“Hey,” I whispered, advancing toward her. I placed my hand on her shoulder causing her to flinch. She turned around to face me and took a retreating step backward, trembling as she held her arm. Her eyes were dull and for a split moment I was transcended to a time where I could relate to what she was feeling. I recognized that lost look in her eyes, seen it a million times before, whenever I looked at myself in the mirror. I realized in that moment Reina reminded me of myself whenever I had a manic episode—although I didn’t remember much of my episodes. Usually, I woke up to be told the awful truth of my actions. I knew enough to know she was looking at me and her body sensed I was there but her mind didn’t. I remember bits and pieces, objects and people surrounding me but never could hear their words. They were just there. And right now, in this moment, I was just there to Reina. Just an object.
“Hey, you can’t be back here,” the cook shouted, walking into the kitchen from the back door. “Reina, you know better than to let the customers back here,” he hissed, walking toward the grill. “Shit, I asked you to watch the food!” He said, in disgust as he grabbed the tongs and removed the charred remnants of food, dropping them onto a dish. “Can’t step out for one damn minute,” he muttered.
I lifted my eyes to him and glared at him viciously. “She fucking burned her arm,” I growled, before settling my eyes back on Reina.
Her eyes were closed as she shook her head, battling her demons, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes.
“Reina, hello? Earth to Reina,” the cook said, rolling his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
It took every ounce of control I could muster not to slam this pricks face into the grill and singe the motherfucker’s face off. I didn’t know where the sense to protect Reina from this jerk off came from, wasn’t sure I liked it either. I couldn’t help myself, so I lunged for his throat. My feet didn’t get a chance to move, frozen in place at the sound of her gentle plea.
“Please take me away from here,” she whispered, her brown eyes pleading with mine. Killing the cook became a distant thought, replaced by the unexplainable need to save her from herself. Like a moth drawn to a flame I was at her mercy.
“Let me take a look at your arm,” I whispered.
“Please,” she repeated, letting go of my wrist as she wrapped her hand around her injured arm.
I looked at her for another moment, glancing down at her arm before diverting my eyes over her shoulder at the cook, daring him to say another word. He opened his mouth before his eyes fell back to Reina and snapped it shut again.
“Where’s her stuff?” I asked him roughly.
He tipped his chin toward the diner and I placed my hand on the small of her back. “Let’s go, Sunshine,” I murmured.
She hesitated for a second before she relented and let me guide her back to the front of the diner. I bent down, grabbing her purse and jacket from underneath the counter then rose to my full height. She robotically took her jacket from me, draping it over the arm of her uninjured hand. I looked down at her arm and caught a glimpse of the raw flesh. Already it had a sheen to it as the skin stretched and changed to a nasty shade of purple. Realization set in, crippling me as it became clear she hadn’t just fallen victim to a simple accident in the kitchen of the diner. She was reliving the traumatic experience she shared with my brother.
I took her injured hand, felt her body tense at my touch, and guided her out of the diner toward my bike. I slid my helmet from one of the handlebars and turned around, offering it for her.
“You ever ride before?” I asked, as she stared at my bike.
She shook her head, and I sighed. I threw my leg over and straddled the bike, bracing my hands on the handlebars as I looked at her.
“Climb on and hold on tight,” I instructed, watching her pretty little lips part. I couldn’t help think how I wouldn’t mind repeating those same words under different circumstances. I shook my head, shoving my thoughts and my desires aside.
“The hospital isn’t that far of a ride from here,” I said.
Her eyes snapped to mine, and she shook her head. “No hospitals,” she uttered. “I can’t go to the hospital.”
“That burn looks pretty nasty, Reina. You should have it checked out.”
“No, I said no.” She took a retreating step back. “It isn’t that bad,” she said, her voice sounding detached. “It’s nothing.”
I realized the burn that ran along her forearm was in fact nothing compared to what she probably had endured in that fire. Bianci’s voice haunted me, reminding me she had been badly burned, so much so she had been hospitalized for weeks. My eyes traveled the length of her trying to determine where she had been burned in the fire and then it clicked. The baggy clothes she wore were an armor for the scars that marred her body.
“I just want to go home,” she whispered.
“Okay,” I conceded. “Just tell me where you live.”
“The Southgate projects,” she mumbled, taking another step toward my bike, staring at the helmet in her hand like it was a foreign object. She slowly lifted it on top of her head and I reached out and fastened the chin strap. She awkwardly assessed how she would climb onto the bike before placing her hand on my shoulder and throwing her leg over.
One touch and I was branded.