Page 53 of Forced Proximity

Marcus sits on the bench beside me. ‘Talk to me. Do you feel threatened? Is he treating you okay?’

Too good. Justin treats me like a friend, like potentially more than a friend, and I let him. I let him like there’s no ramifications to my actions; I let him like this isn’t so deeply unethical I could get fired; I let him like I haven’t been in a situation where my client was fucking shot. ‘No, no, I’m good. I can take care of myself.’ I grab another sip from the water bottle. ‘I’m just getting bored.’

‘I get it. Our jobs are a lot of waiting around for nothing’. He nudges me with his leg. ‘Let’s grab a snack.’

I lift to my feet and grab my mitts. ‘I’ll grab one in a sec. I’m gonna stay a bit longer.’

A ringing cell phone catches Marcus’s attention. He scans the screen and frowns. ‘I have to take this.’ He grabs a protein bar from his bag and tosses it at me. ‘Eat.’

I take a quick bite of the bar, then leap up and resume my bag hits. Fierce running, mat work and a punching bag usually provide me with relief, but not today. I go hard for ten more minutes before giving up.

An hour later, my belly tightens as I pull to a stop at Justin’s house. Getting a molar pulled without Novocaine sounds more enticing than seeing Justin’s face. He lost a friend because of me. He got into a fist fight because of me. He could have gotten seriously injured because of me. Starting today, firm boundary lines need to be drawn. I rest my head against my seat and will my legs to move.

Jack’s five-minute debrief is uneventful – everything that happened last night we already discussed and wrote a joint report on until two in the morning. Out of the corner of my eyes, Justin lingers in the sitting room, crossing and uncrossing his arms like an impatient kid. The second Jack leaves, he beelines to me.

‘Hey, Doc.’ He clears his throat. ‘Can we talk?’

I can’t. Not now, maybe not for a while. This needs to end. ‘Do you feel like you’re being threatened, in immediate danger, or do you have a change in the itinerary today that would compromise your safety?’

He tilts his head. ‘Ah … no.’

‘Then we have nothing to talk about.’ Fine. Not the most mature way to handle my client, but I just can’t. My belly rumbles. I push past him to go to the kitchen to grab a snack.

Justin follows right at my heels. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened with Conner. I would’ve never, ever put you in an unsafe situation.’

‘You didn’t put me in an unsafe situation.’ I drop my lunch bag on the counter with a heavy sigh. ‘I mean, not really. You put yourself in an unsafe situation.’

‘Which … put you in one.’ He crosses his arms and leans against the kitchen counter. ‘He called last night after our fight. I told him he’s never allowed here again. Him and I are done.’

If there’s any amount of resentment or hesitation that he cut off a fourteen-year relationship, his face doesn’t show it. I should probably thank him or say it wasn’t necessary, or something, but my thoughts are slow, almost slurry.

‘Listen, I …’ He wrings his hands through his hair. ‘Last night, before the whole Conner thing … I should’ve never put you in that awkward position. We should probably talk about what happened.’

He needs to shut up. ‘You’re a client. That’s all. You’re not my friend, and I’m not your therapist. We don’t need to talk about anything.’ I yank open the fridge to add my lunch bag and slam it down on the shelf.

‘Wow. I guess that’s honest.’ He chews the side of his lip. ‘Listen, on the dance floor, I didn’t mean to take it that far. I, um—’

‘Stop. Seriously.’ God it’s so hot in here. Sweat beads pop on my forehead and I swipe them off with the back of my hand. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ What is he not understanding here? Does he really think I want to shine a spotlight on my failure?

‘I saw you guys on the sidewalk and I just saw red, you know. I didn’t know the kind of guy he was, but I should’ve …’

The words swirl like a hazy, thick vapor. He’s still talking, I’m almost sure of it, but I can’t make out the words. Conner, and fight, and long time coming and something else. What? What’s he saying? A cloud of dust beats at my eyes. I blink away the sensation. ‘I’m so … confused.’ The room spins, a carousel of walls and appliances and fruit. Fruit. Eat the fruit. I dig my fingers into the countertop for balance.

‘I mean, I wouldn’t normally call this out to staff, but you, we, we’re more than the whole staff–client thing, right?’

My fingers tremble against the counter. ‘Why are you still talking?’

‘Jesus.’ He winces. ‘Can I finish?’

My head’s detached, lobbing, an egg that someone’s trying to stand upright when gravity wants to push it over. ‘You don’t need … Shit,’ I sputter. Spinning. Everything’s spinning. I’m going to puke. ‘But, ah … my shoes?’

Justin’s panicked face turns blurry, his words incoherent.

My legs are boneless, and I brace against the counter. Fuzzy black and red spots fill the room. I rub a knuckle into my eye. Am I dreaming? ‘… Mom … my shoes, they here?’ My heartbeat jackhammers my head. I want to speak, need to speak, but cotton wraps my tongue.

Hands grab me. ‘Mees got there’s too meesh.’ The counter I’m leaning against no longer holds me. The ground thuds under me as I hit the floor.

Muted voices, hands cupping my cheeks, spots … so many spots. I’m so tired. Something hard and cold reaches my lips. Liquid seeps into my mouth. Get away from me! Stop! The creepy, wet, gremlin ants crawl into my mouth, and I spit them out, slap them away, kill them before they can wriggle down my throat.