Tortured Sinner by Tessa James

Claire - 25

Okay, Claire, pull it together.

You can do this.

I rush down the stairs and do the thing I always see people do in movies—I check for a pulse. I place my fingers under his neck and feel the slow but steady thumping of blood rushing through his veins.

I let out a breath. He’s still alive.

But for the life of me, I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing. And that thought alone sends a shiver down my spine.

I drag my phone out of my pocket and dial those three numbers that I learned before I knew my own phone number. Emergencies only, we were told.

Right now, the situation seems pretty fitting.

A calm female voice answers. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I, um, I need an ambulance. My, my boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, he’s fallen down the stairs. He’s in bad shape.”

“Okay, what’s your name?”

“Claire.”

“Claire, is he conscious?” Clicking sounds in the background.

“No.”

“Is he breathing?”

I stare at his chest to find the rise and fall of life. “Yes.”

“Claire, I have you here at eighty-eight Germain Street. Is that correct?”

“I—I think so. Yeah.”

“There’s a unit in your area, they’re already on the way. I’m going to ask you a few more questions.”

“Okay.” I’m a terrible liar, what if I say the wrong thing?

“How old is he?”

“Um, twenty-one.”

“And his name?”

“Griffin Thomas.”

Sirens go off in the distance and get louder and louder by the second.

“Claire, are you injured?”

I glance down at my forearms. They’re red and bruised already, and on one spot, there is dried blood from his fingernails cutting into my skin. “Not really.”

“Is there anyone else there with you?”

“No.” I guess when it comes to Johnny, protecting him comes naturally. He has enough going on, and the look on his face after he shoved Griffin down the stairs told me that he couldn’t afford the risk of getting caught.

He gave me the greatest gift of all, he saved me, but this was my battle now.

I glance at the flashing lights illuminating the building across the street. “I have to open the gate; I have to let them in.”

“Okay, Claire, help is there now. Do you see them?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to disconnect the call now, Claire. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I hang up and fumble with the latch, opening the door and waving toward the approaching ambulance. “Over here.”

A man jumps out of the passenger seat, and a woman opens up the back hatch and climbs down. Together, they rush over.

“What happened?” The guy asks me.

“He fell, down the stairs.”

He spots Griffin from across the way and turns to the woman. “Grab a c-collar and backboard. I’ll get on his vitals.”

I glance at his badge: PhillipsK.

“What’s your name?”

“Claire,” I spit out. How many more times am I going to be asked this tonight?

“Claire, is this your friend?”

“Um, he’s my ex.”

He nods. “Okay. I’m going to take over now.” Phillips pokes around and verifies that Griffin is still alive. He opens this little toolbox thing of his and puts a device on Griffin’s finger.

The woman approaches with the stuff Phillips requested.

“We’ve got to get him on a backboard,” he tells her.

I stand there, in a complete daze while they do their job. The moments fade into each other, and I start to think I might be dreaming.

“Did you see her arms?” the guy whispers to the woman. “We’re going to have to call this in. We can’t leave her here.”

It’s not until the lady stands in front of me and waves her hand that I realize Phillips and another guy are carting Griffin away on the stiff board.

“Miss. Come with us. We can transport you to the hospital.”

I go with her but take a final glance upstairs on our way out, noticing the few neighbors that decided to crack their doors and see what was happening. I’ve only been here for a few weeks and I’ve already caused a dramatic scene.

* * *

My gaze falls on my arms, and my hands do their best to cover up the marks. The automatic door opening and shutting with each frantic person entering the emergency room keeps me on edge. With every new body, the impending doom of when I will have to talk to someone rapidly approaches. I have no clue what I will say, and given the very fresh imprints on my skin, I can’t exactly pretend I wasn’t involved at all.

The one thing I was certain of was I had to keep Johnny’s name out of it.

I owe him that much, especially now.

A woman in scrubs comes into the sitting area. “Claire Cooper.” Her tired eyes scan the room.

I stand from the stiff chair and walk over. “That’s me.”

“Right this way.” She leads me to a room just feet from the receptionist desk. She motions for me to enter. “My name is Georgia. You can have a seat.” She closes the door and shuts us in.

A strange sort of fight or flight response kicks in as I watch the outside disappear. I glance around at the standard-issue doctor room stuff. The paper-covered seat thing, the sink area with a jar full of tongue suppressors, and boxes of latex gloves. A trash can for hazardous products.

She sits, too, and lays a clipboard on her lap. “Claire, I’m here to help you, okay?” Her voice is calm and kind, despite her ragged features. “Can you tell me anything about why you’re here this evening?”

“Um, my ex, Griffin, he fell.” I shift toward the door and then back. “He’s here somewhere.”

She nods and makes a note on the paper. “I see. And what can you tell me about that?”

“About what? I don’t know how he’s doing; they won’t tell me anything because I’m not family.”

Georgia shakes her head. “No, not his condition, but the events that led up to it.”

“He fell.”

“I see.” She stares at me. “Is there any particular reason why that happened?”

“I…” I have to come up with something. “I think he was drinking.”

