Demanding Ransom

Chapter TEN



“Wake up.” I poke his shoulder with the tip of my ballpoint pen. He doesn’t flinch; his heavy breathing doesn’t falter. “Wake up.” I poke him again, and still no movement, not even the fluttering of his eyelids. Nothing. It’s like he’s in a coma on my bed and has been for the past three hours.

I was able to finish up a significant portion of my essay, enough that I felt comfortable taking the rest of the evening off to go out to dinner with Ran. Comfortable might not be the right word, because nothing about Ran makes me comfortable. Uneasy, anxious, and lightheaded are much better descriptions.

He’s still soundly asleep, so I stick him with the pen and my stomach rumbles a low, hollow growl. Though the thought of dinner makes me nauseous with nerves, the need to satiate this hunger for food makes going out with Ran feel like a necessity. So that’s what I plan to do. Go out with him because the alternative is starving to death. I think it’s my only option. These are my survival instincts taking over, nothing more.

I push the pen against his bare arm again, lining it up with the ink that’s permanently etched there already, but he’s still totally dead to the world. Opening up the desk drawer, I slide out a pair of scissors, keep them closed, and press them into the flesh on his bicep as I hiss, “Ran, wake up!”

His eyes instantly jolt open and it takes him a hesitant moment before his surroundings come into focus and can make any sense to him. Then he looks down at the scissors in my hand. I’m not sure how that image can make any sense at all. “What the hell?” Ran shoots upright. “What were you planning to do to me with those?”

“I was just trying to wake you up,” I explain. “The pen didn’t work.” I lower my gaze to the floor, only realizing how stupid I sound once the words tumble from my lips.

“And a calm, comforting hand on the shoulder accompanied by a sweet, ‘Time to wake up, Ranny-Boy,’ wouldn’t do? Instead I get Maggie Scissorhands as my wakeup call?”

“I didn’t want to touch you,” I breathe, yanking on the drawer to stow away my scissors and pen, wanting to pull out the tape dispenser in order to seal my mouth shut. Why do I feel the need to disclose any of this to him?

“I don’t have cooties, Maggie.” Without warning, Ran’s hand seizes mine and he presses my palm onto his chest. It’s firm, like he’s paid skillful attention to this specific part of his body at the gym to make it this way. “See, no cooties.” His confident smile would be enough to make me woozy, but the tapping of his heart vibrating just under my fingertips makes my ears flood with a dizzying rush and my head spins in circles.

“I’m not so sure. I don’t know that I’d be infected right away.” I tug my hand back and twist my fingers in my lap, studying them in an effort to center myself again. “I think cooties have at least a 24-hour incubation period.”

“You have nothing to worry about.” Ran sifts his fingers through his dark hair, rustling it back into a disheveled, bedhead styling. “I was immunized against cooties when I was five. You can’t catch them from me.” He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and his feet hit the floor. Suddenly we’re knee to knee: Ran sitting on my bed and me in my desk chair. “But there’s something you can catch.”

“What’s that?” My lips quiver when I speak. I bite down hard to scold them.

“Me,” he says. “I’ve been told in the past I’m quite a catch.”

“And who would have fed you this lie?” I challenge, because he makes it so easy.

“Pretty much every single—and some not-so-single—woman that I’ve transported to the hospital.”

“So is that what you do? Drug your female patients to get them to fall hopelessly in love with you?” I ask, not entirely certain that this assertion is as off the wall as it sounds.

“Are you saying that you’re hopelessly in love with me, Maggie?”

“Are you saying that you drugged me?”

“Touché.” The devilish grin that draws his mouth upward is an unfair tool for him to possess. I think I’d do just about anything he asked if he gave me that flirtatious smirk. “What do you feel like for dinner?”

“Anything. I’m starving.”

“Do you like sushi?”

I glance at the plastic bag containing my housewarming gift. “They don’t double as dinner, do they?”

“No, Maggie. I could never eat one of my pets. That’s heartless.” Ran bends down to slip on and tie one of his shoes. He glances up at me. “I get attached to things very easily.”

