there, but you haven't given it back to John for no other reason that you liked having something of his at your place.

"What's this?" Max takes the suit jacket and lifts it up to look at it. You take advantage of the distraction and call Jimmy, leaving your phone open and on silent.

"I don't know."

His face pinches and his jaw ticks with irritation. "A dumb bitch like you got a boyfriend?"

"What? No." You laugh shrilly like it's a ridiculous idea. But is it? You were able to block out a lot of the abuse from Max, but now the doubt and shame are starting to feel familiar. "Look at me. No one would want me."

"Yeah, let's look at ya." Max throws the jacket on the floor and stumbles across the kitchen. As he comes closer, your courage takes over and you try to make an escape out of the apartment, but he slams the door shut and grabs your arm tightly. "You look different." His eyes trail up and down your body. It makes your blood run cold.

"I got my haircut. Hey, do you want some coffee?" You try to pull away, but his grip is painfully solid, and you move to stand in front of your phone so he doesn't see it. "I was just going to make some."

He's staring at you now, silent. You look over his shoulder and don't make eye contact, but you try to seem calm. It seems like forever that you're both standing there, but he finally releases your arm and goes to the fridge. "I need a beer."

"Yes! Let's go to the bar! It'll be good, right? To see everyone?" You desperately want him out of your apartment. Anywhere in public would be better than this.

He smacks you across the cheek effortlessly, like he's done so many times in the past. It stings, but it doesn't surprise you. "And tell them what? I just got out of jail for pushing you 'round a little bit? Nah, I don't think so."

"You're right Max, I'm so stupid." You can feel a drop of blood on your cheekbone and it makes your hands turn into fists.

"Dumb bitch." He mumbles, turning to get a beer. You take it as your chance and grab your phone before running towards the door again. He's quick though, he always was, and his height gives him advantage of pushing the door shut. You dunk and try to run to the bathroom instead, but he takes a handful of your hair and pulls, yanking you down to the floor.

"Stay there." He points down at you.

Don't crumble. You can do this. The palm of your hand is cut and you realize your phone cracked when you fell. It's broken and useless. You sit on the floor and put your arms around your knees in an attempt to make yourself small. You feel small but your mind is telling you to get up. It's a mental battle and you don't know what to do.

The door bursts open, breaking the wood frame and Jimmy is there. Jimmy is here and you can hear him yell at Max to get back. You put your forehead on your knees and rock back and forth, trying to tune them out. Jimmy pauses when he gets to you and you peer up at him from the floor. There are tears in your eyes and you're struggling to hold them. Jimmy must decide you look okay and moves closer to Max. You know that you need to stand so you haul yourself up and Max is sitting at your kitchen table, smirking like a douche bag. He's looking at you, and then past your shoulders when his eyes widen in fear.

You feel John's hand on your back, instantly knowing it's him and you can suddenly breathe. He walks straight to Max and now Jimmy is trying to tell John to stop, but he doesn't. He punches Max in the throat with a quick jab of his hand. Max chokes and John's elbow is now flying through the air at the side of Max's head. He immediatly slumps in the chair, unconscious.

Jimmy sighs loudly and puts his hands on his hips. "Hi, John."

"Hi, Jimmy."

"You uh... slipped and tripped?"

John nods, his voice is calm. "Yeah. I slipped and tripped." His white shirt is dotted with Max's blood and he's breathing heavily, like he ran up three flights of stairs.

"Hi." You whisper and give a weak wave. "Thank you, both."

John and Jimmy share a look and John runs to your side. "Let's get you out of here." He wraps an arm around you and holds you close to his body, shielding you from having to look at Max. You're trembling and he pulls you closer as you get to the elevator. He doesn't say anything and you don't either. It's almost a state of trance that's come over you. The farther away you get from the apartment, the more your heartbeat steadies.

John opens the door to his car and helps you, guiding you gently until he's satisfied that you're all the way in and he reaches over your lap for the seatbelt. You stare ahead, mind blank and you can hear his voice, but you have no idea what he's saying. Finally, you turn to look at him. He's kneeling on the cement and his hand is on your knee.

"What?"

"I'm going to grab your things." He explains softly. "You can't stay there until the door is fixed. Anything you want besides your clothes?"

"Um..." You try to think, processing what's going on. "My purse. It's on my desk."

"Sure, anything else?"

