Charity's Warrior

by Unknown

  I'm so upset I want to run out of the room, but I can't. I'm trapped!

  "You're right, I know. Please understand, Charity, Panther is part of what I do; it's the other half of my business. It's the legitimate security portion. All data collection, business contacts, funding—it is part of the same lie I have to tell."

  "Bullshit, Justin! I get you have to be careful, but you could have just told me from day one that you owned a company and had me apply. You didn't need to invent JP and do that to me. I feel like such an idiot. I never would have thought you, of all people, would ever make me feel like this."

  The tears are flooding down my face.

  "JP already existed, that was not done to fool you" he said. "Everyone at Panther knows me as JP, everyone outside knows me as Justin. It's always been that way. I had no idea where you and I might go."

  His voice choked. Seeing me in tears was more than he could handle.

  "You made me fall for JP, let me do things and feel things, and you have no excuse for that. You toyed with me, with my heart, and I don't think you have any excuse to cover your ass on that one," I cried.

  He dropped his head in shame. His eyes had grown glassy.

  "Even if I couldn't tell you about Panther, I should never have started IM'ing you as JP. It was selfish, and I don't have an excuse for that," his voice is a complete wreck now, full of self-loathing and sadness.

  "I want you to leave," I told him flatly, wiping the tears from my face.

  He nodded his head softly, paused to regain himself, and then got up from his chair.

  "I deserve this, Charity. I'm sorry for the lies. Even when you hate me, remember that I love you."

  As soon as he left, I was crying again. Now that I am alone I don't have to try to be strong for anyone, don't have to be a warrior. Right now I can feel and be exactly what I am, a woman feeling deceived and used, and even grief at the loss of a friend I thought I had in JP.

  Justin had saved me and broken me in one swoop. I cried myself to sleep.

  JUSTIN HAD LISTENED TO me, maybe even better than I wanted him too. A week has passed since I asked him to leave, and he hasn't been back. That was enough time for me to start missing him desperately. It was enough time for me to understand that I hadn't lost JP, that I had the best of them both in one man.

  And then it was even enough time for me to grow angry at him for not trying to get me back!

  If he loves me so much, where the hell is he? Where's his fight? I know exactly where he's been, diving between anything with two legs that will open for him!

  Okay, I know that might not be true, but I'm pissed.

  The hospital is discharging me today. Nearly everything is back to normal. I still have some weakness in my right leg, but the physical therapy I'm in is working, and they are keeping me on the program as an outpatient. I've been getting around with a cane just fine, and we are all hopeful it won't be permanent.

  Lena had apparently given me a cover story at the office in case I wanted to keep the job. I haven't seen or heard from her, but John brought all the assistants up a few days ago to see how I was recovering from my "car accident."

  I'm not comfortable staying on at Justin's company, but I didn't see a choice right now. I'm in no shape to go job hunting, and it's too late to go back on the lie I started with my family.

  And you know what—fuck it—I'm good at the job and I deserve it.

  Anyway, I'm pretty certain I know how Justin will play it, the same way he was playing everything else. I spoke to Trisha earlier, another person I had to lie to, and Justin hasn’t been there in weeks. He doesn’t have the courage to show up any more. We need each other right now, I need the job, and he needs me to keep my mouth shut, so he's going to stay away. By now, a guy like him, he's probably moved on to the next thing that makes his dick hard.

  That one made my heart ache. It was difficult convincing myself that I'm over it.

  I grabbed my cane and slid my ass to the edge of the bed. For a week I have been trying to fix myself up with nothing but a hospital comb, some lip gloss and toiletries from the gift shop, and a hair tie the nurse was good enough to give me. I cannot wait to get home and get my own things. I shuffle my gimpy leg into the bathroom and fight the urge to cry when I see my reflection in the tiny mirror.

  I'm brushing my teeth when I think I hear the door to my room. I freeze, listening to see if I was right.