“I’ve learned not to get attached to anything at all.”

“Well,” he pauses, pulling at the laces on the remaining black boot. “I’m hoping I’ll be the one to change that for you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ve had over a decade of practice in hardening this shell.”

“That sounds like a challenge. One I readily accept.”

“Ran,” I sigh. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“No, but I hope I’m about to find out.” He jumps to his feet and pulls me up with him. “Have you ever ridden on the back of an impossibly fast vehicle?”

“No.” I feel my stomach clamp down and the taste of acid swims at the back of my mouth.

“Well, consider this just one of the many firsts you and I are going to experience together.”

***

Ran kicks the stand down with his boot and cranes his neck back my direction. My fingernails dig into the worn leather of his black jacket and my death grip doesn’t loosen, even when he kills the motor.

“Maggie?” Ran slides his helmet up and then reaches over to lift mine off. My hair spills onto my shoulders and I shake it out, but my fingers still cling tightly to Ran’s torso. “Maggie, we’re here. You can let go now. That is, unless you don’t want to.”

I pry my hands loose. “Promise me I’ll never have to do that again?”

“No girl has ever said that to me.” He flashes a wide grin. “About anything. They always beg for more.”

“Your overconfidence is beginning to wear on me.” I shove my helmet into his stomach and scoot past him toward the restaurant entrance, my shoes making intentionally loud crunching noises on the concrete walkway. I hope the irritating sound effectively conveys my own irritation with him right now.

“If by that you mean I’m starting to wear you down, then that’s exactly the point.”

Ran takes two long skips past me and catches the handle of the door just as a family exits through it. “Ladies first. Though you weren’t much of a lady on that bike, cussing like a sailor and all.”

“I was scared shi—” I compose myself and start again. “I was scared out of my mind, Ran.”

“There’s no reason to be scared. I know how to handle that thing. I’ve been riding for years.” He thumbs his chin. “You’d be amazed at what I can handle, Maggie.”

A woman behind a podium at the entrance acknowledges us and guides us toward an empty table near the back of the restaurant, two menus in hand. It’s dark and secluded back here, with the cadence of noise and chatter drowned out by a substantial floor-to-ceiling curtain partition that drapes around the table.

“Will this be okay?” She gestures a hand toward the seat.

“Do you have anything more…out in the open?” I scan the room.

“Uh, I can check—”

Ran pulls out my chair. “No, this will be fine. Thank you.”

I reluctantly drop into my seat and Ran takes his position across the table from me. “Maggie, you don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not in the business of hurting people. I’m in the business of comforting them.”

“Then why do you make me so uncomfortable?” I keep my eyes on the menu in front of me, but in my periphery I see the hopeful features on his face fall.

“I make you uncomfortable?”

I push my menu up higher to block him out completely. “Sorta.”

“You make me uncomfortable—”

Before I can demand a response, a pimple-faced waiter that looks like he’s twelve materializes at the edge of our table, spouting off some rambling about tonight’s specials, but I don’t hear him. I just hear Ran’s assertion that I make him uncomfortable over and over in my head like it’s on repeat.

“And if you wouldn’t mind, can you take this from her? She really can’t be trusted with sharp objects.”

I see Ran’s fingers slide across the table to pull the knife off my napkin. He hands it to the waiter and shoots me another one of his unfair grins. I would probably be mortified by his demeaning act if he didn’t turn me on so much.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” The waiter tucks the utensil into his apron, dumbfounded. “I’ll give you two a minute to look over the menu. Let me know if you have any questions.”

I drop my eyes back down to the list of sushi rolls and sashimi.

“Do you have any questions, Maggie?” Ran peers over the table at me. His menu is face down and his arms are bent across his chest as he precariously balances his chair on the back two legs.

“I have lots of questions,” I offer. “But not about the menu.”

“Is that so?”

The hostess seats another party directly behind us and I have to scoot my chair in to accommodate them. At the same time I do so, Ran slams back onto all four legs of his chair and our faces end up no more than a foot apart. I feel his breath sweep over my skin.

