A Brand New Ending

Chapter 10

Braeden



Reaching into my closet, I pull out my favorite pair of jeans and my blue and black plaid flannel shirt. Swiping my hands through my hair, I go to grab my shoes out of my closet, a small part of me not surprised that they are nowhere to be found. Bret. Grabbing a pair of socks, I leave my bedroom heading immediately for his room. His door is closed but I push it open anyways, the mixture of cigarette ash and alcohol seeping from the carpet. Pulling my shirt up over my nose, I start to kick the mounds of clothing laid upon the floor. Looks like we're not getting our deposit back.

In the far right corner of the room, I see them, my black high top lace ups. I grab them and make my way back to the hallway, the bong and used condoms on the nightstand don't go unnoticed. Sitting down on the couch, I begin to lace up my shoes when I hear my phone ringing.

I groan while leaning back into the couch, pulling out my phone out of my pocket. Putting it up to my ear, I hold it with my shoulder while I continue to lace up my shoes.

"Yea," I say into the phone.

"Dude, are you coming or what? We're already f*cking way ahead of you…"

"Yeah, I'm just about to head out the door," I explain.

"Alright, hurry up!" he shouts.

I hang up the phone without a response and slide the phone back into my pocket. Grabbing my keys and wallet off the counter I head out the building. It's only a walk of a few blocks from my place to the bar. Once I reach the front, I can see it's packed with patrons spilling out the front door. Maneuvering through the crowd, I spot the bouncer, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"How are you doing tonight?" I shout over the music.

"Great! It's a full house!" he yells back. "Make sure you keep that friend of yours in line this time, he's already hit on all the bartenders."

I smile crookedly.

"I will, thanks, man," I respond before stepping into the main room.

Light sounds of jazz hits my ears, instantly calming me. I spot Donovan easily, as he is always the tallest guy in the room. Once he spots me, he lifts his hands in the air, waving me over.

"Where you been, my man?" he asks, leaning down to wrap his arms around me.

"I clearly do have some catching up to do," I mumble, smelling the alcohol on his breath.

Wrangling myself out from under him, I grab the nearest chair at our table and slide into it. I nod at our other guests, most of them from Donovan's soccer team. A few seconds later, a tumbler glass is set in front of me and I already know what it holds.

Looking up, I am greeted by one of bartenders, a red-headed woman with tattoos covering every inch of the exposed skin on her arms.

"Thanks," I say, giving her a small smile.

"You look like shit, Braeden," she says, pushing on my shoulder.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically, grabbing the glass and taking a sip. "Jesus Christ! How much rum did you put in this thing?"

"Don't be such a p-ssy." She laughs. "No woman is ever going to want to sleep with you if you act like that," she says, smacking the side of my head.

"I'm pretty sure men don't want to sleep with an abusive bitch, either," I shoot back.

She just winks at me before leaving our table and heading back behind the bar to tend to the rest of the customers. I continue to sip on my rum and coke, watching the people around me, but remain silent. I turn my attention to the band that's on stage. They are frequent players at the bar. I tap the rim of my glass, my body responding to the music, knowing every note of the guitar solo. I laugh to myself, remembering the guitar lessons I took as a kid. I thought I was going to be the next Jimi Hendrix. The last thing I wanted to do was follow in my father's footsteps, but after my mother's death, I wanted nothing more than to help people - to give people the help that they deserved. It's amazing how unpredictable life can be. I feel a push on my shoulder again, my empty glass replaced with a new one.

"Thanks," I respond, giving the red head a crooked smile. I then feel a flick on my opposite shoulder.

"Hey, man, come have a smoke with me," Donovan says.

I grunt, pushing my chair out from the table, grabbing my glass, the condensation from it dripping against my skin. We make our way out the back door, into a small alley behind the bar. I lean up against the brick wall, listening to Donovan mumble on about how he scored the winning goal of tonight's match and how he is going to get so much ass from his new found celebrity status.

I start to tune him out, my eyes fixated on the end of the alley way, watching the masses of people walking by. After some time, I bring my attention back to him.

"I gotta go take a piss." he says, whacking me on my chest.

"Jesus Christ, man, quit f*cking hitting me," I say, rubbing my chest.