  "If you spit out the toothpaste, you can come out here and see what I have for you," I heard Lena say.

  I smiled, and spit into the sink.

  When I step out of the bathroom, Lena is sitting on the end of my bed. Next to her are some of my clothes from my apartment, one of my favorite Rag & Bone Lily sweaters and black stretch leggings. Beside that is a small bag, and I can see things stuffed inside. I'm not surprised at all that she has my stuff, and it's pointless to ask how she got in. That's like asking Picasso how he paints.

  "Well, you don't even need this stuff. You're gorgeous even when you're not made up. That just pisses me off," she laughed.

  "Oh my God, thank you so much," I said, limping to her and hugging her tightly. "You're a life saver."

  She hugged me back. "Any change on the leg?" she asked, "Or they just want you to stick with the therapy?"

  "Sticking to therapy for now. It seems to be working," I told her. She was pretty current on her information despite that I haven't seen her.

  "Good," she replied with another smile. She's holding something back, I can tell. She motioned to the bag. "Come on, get ready. They're discharging you as soon as you want. I'm giving you a ride home."

  I grab the bag and carry it into the bathroom with me, leaving the door open so we can talk. It didn't feel right getting ready without some music, so I turned my phone on and let it play with the volume down enough that I could hear Lena.

  "How's the office?" I ask, prolonging what I know she's really here to talk about.

  "Same as usual," she said. "The girls are looking forward to having you back, but no one’s more excited than John. He absolutely refused to use a temp while you were out."

  The conversation is so superficial it bottoms out quickly. We listen to Rihanna's Diamonds and I can hear Lena quietly singing along. Her voice is beautiful.

  "Of course you can sing, too," I shouted. "Why am I surprised?"

  Lena laughed. It was the loud genuine one that she reserved for special occasions. It feels like forever since I heard anyone laugh without some hint of concern or reservation.

  "I'm a girl with many talents," she joked.

  We fell silent for a little while again, and I managed to finish shaving my legs as I sat on the edge off the tub, hospital gown hiked up around my waist. Thank God, my Cherry Blossom lotion was in the bag. Probably my imagination, but my legs felt like they'd grown reptilian without it. I dump a gallon or two into my palm and work it into my legs.

  I washed my face with my own cleanser, brushed my teeth with my own toothbrush, and started putting on my own makeup.

  I'm in heaven!

  Maroon 5's "One More Night" was halfway through on my phone when the awkward silence with Lena got annoying.

  "We're obviously going to talk about him at some point," I said as I worked on my hair. "You two don't have many secrets between you, so you know what he did—you knew when he was doing it. You can't tell me not to be pissed."

  "No," Lena said easily, "I wouldn't tell you that. I get it. I was pissed at him myself when he told me about the IM’ing—I promise you I didn't know a thing about that."

  "Then what, what would you tell me? What did you come to say about it?" I asked.

  I turned and looked out at her through the bathroom door. Her face is softer, more understanding, than I expected to find.

  "I want you to hit him," she answered.

  I'm stunned. "What?"

  "I want you to smack his face sideways, fuck it, I want you to punch it, break his God damn nose. Kick his nuts into his throat. Ya
nk a fistful of his fucking hair out. Split a lip. Do every one of these things to him if you want. It will make you feel better, get the anger out—and he deserves it," she said.

  "Yeah, he does. I'm just surprised to hear you say you want your friend hurt," I replied.

  Lena shook her head. "I don't want him hurt."

  "You just told me to punch his face, rip out his hair, and kick him in the balls," I said.

  "Yeah," she said. "It will do you a world of good. It will get you past all this anger, which is good for both of you."

  "And it will hurt him," I pointed out.

  "Not really," Lena said. "Not nearly as much as what you're doing to him now."

  Okay, I'm even more stunned by that one.

  "I seriously don't think I'm hurting him that bad. I'm sure he's just moved on," I snapped.