“I say we make this a little fun. How about a modified game of truth or dare?”

“Modified?” I ask, scooting back slightly, but my chair bumps into the larger woman at my back and she throws me an overly-annoyed glare. The curtain must be on some track because the hostess comes by to pull it further around our table and it’s suddenly just the two of us again.

“Yes. Six questions total. Three for you, three for me. But the catch is that if you don’t want to answer the question, then you have to take the dare.” He raises his hand in the air and flicks his fingers to wave our waiter over. “And the dare involves eating large amounts of raw fish you can’t pronounce.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

Ran nods. “Okay, it can be small amounts.”

“I don’t want to answer any of your questions, Ran,” I retort.

The playful air of banter slips from our conversation and Ran’s eyes soften. “What are you afraid to tell me?”

“Are you two ready to order?” I jump at the sound of our waiter’s voice, but am so grateful for it. It’s the sound of my out.

“Yes, we’ll take six servings of your finest raw delicacies. And two Diet Cokes.”

The waiter scratches something onto the notepad held in his hands and leaves our table. Ran hasn’t stopped looking at me, even when he placed our order. If feeling someone’s stare could ever be a physical pull, this is it. It’s like there’s some charged line between his eyes and my face and I can feel it hot on my skin, tugging me toward him.

“Delicacies?” I ask. “I thought you were going to order something gross.”

Ran’s phone pulses on the table, just like it did yesterday, and just like yesterday, he ignores the call. I wonder why I always seem to be more important than the person on the other end.

“Delicacies are almost always gross, Maggie. Escargot? Caviar? Pâté? They all achieve both delicacy, as well as disgusting, status. It has to be the same with Japanese food.”

After a ten minute wait that I fill with unnecessary glances toward a television hung on the wall behind Ran that plays some college football game, texts to Cora asking how study hall is going, and even checking the weather app on my phone, our food appears in front of us.

“Yep, I was right. Delicacy equals disgusting.”

Six portions of brightly colored fish, goop, and something else that I can’t even form a description for, stare up at me, mocking my stomach.

I catch the waiter’s elbow. “Can I get a bowl of steamed rice?” He nods and heads toward the kitchen.

“Rice? What’s that for?”

“A buffer,” I reply, snapping my chopsticks and grasping one in each hand.

“Fair enough.” Ran takes his chopsticks in his hands and sands them over one another, like he’s readying for a duel. “I go first.”

“What happened to ladies first?” I gulp in a drink of my soda.

“You forfeited that when you said I made you uncomfortable.” He’s still sliding his chopsticks over one another as he speaks. His eyes meet mine. “So that leads me to my first question. Why do I make you uncomfortable?”

I should have known that’s where he would go with this. I glance down at the revolting plate in front of us, then back up to Ran. His face holds an expectant look that makes me sweat all over. I grip onto my chopsticks tighter to keep them from falling onto the table.

One more look from the food to him and then I dip my wooden utensils down, retrieving a one-inch piece of purple fish meat that’s draped over a bed of sticky rice. I pop it in my mouth and shoot Ran a victorious smile.

“I see how you’re going to do this,” he says, and though it should be a playful tone, it sounds more aggravated than anything.

“My turn,” I mutter around the slimy contents in my mouth. After swallowing, I take a deep breath. “Why did you decide to become a paramedic?”

I take four or five more long, nervous sips of my Diet Coke, keeping my lips on the straw because I need to occupy them before more questions fly out of my mouth. I don’t know how I’m going to limit it to three.

“I liked the idea of being the first one to arrive at the scene.”

“That’s morbid.”

“No, it’s not,” Ran defends. “I wanted to be there to provide comfort in times of distress. To be a calming force amid the chaos.” He presses his palms flat on the table. “Okay, my turn.”

I straighten up in my seat, ready for the interrogation to continue.

“What did you see in Brian? I know I don’t know you well, but he’s a first-rate loser.”