You look down at John now. His eyes are searching yours, and you wish that you could reassure him that you're fine. But you can't. Because it's not true. "I don't know."

"That's all right. I'll be right back." He stands up a little, leaning over you to put the keys in the ignition and turns it so the air comes on. "I can take you to the hotel if you want or to my house. I'll take you wherever you want to go, okay? Just think about it."

You probably nod but you can't be sure. He closes the door anyway and you watch as he jogs back to the entrance of the building. You take the time you have to yourself and try to calm your nerves. You do some deep breathing. The tears are about to fall, but you suck in some air and close your eyes.

A few minutes pass and John comes back out with your purple backpack on his shoulder and your purse in his hands. If it wasn't for such a crappy situation, you'd smile at John carrying all of your stuff. He hands you the purse through the open window and puts your bag in the trunk.

He gets in the car and starts the engine. Then he waits for instruction, not hurrying you to make a decision but patient and kind.

You know where you want to go, but you don't want to be a burden either. He could just drop you off at a hotel and then he wouldn't have to deal with your problems. But that's not what you want and he probably wouldn't have offered to go to his house if he didn't mean it. He would have never mentioned it, right?

"Can we go to your house? If that's okay."

He smiles, seeming relieved. "Of course it's okay." John pulls out of the parking lot and he lets his hand drop to the middle of the seat. "I'm just gonna leave my hand right here, just in case anyone wants to hold it. No pressure though."

It's a sweet gesture and you take his hand, folding his palm over your knee and holding it there. You stare out the window as he drives. The sun is sinking in the sky and all the buildings you pass are nothing but a blur. The adrenaline is making your body tense and all of your muscles hurt. Your head is pounding.

John only lets go of your hand when he parks the car at his house. He helps you get up slowly and you appreciate that because everything is still a little fuzzy. He leads you into the living room and you sit on the couch. Pooch can sense your mood and puts his head on your lap, looking up at you with big doggie eyes.

"Pooch, up." John says and the dog jumps on the couch, laying next to your side. You feel instant comfort and pet him until he starts to fall asleep.

The garage door is going down and you hear John walking in the hallway, setting your backpack and purse on the coffee table. He disappears again, but comes back shortly carrying a glass of water and a first aid kit.

He sits next to you and doesn't say anything, but you know he wants your hand to clean the cut. It's nothing but a scratch, but you let him look at it anyway. He smooths it with his thumb and dabs some ointment on the irritation. The cut on your cheek is next and he gently moves your hair behind your shoulders. This one stings a little more, and you let out a low hiss.

His voice is so quiet, you almost don't hear him. "You're going to have a black eye."

"I know." You figured as much. You've had many back in the day to know what one feels like.

"You have to tell me what else hurts."

You turn your head, gathering your hair so John can see the back of your scalp. "He pulled my hair. It's throbbing."

It must be bad because John murmurs something under his breath and parts your hair so he can see better, his fingers gentle as he moves over your tender skin. "There's some blood. And some of your hair is missing, but it's not that noticeable."

You feel sick. How dare Max do this to you. How could you let this happen again.

"Did he do anything else?"

"No." You sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat and exhaustion. "I guess not."

John doesn't touch you more than he has to and he gets up, quickly coming back with some tylenol and two bags of frozen peas. "One for your eye and one for your head."

"Thanks." You take them and use one of the bags as a pillow to rest the back of your head, and press the other one to your swollen cheek. You take the pills and John sits on the coffee table, looking lost.

"What do you need? What can I do?"

You close your eyes and focus. The cold is burning on your wounds. "What'd Jimmy say?"

"He'll be over later to take your statement."

"And Max?"

His voice is low, unwavering. "Back to jail. For now."

You take a deep breath and blink a few times. Your vision is getting a little better. "I should probably call my therapist."

"Yeah, of course."

"I broke my cell phone. I don't have her number. I don't have anything."

John sits forward and reaches to cup your face, cradling your chin. "We'll just google her website and find the number. You can use my office. We'll figure it out, don't worry."

You nod and get up slowly, John moving to help you upstairs. He grabs all of your stuff too and Pooch follows closely. You're not surprised that he puts your bags in his bedroom, doubting he'll let you out of his sight anytime soon.

His office is classically decorated, with a dark oak wood desk and a leather chair that you sink into. There's various paintings on the wall and the last of sunlight is flooding the room. He leans over your shoulder, opening his laptop and you type in Beth's information, the number to her main line coming on the screen. John hands you his cell phone and you leave a message with his phone number, knowing she's probably in a session or finishing up for the day.