"Such a p-ssy!" he says shaking his head. I roll my eyes at him. "You know you still owe me for that," he adds.

"For what?" I ask, confused.

"For saving your ass in third grade. If I didn't hit that a*shole first, that face of yours wouldn't be so pretty." He laughs.

"I could have handled it myself," I defend. He just laughs, pulling open the back door.

"You coming?" he asks.

"Nah, I'm gonna stay here, fresh air feels good."

"Whatever, man, make sure your weak ass doesn't catch a cold," he jokes.

"You do know that you can't actually get a cold from being cold right?" I tell him.

"There you go with that medical bullshit again." He laughs. "See you inside," he says before heading back in.

Lifting my body off the wall, I walk the length of the alley way, breathing in the fumes from the Chinese restaurant next door. When I get to the end, I continue to watch the crowds go by. The stream of solid red lights, the sound of blaring horns fills the night air. Everyone in such a hurry, too busy to enjoy life. Guess I'm guilty of that. Just as I am about to turn around to head back to the bar, a figure across the street catches my eye. Dark brown flowing hair, bright beautiful eyes.

I take a step forward, the hair on my arms standing upright. I squint into the darkness and see that the figure still standing there, smiling back at me. I take one more step towards it. Then another.

There is silence for a moment, like nothing else exists on the planet. Until I hear the sound of tires screeching on wet pavement, instantly snapping me out of whatever world I was currently in. Looking to my left, I am blinded by two headlights coming straight at me. The bumper of a cab grazed my kneecaps, making my knees buckle and I fall to the ground, the glass in my hand shattering against the asphalt. I feel a sharp pain in my right hand and see a rusty red mixing with the water and oil on the ground.

"What the f*ck do you think you are doing?" the cab driver screams to me as he gets out of his car. "You f*cking kids, can't keep a hold of your god damn liquor."

I whip my head from his direction to the sidewalk behind me, the figure now gone, as though it simply vanished into thin air. I feel arms wrap around mine, my body being lifted off the ground.

"You alright, man?" I hear Donovan say behind me, his hands brushing debris off of my clothes.

"Yeah," I say, now looking down at my hand.

"Holy f*ck, dude," Donovan shouts, putting his nose inside his elbow. I look down at my hand, and then back up at him.

"Are you scared of blood?" I say laughing.

I hold my hand up to his face and Donovan takes a step back. I take another one toward him, both of us repeating our steps. Donovan breaks into a sprint back to the bar and I follow, laughing the entire way.

"Who's the p-ssy now?" I shout.

When we get back into the bar, I am immediately met by the red-headed bartender. She grabs my arm.

"I have a first aid kit in the office," she says, nodding her head in the direction of a hallway.

I follow her, my hand now f*cking stinging. When we make it to a closed door, she pulls a pair of keys from her pocket, causing the hem of her shirt to ride up. It's now that I notice her arms are not the only places she has tattoos. When she gets the door open, she ushers me in.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing to the office chair up against the desk.

I do as I'm told. She walks over to a file cabinet, coming back with a small cloth pouch.

"I can do it myself..." I tell her, reaching out to take it from her. She smacks my hand away.

"Sometimes it's nice to be taken care of," she says, her face deadpanned.

Grabbing a stool, she sits down and slides towards me. She doesn't stop until I have to open my legs, her body sliding between them. Reaching down, she grabs my hand again and puts it in her lap.

"Now, hold still."

I can feel myself becoming anxious. Something about her touch is rough yet gentle. She takes the antiseptic wipe packet in her hand and rips it open in one swoop. She wipes it across my palm, the once-white cloth now a murky brown. When she finishes, she grabs the roll of gauze and wraps what seems like a thousand layers around my hand, clearly having no clue what she is doing. She binds it with a few pieces of tape. She stops her work, looking down at it and then back up at me.

"F*ck, it will have to do," she says, examining it once more.

"Thanks," I say, pulling my arm into me.

