Push. Claire Wallis

aware of precisely what kind of trouble that can get you into.” He raises his hand and skims his fingertips down the length of my arm. It sends a wave of nausea through me. “I miss her, you know.”

      “Get out.” I spit at him. I push his hand away and straighten my body.

      A snarky chuckle escapes from his closed mouth, and he grabs my arm with his hand. My other hand immediately starts to claw at him as I try to pull away.

      “Come on, Emma. You don’t want to fight with your dad now, do you?”

      “You are not my dad, Michael. Fuck you. Let me go.” My voice is no longer steady. It’s cracked and weak. I want to scream.

      Then I hear a slow clicking noise behind me. Michael looks over my shoulder and lets go of my arm immediately. I turn to see David leaning casually against the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s taken off his shirt, as if he’s ready for a fight. David is shaking his head gently and clicking his tongue as if he were softly scolding a naughty child. His dark eyes are pinned to Michael’s. There is absolute control in his every move. A smile begins to form on Michael’s lips, and I’m not quite sure what it means.

      David drops his arms, steps away from the wall, cocks his head to the side, and narrows his eyes. But he doesn’t take them off of Michael’s. He stops the clicking and starts to smile himself. His moves are so deliberate and slow. I think he is calculating something.

      Michael raises his eyebrows, his eyes remaining on David. “Jesus, Emma. You’ve only lived here what, three days, and already there’s a man in your apartment? Isn’t that a little quick, even for you?”

      David is walking leisurely towards me, still looking only at Michael. When he reaches my side, he very slowly snakes his hand across my lower back, curling his fingers around my waist and pressing me to his side. It is a sign of possession. Michael recognizes it immediately and steps back.

      “She asked you to get the fuck out,” David says, almost peacefully. “I think you should listen. And if you have half a brain in your body, you will stay the fuck away from her.”

      Michael smirks in acknowledgment of David’s threat and raises his hands in capitulation. He walks to the door, opens it and steps out. He turns to David and says, “Whoever you are, young man, I want you to know that you are getting what you deserve. That girl and her stupid fucking attitude are all yours.” I can hear Michael going down the steps and out the front door.

      David releases my hip and strides over to the apartment door to slam it shut. By the time he turns back around, I have dropped to my knees. My mouth is open, and I am staring at him. He is standing above me, his arms sheathed in birds and his chest nothing but bare flesh.

      “Turn around,” I whisper, and he does. His entire back is covered with the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. A magnificent phoenix, with gnarled wings and a crooked body, reaches across his shoulder blades and down his sides. Its feathers are saturated with color. Its sinewy tail wraps under David’s arm and curls into the flesh at his side. Brilliant flames emerge from the waistband of his jeans and lick the bird’s talons. I have no words for the creature twisting and writhing across his skin. I stare at it, soaking it in.

      David turns around to face me. I am on the floor in front of him, and I want nothing more than to weep. He reaches for my shoulders and helps me up. Once I am standing, he wraps his arms around me, lifts me up, cradling me like a child. I take my eyes off his, and my face sinks into his bare shoulder. He carries me down the hallway and lays me on the bed.

      Standing next to the bed, he leans over me, his hands braced on the mattress.

      “I will not let him touch you ever again.”

      Chapter Six

      David takes off his black work boots, and slides into bed next to me. His feet extend beyond mine, but our eyes are even. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, hugging me tight against his bare chest. He doesn’t let me go, but he pushes himself up toward my headboard, so his chin rests on the top of my head. My face sinks into his neck, and I start to cry. Relief swirls through me.

      “I know all about assholes like him, Emma,” he murmurs. And I openly sob against his body. I feel sad for David. Sad that he has to know this about me. Sad about what he heard. Sad that he knows how damaged I am. I do not want his pity.

      I don’t know how long I cry, but it is a cathartic, religious experience. When I finally stop, he remains frozen. I know he isn’t asleep because I can feel him swallow from time to time. But he is so still, I am afraid to move. I don’t want him to release me because I don’t know what to do next. I don’t know what he will do next. I am just so tired. I close my eyes.

      * * *

      I wake up to soft light outside my window. How long have I been asleep? Is it morning or evening? I glance at my alarm clock, and it says 7:30 p.m. Fuck. I slept the entire afternoon. Then I remember why I was so tired, and the memory of Michael’s hand on me makes me feel sick inside. David is gone, and I think to myself that he is probably never coming back, that Carl will have to hire someone else to finish my kitchen. I feel beat up.

      But I am not sad about Michael anymore. Instead, I am furious that he came here to try to scare me. To do God knows what to me. My hate for that man crawls through me again, burning and scarring. It was splendid, though, to watch David ruffle him. I don’t think I have ever seen anything so satisfying in my life.

      As I climb out of bed, I realize that I’m starving. I haven’t had anything to eat since the breakfast bar and sugared coffee this morning. I wonder how I will navigate my kitchen floor if it is still covered in glop.

      I stop in the bathroom for a pee. “Oh, man,” I sigh as I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are bloated and raw, and my eyeliner and mascara are smudged across my freckled cheeks. I quickly wash my face and rub some lotion around my eyes. I swipe on some ChapStick because my lips are puffed up like a harlot’s. I look like hell.

      When I get to the end of the hallway, I see three massive boxes sitting in my living room. On top of them are two sections of blue countertop. There is also a large toolbox sitting there and a plastic briefcase-like thing with black clasps holding it shut. I forgot about the delivery. Shit, did I actually sleep through all this? If this kind of noise didn’t wake me, then it’s no surprise that I missed David’s knock this morning. Suddenly I regret yelling at him about it.

      I can see that he’s left all his tools here, and it makes me sigh with relief. It looks as if he is coming back to finish the kitchen after all, and that makes me feel very, very happy. I owe him one hell of a thank you.

      Then I notice something sitting on the table. I walk over and see two water bottles and a pizza box with a note on top. I pick it up and read.

      

      

      Emma—

      Shit, girl, you do sleep like a fucking rock.

      I’m glad you didn’t wake when my cell phone rang,

      or when I got out of bed,

      or when the door buzzer sounded,

      or when we unloaded the delivery,

      or when I went upstairs three times to get my tools,

      or when the pizza delivery guy came.

      But I’m especially glad you didn’t wake when I went back into your room and tried on all your panties—because that would have been embarrassing for us both. (They are pretty hot, by the way...but not so much on me.)

      I figured you would be hungry when you woke up, and you can’t walk on the kitchen floor until tomorrow, so I took yet another liberty and ordered a pizza. You’ll notice my half is already gone. I thought you might not be reading this until tomorrow—you were pretty fucking tired.

      And just so you know, I’m not coming by tomorrow because I have other plans, but my cell is 230-693-2261.