While you both wait, John goes to put on a fresh shirt. You curl up in the big leather chair and look at the things on his desk. There's a calendar and a small globe, some paperwork, and a few books. You pull the chain on the lamp since it's starting to get dark.

"I'm going to order dinner." He tells you, coming back to the room. "You're probably not hungry but you might be in a bit."

"Okay."

"Do you feel like anything?"

You shrug, not knowing. "Comfort food?"

"That sounds perfect."

Pushing his cell phone towards him, you ask if he needs it.

"No, I have another line downstairs. You'll be okay up here?"

It's then the phone rings and you recognize it as Beth's number. "Yes, I'll be fine."

He closes the door behind him to give you some privacy.

You take a deep breath and wish you could fast forward the conversation. Beth gasps a few times when you tell her what happened and you let the tears flow. The image of Max standing in your open doorway is haunting. You don't dare think of what could have happened if the guys hadn't showed up. Finally, you finish and you feel completely worn out.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you." Beth says, sincerely. "And you're at John's house now? For a few days?"

"Yeah. I guess. I haven't really had time to think of anywhere else to go."

"From the sound of things, I think John is glad to have you there. Do you feel safe now?"

Your fingers travel under your eye and trace the dried blood. "I do.

"Good," She tells you and her voice turns serious. "Every time you start to think about what Max did, every time you start to play it over in your head... I want you to close your eyes and say to yourself that you're safe. Can you do that for me?"

"Right now?"

"Yes. Close your eyes. And then say 'I am safe.'" You do what she wants, but she makes you repeat it three times. She lets that sink in before she asks, "Tell me what else you're feeling?"

It comes out shaky. "Just that it's my fault. That I deserved this."

"Do you think anyone deserves to be abused?"

You close your eyes. "No."

"Then why would you deserve this treatment?"

"I don't know."

Beth takes a minute and then continues, "Look, I know this is hard right now but I need you to think back to when we talked about worth. Remember? You decided that you are worth caring for."

"Yes." You remember. It was like something clicked on in your brain, all that time it was on the off switch.

"It's okay to forget sometimes, especially after something traumatic. With some self care, you'll start to remember again. I promise you'll get through this. I'm glad you called me."

"Me too. I'll see you next week?"

"Yes, and if you need anything else in the meantime, please don't hesitate."

You hang up and take John's phone with you to his bedroom. There's a light on in the hallway and downstairs where you hear the low sound of the TV. You grab your backpack, wanting to change into some sweatpants and you unzip it having no idea what John would have packed for you.

Your heart skips a beat when you see your pill container right on top. Well, he knows. You could care less right now though and move to your clothes. You recognize them from a pile of clean laundry you hadn't put away that was on your bed. John must have grabbed it all and stuffed it in the bag. There's a handful of panties, a bra, and a few t-shirts. No pants. You sigh and put everything back, then go downstairs still wearing your jeans.

"John?"

"Hey, how'd it go?" John clicks off the TV and sits up.

"Fine, I feel a little better. Thanks for letting me use your phone." You hand it back to him. "Do you have any shorts or pajama bottoms I can borrow?"

He looks disappointed in himself. "I didn't pack any? I'm sorry."

"Stop, it's not your fault.." You tell him, squeezing his arm. "You got everything else I need."

"Really?"

You think about your toiletry bag with your soap and shampoo, your mini blow dryer and perfume, but you nod and give him a true smile. "You're the best."

"C'mon. I should have something that fits."

He doesn't. You have to roll the top of the pants so they're not so long, and they're still pretty baggy, but at least they don't fall off. You go back downstairs and find the kitchen table full of take out food.

"What's all this?"

John stops and smiles when he sees you're wearing his clothes. "They fit okay?"

"Yeah, kinda." You pull up your tank top to show him how many times you had to roll the cloth over and he chuckles.

"I guess that'll do. Are you hungry?"

There's macaroni and cheese, chicken, and green peas in containers and it smells amazing. You sit down at the table, trying to gauge your stomach if you're hungry or it's still rolling with adrenaline. "The mac and cheese looks good."

"Yeah? You got it." John hurries to get a plate and fork for you. You take a few bites before your stomach turns and you begin to pick at your food.

John's watching you. "You don't have to eat. I'll put it in the fridge in case you want it later."