  "Charity, he's a fucking mess!" Her snap sounded much more serious than mine. "This is killing him. I'd rather you kick his teeth in and get yourself over this than what you're putting him through."

  "He hasn't even been around, Lena," I said. "There was no fight. He never came back."

  "He never left, Charity! He's been sleeping in the room next door. He gets every update before and after the doctor sees you. How do you think I knew you were being discharged today?" she asked.

  Even more stunned now than I thought possible.

  He’s been right here this whole fucking time?

  "He told me what things to get for you. I told him he should do it for you, but he insisted it was too much of a violation and he'd done enough damage to you already," she added.

  I am beside myself at the moment. I'm still bitter at Justin for what he did to me, of course, but over the last few days, it was his absence that was upsetting me the most. My mind was convinced he was out getting over me. Why wasn't I worth a second effort?

  This changes things.

  "Charity, I know what you're feeling, and I know you still love him. Don't let anger and stubbornness get in the way. That won't last forever, and if you still love him when you're over that, you won't want it to be too late," she said.

  "If he really loves me, it should never be too late. He wouldn't give up," I countered.

  "He will never give up on you," she said, "but if he believes there is no way back, that you will not forgive him—Charity I'm scared for him."

  Tears welled up in Lena's eyes, the second time I've seen her this emotional. It made my eyes glass over as well, so I stepped back into the bathroom to hide it as I finished getting ready. I know what will be next out of her mouth anyway.

  I have to remember his father.

  "I just want to get out of here right now," I said softly.

  Lena had composed herself. "Finish up and let's get you out. I'll get the nurse."

  I finished and went through the papers. There was a car and driver waiting for us that drove us to my building. We didn't talk much during the drive, but she insisted on coming up with me and getting me into my apartment.

  "We had a service come in and clean for you," Lena said as she moved into my kitchen. "They cleaned out your fridge and Justin was going to have it restocked for you this morning." She opens the door and gave a glance inside. "Yep, you're all set here."

  I sat on my couch and leaned back, glad to be home. I let my cane drop to the floor where I could reach it easily when I get up. Lena came and sat across from me.

  "Listen," she said, "we're taking care of you. Don't be afraid to let us know what you need. All off your bills have been paid, and Justin has already ordered a dinner for you. There's nothing you have to do or worry about. He knows you won't call him, so we want you to call me for anything."

  "Okay, it's a little disconcerting and annoying that he went through my personal accounts. I still don't fully understand how he gets away with this."

  Lena smiled mysteriously. "I'm sure when he explained it to you, that he did it modestly. He always down plays himself."

  I know I look puzzled. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning, I'm sure he told you we help our clients with things they can't get done by anyone else, and that we are pretty successful," she said.

  "Yes," I answered.

  "Justin is not just good at providing these services—he's the man the richest and most powerful people in this country come begging to," she said proudly. "He has the money and connections to do anything, and get away with it. You're the first thing he's wanted so bad and can't have, and he's willing give up everything he has to get you. He's also willing to give you up if that's what it takes to make you happy, even if it makes him miserable."

  I make my best “I don't give a shit” face. It didn't feel convincing.

  Lena laughed. "Okay, I feel better," she quipped.

  "How's that?" I'm fairly insulted at the way she is dismissing me, laughing at me.

  Her face turns into a scowl. "Charity, I read you like a book. You're mad, rightfully so, but you're more hurt than angry, and you're putting up a wall to protect yourself. Problem is, walls come down. Justin's wall was much bigger and thicker, and needed, than yours, and the love you two have was able to break it down. Your little wall—it doesn't have a chance!"

  Why does she always have to be right? And why does she always look so beautiful? I'm beginning to suspect she's not human.

  She gathered herself and stood up. "I'm telling you, go up there and punch him in the face. It will do you a world of good. He's home. He left the hospital when I got there so he could be here when you got home. Says he just wants to be wherever you are."