Brian. What did I see in him? I saw someone who noticed me when no one else seemed to. I saw someone who held me when I cried about my mom, who assured me that he was the right person to give myself to for the first time—and every time after that—and I saw someone who was out of my league, yet still seemed to want me.

Ran taps his chopsticks on the table, awaiting my answer. I look to him, then lift up another piece of sushi and drop it in my mouth. The texture of this one makes me gag, but I bite it back and plaster on another haughty smile.

“My turn again,” I mumble.

Pulled down by the obvious disappointment from my answer avoidance, Ran’s shoulders fall and his shirt crumples at his waist. “O-kay.” He drags out the word and very slowly tilts his head.

“I’m sure you’ve seen all kinds of horrific motorcycle accidents, so why would you ride on that deathtrap on wheels?”

Ran gives me a look of utter frustration. “Maggie, is that seriously what you want to use one of your questions for? To ask me why I drive a motorcycle?”

I nod my head, hoping he believes it, because I really want to know so much more. I could compose a list as long as the phonebook with questions that I want answers to regarding Ran.

“I drive a motorcycle because I remember my biological father driving one.”

Something deep inside me sinks. Like the crack that Ran’s opened up in his confident exterior pulls me right through it. I don’t want to know this about him. I don’t want to see a vulnerable side to him. And I don’t want to picture a four-year-old Ran with a motorcycle-driving dad.

“My turn.” Ran twists his hands, one over the other. “And I really hope you’re getting full because I’d like an answer this time.” He interlocks his fingers and hovers his hands over his mouth. He breathes into them and after a short pause says, “When are you going to forgive your mom?”

The room starts to spin, the nauseating smell of fish fills my nostrils, and I grip onto the edge of the table to center myself. “What?” I grit out, so quietly, yet it feels like a scream as it burns against my lips.

Ran doesn’t respond, but his eyes attempt to draw an answer out of me with their infuriatingly tender warmth. They’re trying to draw out an answer Ran is not going to get.

Pursing my lips to fight back the tears and the anger that’s pressing just at the back of my tongue, about ready to fly out in the form of spiteful words and insults, I shove a third piece of sushi in my mouth.

I don’t think he’s intentionally shaking his head, but I notice it rotating side to side, almost as though it’s in slow motion, disbelief drawn on his face.

I make deliberate eye contact, and then lift a fourth piece up to my lips. As soon as it is swallowed, a fifth. And once I’ve choked down the last bit of greasy, pungent seafood, I deposit the sixth into my mouth, suppressing the attempt at escape the previous bites are making up my esophagus.

Like silver dollars on his face, Ran’s irises are encased in nothing but white. “Well,” he begins, but I notice the shake in his voice. “Now you’ve left nothing for me.”

My stomach heaves, but I quickly down the remainder of my soda, all the way to the bottom where it makes that crackling, empty echo against the ice cubes and plastic cup.

“So your only option is to answer me then.” I run my napkin across my mouth and then toss it onto the table. “What did you think about me the first time you saw me?”

“The first time I saw you?”

“Yes. The night of the accident.”

Ran’s indigo eyes pierce into me. “That you were beautiful.”

The monotone quality in his words leaves me numb. Not because the unexpected compliment flusters me, but because the seriousness in which he delivered it chills me.

“I couldn’t have been beautiful with all that blood, Ran.” My eyes dart anywhere they can without coming into contact with his. “And I had a black eye for over a week. I was a mess.”

“That wasn’t the first time I saw you.”

“What—?” Shock courses through me, pulling me perfectly upright in my chair.

Ran shakes his head vigorously. “Nope. You’ve used up your three questions. Not my fault you chose them poorly.” He yanks the rice bowl toward him. “And you didn’t leave any dinner for me, Maggie. That wasn’t very nice.”

“I think we’ve already established the fact that I’m not nice.” I suck on my straw again, even though I know there’s nothing left in the cup. “So you thought I was beautiful—blood, bruises and all. Anything else?”

“Yes, Maggie,” he says. “I felt incredibly guilty that everything had to happen the way it did.”