When I look back up at her, she has a vicious smile across her lips. Her hand comes up around my neck and pulls her stool even closer to mine. I can now feel her legs touching the inside of mine. In one swift motion, she hops from her stool onto my lap, her legs wrapping around my waist, and I pulse with desire. Reaching up with my good arm, I weave my fingers through her hair, pulling her face to mine. Her kiss is harsh and it makes me more frenzied. My other hand finds the lower part of her back, making her bottom half grind into me, until a sharp pain ruptures through my hand. There must be glass in there.

Moments later, she lets go of my hair to pull her tank top off, exposing more of her tattoos. The artwork is breathtaking and I find myself transfixed.

"Hey, Harris, you gonna f*ck me or stare at my tits all day?" she announces.

I smile crookedly, lifting her off me harshly and slam her body down onto the desk, causing papers to fly off in every direction. Reaching up, she grabs at the hem of my shirt, a silent signal for me to remove it. I do so in one swift motion and throw it on the floor behind me. Her hands find the button of my pants, her fingers working fast to remove them, while her teeth gently gnawing on my bottom lip. They eventually fall off my hips, gathering down at my ankles. I quickly reach down as well, grabbing the front of her jeans, pulling on them hard. I hear the button pop, which then bounces across the floor.

"Easy boy," I hear her breathe into my mouth.

Looking down, I catch a sight of her perfectly manicured regions, underwear obviously not a concern for her. Pushing my fingers between her lips, she moans with pleasure.

"You like that?" I call out to her.

"Don't give me that shit," she says, rolling her eyes. In one motion, I push two fingers inside of her forcefully, making her gasp.

"F*ck!" she screams out.

I smile widely, she rolls her eyes again in response. Her wetness and warmth encase my fingers as I slowly pump them in and out of her. Her hips are now bucking, her hands grabbing at the few things still on the desk.

"F*ck me," I hear her beg.

"I thought women didn't like to f*ck pussies?" I tease, knowing it will piss her off.

"Oh, f*ck off…" She laughs and I pull my fingers out from inside her, now leaning over her body now so that our faces are parallel.

"You know you want it," I say just above a whisper.

She gets a pouty look on her face and starts shaking her head. I take myself in my hand and push the tip between her lips, moving it back and forth on top of it.

"How about now?" I ask coyly.

She bites her bottom lip but doesn't respond. I take my cock again and push just the tip inside her, her wetness more apparent. I don't say anything, just cock an eyebrow.

"Fine!" she finally screams. I just smile, waiting for her to say it. She rolls her eyes once again. "I want you to f*ck me!" she screams at the top of her lungs, everyone in the bar probably hearing it.

As soon as those words leave her lips, I push inside of her. Her arms come up around my neck and interlock behind me. Using my hand to hold onto her, I thrust, both of us moaning in unison. She feels incredible, the sensation almost too much to handle. We both fall silent, only the sounds of whimpers coming from her. As I continue to move, I reach down, hooking her around her back with my bad arm, lifting her midair, her legs now hooked around me again.

We remain upright somehow, while she now bobs up and down on me. It feels beyond f*cking incredible. It's apparent that she knows what she is doing, which turns me on in a weird way. Her moves are fast and I know that my release is not far off. Setting her back down on the desk, I thrust with all my might, our kisses becoming more animalistic, both of us at our breaking points. Just after a few more seconds, she cries out, her body rigid, her hips lifting off the surface of the desk.

I hold onto her hip bones, fighting back my urge until she is finished. Once she falls silent again, I thrust one more time before quickly removing myself from inside her and release into my hand. I bend over until I finish and the room falls silent. She shimmies off the desk and picks her top and pants off the floor.

"There's a janitor sink over there," she says, pointing into the corner.

Picking up my jeans from around my ankles with my wounded hand, I shuffle over to the sink to clean up. When I finish, I walk back to her.

"Shit," she says, looking down at the missing button on her jeans and proceeds to look for it on the floor. I just smile. Leaning over, I grab a safety pin from the floor, fish the fabric through of her jeans, and fasten it shut.

"What are you? F*cking MacGyver?"

I lean in to kiss her but she stops me by putting her hand on my chest.

"I'll call you, alright?" she says, before slipping out from under me, heading straight for the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Sighing, I button up my jeans and grab my shirt and overcoat from the floor. Leaving the office, I take a gaze down the hallway - no one in sight. Slipping out the back door, I make it out of the alleyway and onto Market Street. My hand is now burning. There's one more stop I need to make for the night.