"I'm sorry," You tell him. "I'm just tired. When does Jimmy want to talk?"

"In the morning."

That surprises you and you give John a look.

"It's true, he said there's plenty to go on even without your statement for right now. Max can't drink while on parole so that was enough to hold him."

You yawn, not being able to hold it in and your eyes become watery with the need to sleep. Nodding, you accept his anwer.

"Do you want me to take the couch?

You give John another look, but this one is entirely different. Just in case he doesn't get it, you simply shake your head.

He's finished cleaning up the kitchen and starts to turn the lights off. "If you want to take a shower, I got some stuff that you like in my bathroom."

You're going up the stairs and nearly trip. "What?"

"Hold on." He lets Pooch back in and grabs the bottle of tylenol. He jogs up the stairs and meets you at his bedroom door. You both walk in and he turns on the bathroom light, pointing out the same shampoo and conditioner you have at home. There's a bottle of perfume near the second sink, a comb, face wash, a toothbrush and a bar of soap.

You blankly stare at him for an explanation. John blushes and crosses his arms over his chest, his long hair falling into his eyes as he looks down. "I um... I took note of what you had at your apartment when I stayed there."

You pick up the bottle of perfume. "And these things are here because?"

"I got them a while back, hoping... Anyway, they seemed useful now."

"John, you would've had to go to the beauty store to get this."

"I did." He says simply.

You sigh, not believing how sweet he is. When he hangs a woman's flannel bathrobe in your size on the back of the door, you tear up.

"I swear, it's not weird. I just saw it and thought of you."

Smiling sadly, the tears drop and you try to push John out of the room so you can shower.

He stops you though and brushes your cheek. "Hey, I didn't mean to make you cry."

You nudge him out of the way and he takes a step back. "Then stop being so nice to me."

The door closes and you let yourself cry through a shower. You don't wash your hair because it hurts too much. The cool water is refreshing though and you know you're probably puffy from crying so much. You think of the bags of frozen peas on your face earlier and feel lucky John still wants you around. What a complete hot mess you are.

Getting dressed, you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror. It's the first time in awhile you haven't been able to face yourself, but you're too tired to overthink it. You'll try again tomorrow.

John is in bed when you open the door with his usual sleep clothes on and watches with concern as you crawl in beside him.

"How are you feeling?"

You sit up and rub at your temples. "My head hurts."

John places a warm hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently. A moan escapes you, unconsciously, and instantly some of the tension bleeds out.

"Can I give you a very platonic back rub?" He asks you innocently. When you peer sideways at him he looks innocent too and you give him a small smile.

John takes that as a yes and sits up to lean against the headboard. He motions for you to sit in between his spread out legs and while yawning, you drag your heavy limbs and sit with your back towards him.

His fingers brush through your hair, moving it to the side. "Can I look?" You nod and feel him delicately touch your scalp. "It doesn't look any worse." But it doesn't look any better. You exhale, your shoulders falling forward as he traces along your spine, pressing and pushing at the bones and muscles. When he gets to your neck, his hands move under the straps of your tank top and he rubs in soft circles until you're able to relax.

You're not entirely sure how it happens, but he somehow gets you to lay back against his chest and he presses his lips to your temple. His fingers are sliding up and down your arms, almost tickling but with enough pressure to feel good. He stops suddenly and you feel him wrap his arms around your waist in a hug. You lean your head on his shoulder and exhale, letting yourself be surrounded by John. It feels so good.

You remember about his injuries and feel bad you haven't even asked how he's doing. "Am I hurting your chest?"

"No, not at all."

You laugh softly. "I can't believe you sent me a selfie."

He pulls away, pretending to be offended. "I thought you'd like to see the progress of your ice healing."

"Oh, I wasn't complaining."

A few seconds of silence pass and then he says softly, "You sent me one too." He tightens his hold around you.

"You should delete it. I don't know what got into me."

He chuckles and you feel his beard on your forehead. "No way, I'm going to print out a hundred copies and put them all around the house."

"You do that and I'll kill you."

"That's really mean."

You smile and turn in his arms, getting more comfortable and using his chest as a pillow. "Thanks for letting me stay with you."

He shifts in the bed too and lays down the best he can with you on top of him. "Stay as long as you want. Stay forever."

"That's very friendly of you, John."

"We do make really good friends. We take good care of each other."

You close your eyes and take another deep breath. "That, we agree on."

TBC