  I moved to sit up and get my cane so I could see her out properly.

  "Are you nuts?" she teased. "Sit your ass back. Unless you're going up to him right now, you don't need to move. I know my way out."

  Human or not, I adore her. "Thank you, Lena, for everything."

  MOPING AROUND MY APARTMENT was not a healthy thing. Every so often I'm finding my eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if I might spontaneously develop x-ray vision and be able to see into Justin's apartment.

  When I try to think past what he did to me, I suddenly remember aiming my laptop between my legs so JP could watch me masturbate. Or I remember the way JP made me laugh, the mystery and excitement behind wanting to see his face.

  And I'm staring at the ceiling again! I really have to get a hold of myself.

  Every half an hour, I stand behind my couch and use it for balance as I perform the squats and lifts they taught me in therapy. Just a few each time, like they said.

  A few hours have passed since Lena left, probably a good thirty squats into my day, when my doorbell rang. I instantly had two simultaneous thoughts.

  That son of a bitch really thinks he can come down here? And, Thank God, it took him long enough!

  Nope, no internal turmoil happening here!

  To my great disappointment, and relief, it's not Justin. A young, gangly, barely post-pubescent, still battling pimples, man-boy is standing in my doorway with a couple bags in his hands. He held them out to me.

  "Here's your dinner, Miss Powers," he said.

  I had forgotten. Lena did tell me dinner had been ordered.

  I take the bags from his hands. "Do I owe you anything?"

  "No, Miss Powers. Everything is taken care of."

  I hate that he keeps calling me that. What am I, like five years older than he is?

  He grabs my door knob and smiles sheepishly as he flicks his other hand in what I think is a wave. "Goodnight," he said, closing the door behind himself.

  And I'm alone again, quickly darting my eyes toward at my ceiling, toward Justin. I drop the bags on my kitchen counter and begin to unload them. The first bag was full of boxes from Casa Bella, where we had eaten for my first trip into Little Italy, our first date. The smells coming from the packages are incredible, making my stomach growl. The bread is still warm. I find angel hair pasta and Chicken Marsala in the two containers. There is enough to feed two of me at least.

  The other bag intrigued me. Wha
t more could there be?

  In it I find a bottle of Riesling and a box with a note on it.

  "Open last, save room!"

  I have a feeling I know what it is. A little smile spreads across my face. There is no way that I am waiting to open it, and who is going to stop me?

  I tear viciously at the flaps, pulling it open with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. I was right. Inside, another note was written on the Junior's Cheesecake box.

  "Go ahead, eat this first," it read.

  A short laugh exploded from my chest. God damn him!

  And I did eat it first, too—the fucker!

  The Riesling threatened to disappear quickly. A very impolitely full glass vanished with the cheesecake. I rip off a piece of the bread and dip it in the Marsala sauce. It isn't even hot anymore and it's still to die for.

  Before I eat the rest, I want some atmosphere. I aim the remote at my TV and change to the music channels. Italian classics, something from a composer named Giovanni Gabrieli, perfect! Just enough G's and I's.

  I eat while listening to the music. My full stomach starts to call it quits before I am halfway through. The only thing in danger of being finished is the wine. Another glassful had somehow vanished even though my glass is full now. The bottle stared at me, concerned.

  My emotions are fueled by the alcohol at this point. The meal was wonderful, and that was upsetting. I swig another large gulp from my glass and contemplate my anger, justifying myself. After another swallow, I think I could forgive him.

  Back and forth.

  What are you going to do about it?

  There seems to be only one answer to my problems.

  I look for my cane and find it beside me under the couch, bobbling in my drunken view. Steadying my hand, I grab it and stand up.

  I clear my apartment, the hall, and press the button to go up on the elevator. It took a bit for the car to get there. I think it's confused that someone up here wants to go up further instead of down to the lobby. It did eventually come for me, and I got in and pressed Justin's floor.