Shutting the door to the taxi, I arrive at the hospital. Walking through the automatic doors, the hospital is frenzied, typical for a Friday night. My hand is now aching like a son of a bitch and blood is seeping through the gauze. Hitting the button for the elevator with my elbow, I wait for it to recall back to the lobby floor. When I hear the doors open, I step inside, hitting the second floor button. When I reach the floor, things seem to be a little more relaxed than the previous. As I walk past the nurses' station, a curly-haired women points to a door.

"Thanks, Sue," I whisper before heading in that direction.

Using my hip, I push open the door, seeing a hunched over mass behind the desk. He picks his head up, pushing the sliding glasses up onto his nose.

"Evening, son," he says, a smile on his face as he pulls himself away from his desk.

"Don't get up," I say, ushering him to remain sitting.

"Nonsense." He waves, getting up anyways. He walks over to give me a hug.

"Good to see you," he says, releasing his arms from me, putting his hands on either side of my shoulders.

"I just saw you two days ago."

He pats my shoulder before letting go.

"So what can I do for you? You don't come down to my office too much," he states. I hold my gauzed hand up, giving him a small grin. He gets a concerned look on his face.

"Are you alright?" he asks, taking my hand in his.

"It burns like a motherf*cker but yeah. I think there might be a piece of glass in there still." I say. Walking over to a counter, he puts on a pair of rubber gloves.

"Don't use that language, Braeden," he says softly before starting to unravel the gauze. "I thought someone who is in the medical field would wrap a wound better than this."

I laugh. "Let's just say it wasn't me."

When he gets all the gauze off, he tosses it in the trash.

"Yeah, there are a few shards in there." he says as he pokes around the open wound. "Sit," he says pointing to the empty chair.

I do so, sliding into one. He grabs a pair of forceps and begins picking out the pieces of glass, slowly. When he finishes it, he re-wraps it with fresh gauze.

"Do I even want to ask how you got glass in your hand?" he asks.

"Probably not," I admit.

He puts his tools away and walks back over to me, leaning against the edge of his desk. I look up at him.

"So, how's work been?" I ask him.

"Extremely busy," he sighs. "Something about winter time…."

We both fall silent for a second. I get a chill, like the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

"I heard you were the attending physician for one of our new patients," I say, trying to be nonchalant about bringing her up.

His face gets serious. "Phoenix…yes."

My heart skips a beat, the feeling making me nervous. Just hearing her name affects me.

"How is she doing?" he asks.

I shrug.

"She only came in a few hours before my shift ended and, let's just say, it was less than pleasant."

"That's only natural."

"I know," I say, holding back what I really want to ask. We both fall silent again. My insides turning, wanting to know everything about her.

"There is just something about her..." I say just above a whisper, so low that I hope my father doesn't hear.

"Braeden," he says, making me snap my head up. "I know that she is just another patient but I must ask something of you."

I stare at him confused.

"I fear that she is not the only one harming herself," he says heartbreakingly.

"Why makes you think that?" I ask, starved for information.

"When she was admitted to this hospital, her mother and stepfather came to visit. Luckily, I happened to be in the room at the time. I observed them."

He pauses. I almost scream out for him to continue.

"Phoenix was extremely distraught after the incident, like any human being would, but something about her changed rapidly when they walked in her room. She became rigid and the look on her face… I've seen it before. On victims of abuse. She was terrified," he resumes.

A wave of anger comes over me.

"What can I do?" I ask.

"I have a feeling that they may show up at the hospital, please just keep a watchful eye," he answers.

He looks at the clock on the wall.

"Well, I need to get back to work," he says, leaning his body off of the desk. He gives me another hug.

"Love you, son," he says.

"Love you too, Dad," I say as he pulls away.

I walk out from around the chair, heading towards the door until I hear my father speak again.

"Braeden?" he calls out.

I turn around to face him again, my back to the office door.

"Tread lightly with Phoenix, son," he says. "Some people don't want to be saved."

I don't respond, but nod my head slightly before pushing the door open, heading back through the hospital and into the cold morning light.