Georgia writes again. "Uh-huh." She leans forward and lowers her voice. "Claire, this is a safe space, okay? Everything you say in here is confidential, between you and me and the laws that protect people like you."

“What do you mean?” People like me?

“Honey.” Her brown eyes fall to the arms I suck at covering. “How did that happen?”

I bite at my lip to try to stop the tears from starting again.

She raises her hands. “I don’t want to make assumptions, but correct me if I’m wrong. That is not self-inflicted, is it?”

“No.” Even if I did harm myself, the angle and fingerprints are no match to something I could have done.

“I didn’t think so.” She clicks her pen and jots another note. “Do you want to tell me how you got them?”

I remain silent. I don’t know if this is a trick question or not, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. What if I confess something incriminating?

Georgia slides a pamphlet out from under her paper she’s writing on. “Here.” She hands it to me. “When you’re ready, this is a great resource.”

I glance down at the page and read the headline.

Dealing with domestic abuse.

A knock rumbles the door, and a second later, it opens. I expect it to be the cops, a person with a badge to come take me away.

Instead, it’s a middle-aged woman who pokes her head in, her eyes going wide when she sees me. “Claire!”

Another lady appears from behind her. “Georgia, I’m so sorry, this lady wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Georgia stands and tries to shove the intruder out.

“Claire, it’s me.” The random person narrows her familiar blue eyes at me.

“Mom?”

“Oh, sweetheart, you must be in shock.” She shoves past the hospital workers and makes it to my side.

Georgia puts her arm out to block Beth from coming any closer. “Is this your mother?”

I study the arch of her nose, the curve of her jawline. I take in her stature and the scent of her over-the-top perfume. It's strange to only see someone in photos your whole life, and suddenly, they materialize in front of you.

“Yeah.”

The next few minutes go by in a blur of this mother figure shushing and swatting everyone away, and leading me out of the building and into a bright red BMW with dark tinted windows that’s parked right in the valet zone.

The short drive to the complex is awkward as hell. Beth speaks, but I don’t respond. She goes on about how she had some guy from her past that got rough with her and how she could relate.

Relate? She knows nothing about me and my life. I wish she would shut up and stop pretending she cares.

My heart dances wildly in my chest with each passing second.

Beth pushes a button to shut the car off, and I waste no time opening the door and getting out.

“Claire, wait.” She jumps out to follow, clicking the key fob to lock the vehicle.

I don't stop, I just keep going. The last thing I want is to be forced to talk with this random woman, regardless of her role in creating me. I push the code into the gate access box and grant myself entry. It then dawns on me that although I've spent the last couple of weeks alone, this lady is going to be following me right into the place I was going to try to escape her.

I move through the courtyard, doing my best not to acknowledge the drops of blood still staining the ground where Griffin’s body landed. I tilt my head up at the stairs, and all of a sudden, they become fucking terrifying. I pause and take in the seemingly endless mission ahead of me.

“Are you coming?” Beth says when she reaches my side.

I snap out of my trance and nod. “Yeah.” I take each one slowly, not wanting to lose my footing and fall. I’d rather not spend any more time on them than necessary, but I’d also rather not end up like Griffin, splattered at the base of them.

I imagine Johnny’s hand, his fingers weaved through mine, anchoring me safely, protecting me from any harm that comes my way.

I had yelled at him to go, and now I can’t help but worry about him.

Did he return to the job he had blown off to save me from Griffin? Did he get punished for being late? Is he okay?

We never exchanged phone numbers, so I can't exactly call or text him to check in. He's probably equally concerned about me, and what I told the responders when they showed up.

I picture his face, the panic that wrecked him when he realized what he had done. He had gone into shock, and the only thing I could think of was getting him out of there. I couldn’t let him take the fall for what happened, even if he did do it on purpose.

“What do you need me to do?” Beth breaks through my train of thought.

“Nothing.” I stand awkwardly in the small foyer of her condo. This place feels strange and foreign now that she’s here. “I don’t need anything from you.”

Not now, not ever.

“I could make you a cup of tea.”

If she knew me, she’d know I find my comfort in coffee. But that’s the thing—she doesn’t, because in all the years I’ve been alive, she’s shown absolutely no effort in playing the role of my mother. Why should she start today?

“No, I really just want to be alone.” I cover my hands over the marks on my arms.

“We could press charges, you know?”

I ignore her words and make my way out of the weirdly confined space. “I’m going to bed.” I pick up the pace once I’m down the hall. I shut and lock the door behind me and rush to the bathroom, closing myself in there, too.

I slide down the wall and sit on the cold floor. I bring my knees to my chest and hold onto myself tightly in an attempt to keep everything from falling apart. I sit like that for a while, until finally, I bring myself to my feet. I approach the vanity and take a long look in the mirror.

Black faded streaks run down my cheeks, and my hair is a mess. I splash water on my face in an attempt to wash away the remnants of tonight. I catch sight of my forearms and it stops me completely.

The memory of Griffin’s alcohol breath, inches from me—his fingers digging into my skin, holding onto me more aggressively than he ever has. He kept leading me toward the top of the stairs, hissing vile words and accusations at me.

All I could think about was how the shoe had finally fallen.

One minute, everything was perfect, the next, it was ruined.