Page 2 of Protecting Her

“No, Graham… I…” I felt the thickness of tears in my throat as a sob cracked my voice, but he didn’t let me finish.

“Then get out.”

He’d picked up my guitar case, my coat that I’d stuffed my cap and gloves in, and thrown my purse at me. “Go on, leave.”

“But, Graham, I need my ticket to get home.”

“Nah, find your own way home, honey. I ain’t paying for that shit too. Bye now.” He’d held the door open to the house we’d rented and waved at the empty air outside.

“Graham, you’re not serious? It’s freezing out there!” I’d protested, but he’d given me a look so hateful I knew he meant it. He’d come close to hitting me more than once. He’d punched the wall next to the side of my head or kicked over things so often in our early relationship—and more since he’d started to use drugs—that I knew what that look meant.

He was on the verge. And just like that, I’d become homeless, without funds, and in a whole lot of trouble. I had to be out of England within the next two weeks, and I didn’t have a plane ticket. I didn’t know where to turn, and I’d left my phone with Graham somehow. I was afraid to go back there; the hate in his eyes had been so clear I knew that wasn’t a smart thing to do.

I’d cried myself to sleep in a dark alley that first night. I knew I had one friend I could go to, but they were out of town for the next two weeks. Embarrassment at how Graham had treated me, shame at my predicament, and a little bit of stupidity meant that I had nowhere to turn. I’d found an empty house to sleep in the next day, but I was so damn hungry and unbelievably cold. I’d found enough change in the bottom of my bag to pay for a bottle of water and to use a public toilet at the nearest train station, but that had been it. I’d ended up in a park and had started to play the guitar, just as a way to pass some time, to clear my head, and come up with a plan. When people started to throw money into the case, I was shocked.

There was now enough money in there to buy a hot meal, or a couple bottles of water and some dry food like chips and bread that would last longer. I looked up, the song at an end, to see the stranger who smelled so nice was still on the bench across from me. He was a businessman, obviously. At least, the tailored navy-blue suit, expensive leather shoes, and haircut that left his brown hair long on top and short in the back said so.

He had a neatly trimmed beard along his jaw, but not too long. It was the eyes that caught my attention though, those light green eyes that stared at me in a way that made it feel as if he was puzzled and wanted to figure me out.

“What are you staring at?” I barked out; my jaw shook now that I wasn’t preoccupied with the song. He looked like the kind of guy who would have money, money that could buy me a whole meal. I wanted to bark at him to get me food, the knot of hunger in my stomach had long gone from a twinge to outright pain, and I’d barely slept. I wasn’t at my friendliest.

Ember

“Just you. That was incredible. Why are you out here in the cold, when you should be in a warm concert hall with a voice like that?”

I’d learned my lesson from Graham. Don’t pay attention to men with beautiful eyes and sardonic smiles; they’ll just break your heart.

“A man like you left me with no other choice.” The words were out before I’d even realized I was about to speak, and my cheeks heated up.

It wasn’t his fault Graham had turned out to be a Grade-A Douchebag, with the capital letters and all. It wasn’t his fault I was basically squatting in an abandoned building in London, far from home, without anywhere to turn. In my youth, I’d learned to make do and fend for myself. But this was a whole new ballgame. I wasn’t allowed to rely on charity here. I couldn’t ask for welfare; that had been made abundantly clear when I’d read up about it online in the library I’d visited yesterday. I was here on the Visa Waiver program, so I had no recourse to aid here. I couldn’t even call home and ask for help. I didn’t even know if my mom was still alive or not, and there wasn’t anyone else to call.

Graham had discouraged me from making friends outside of the circle of men he knew or their girlfriends. At the time, he was all I needed anyway. Now, I wish I had someone, anyone, I could have relied on. I was also afraid Graham would find me. He’d been so angry at me that I had a feeling if he saw me again it wouldn’t go well.

“Miss…” That melodic voice, that kind of reminded me of the accent of old Hollywood movie stars from the black and white films my grandmother had loved, broke into my thoughts again.

“Oh, sorry.” I wasn’t sure why I’d apologized. A habit I’d picked up from the British, I supposed. Hunger, fatigue, and fear washed over me in a wave that made me sway, and I rested my head against my guitar until it passed.

“Are you alright, miss?” I couldn’t decide if his accent was American or British, or somewhere in between. In the melting pot of London, I’d heard so many accents and voices over the past months, that sometimes I wasn’t even sure I was listening to English anymore. I might have absorbed a language through osmosis and started to understand others when they spoke other languages.

I wanted to laugh at that, but I was too tired to do it. I’d just rest my head here for a minute. Then I’d feel better and could go back to that cold place that at least had a flimsy lock on the door of the room I’d slept in.

“Miss?” This time his voice came from the same level as my head, and I opened weary brown eyes to look at him.

“Yes?” The urge to bark at him to give me food had left me now, and I just wanted to sleep. In a nice, soft, warm bed, covered with a thick duvet, as my head sank into a thick down pillow. The British might have food that I found odd, I still didn’t know what kind of dessert Spotted Dick was, but they knew how to make a bed. In fact, I might even eat some of that oddly named dessert right now, if it was offered. I’d seen it on more than one menu, but I couldn’t get past the laughter long enough to order it.

“Do you need some help?” His voice came with the clean smell of mint, and I smiled sleepily. “You’re American, aren’t you? Why don’t you let another lost American offer you dinner?”

“You don’t sound very American,” I said, my voice soft as I rested there, barely able to lift my head from the guitar case. I was so tired, so hungry, that I could barely move.

“Well, that’s easily explained. Why don’t you let me buy you dinner, and I’ll explain it all?” He didn’t touch me, but something about his presence, his voice, soothed me.

“I know men like you,” I started, but couldn’t finish. I did too. Tears stung my eyes, and my voice felt thick, but I couldn’t afford to lose that little bit of moisture so I tried to suck it up. I could barely lift my head to dash the tears away, but I managed. “What do you want?”

“Well, no offense, chipmunk, but you’re hardly in a condition that would warrant lust.” I heard laughter in his voice, and that made me raise my head.

“Fine, so I don’t look like a beauty queen right now. You wouldn’t either if you hadn’t eaten in three days and had been chucked out on your rear.” Again, with the oversharing. I wanted to die of mortification but didn’t have the energy.

“Wait, you’ve been without food for three days?” He stood up, took my guitar, to which I protested, and put it away. “Come with me, we’re going to feed you.”