Give Me Reason (The Reason Series) (3 page)

I squirm, attempting to get up. He helps me sit upright, and Laura is quick to hand me a Coke. "You need the sugar," she says as she puts the straw to my mouth.
 

"I got it," Mr. Suit says as he takes it from Laura.
 

Laura smiles at me, then stands and heads back toward the counter.
 

I take another sip and I feel myself slowly coming back to normal. "Thank you."
 

His hand moves toward my face. I flinch and his expression changes, becomes instantly harder and more concerned. I shake my head and tuck the strand of loose hair behind my ear. I look up at him again. His eyes are warming, concern still etched in his features, and I shake my head again. "Sorry," I say.
 

He cocks his head to the side. "For?"
 

"Passing out. Flinching."
Existing
, I add in my head. His hand slowly strokes my arm. His touch is warm, soft. A tender gesture. Tears prick my eyes again. I turn my head away from him, instead looking down at the floor.
 

"What's your name?" I ask.
 

"Mikah."

"Well, Mikah, thank you for the meal. I truly appreciate it." I move to stand up. The flood of embarrassment I feel right now is overwhelming, and I just want to get away from him as quickly and gracefully as I can manage.
 

"Let me help you." He stands up quickly and then bends back down to help me come slowly to my feet. Once I'm upright, he steadies me so that I don't fall over again.
 

"I'm fine. Really." I still can't meet his gaze. "I'm going to go clean up. Why don't you sit back down and eat your burger." I start to walk away, gingerly, making sure that my head is not going to start spinning again. I catch a glimpse at the clock as I pass through the swinging door. Seven-thirty. Jeez, tonight is going fast. How long was I passed out?
 

Heading into the bathroom, I take care of business, then take a look in the mirror. "Jesus." I look like hell. There are deep hollows around my eyes, my cheekbones are way more pronounced and my cheeks look bruised. My bright red curly hair is pulled back into a tight bun, except for the strand Mikah was trying to move when I flinched. God, I can't believe I thought he was going to hit me.
 

Damn it, Riley really did a number on me. I hadn't realized that his actions would have such long-term effects. I’ve managed to stay away from him — from men in general — since he put me in the hospital, and I haven’t really had to face any of it.
 

Riley was good at nothing except using me as a punching bag. A habit that nearly killed me two months ago. After Riley put me in the hospital, a social worker got involved and set me up with a place to live and a job. Which is how I ended up working here at the diner.
 

Pulling myself back together, I straighten my uniform, wash my hands and run cool water over my face before heading back out through the swinging door and into the dining room. My eyes scan the room. With the exception of Laura behind the counter, it’s empty. I feel hope rush out of me as I realize that Mikah is no longer in the diner. Turning to Laura, I ask her, "Did he leave?" I can hear the disappointment in my voice and hope Laura doesn’t catch it.

She just nods, so I grab the tub and head toward the table to clear off our plates. His is untouched; he never ate his food. Come to think of it, I never gave him his bill. Damn it all to hell, how am I going to pay for all of this? Irritation courses through me, and I turn back to Laura. "You let him leave without his bill?"
 

She shrugs. "He said he left the money on the table. I figured he would leave enough to cover it. Lord knows he can afford it." She goes back to wiping down the counter.
 

I turn back to the table. Man, he really didn’t touch his food at all. I place the back of my fingers on top of the fries. They’re ice cold. Jeez, how long was I out? I start gathering up the dishes and putting them in the tub. When I go to grab the plate I’d been eating off of, I see that something is sticking out from under it. I go to place the plate in the tub and nearly drop it.

FOUR

Sitting under the plate is a hundred dollar bill with a business card paperclipped to it. But when I pick it up, I realize there’s more here than a hundred dollar bill. I pull the paperclip off to find four additional bills folded together — five hundred dollars in all — and a piece of paper. I slide into the booth, my hand covering my mouth and tears streaming down my face.
 

I suppose I should feel joy or relief about being given this much money, but all I can feel is indignation at the fact that he feels I'm some charity case. I unfold the small piece of paper that was tucked in with the bills. It’s a note.
 

Vivienne,
 

I'm sure you're angry at this money, but please, don't be. Consider it a tip for a job well done and please, call me. I've attached my card.

-Mikah

I look at his business card. Its elegant silver lettering practically jumps off of the sleek black card.
 

Mikah Blake – CEO, MSB Enterprises
 

There is a phone number — maybe an office number — a website, an address downtown and an email address. I flip the card over. On the back, in the same handwriting as the note, are two phone numbers. A cell phone? Home phone?
 

I shrug and wipe the dampness from my cheeks. I'm not going to call him. I'm going to pay for the meal, take twenty percent for tip and find a way to give him back the rest. Despite the fact that this is enough to cover all of my rent this month, I cannot and will not accept a four hundred and seventy dollar tip from a man that sees fit to feed and take care of me.

The rest of the night passes by slowly, which is normal for a Thursday. We close at midnight and are out the door by five after because we spent the last hour of the shift cleaning everything up. I head out the front door with Laura, and she locks up.
 

"See you tomorrow," Laura says as I head toward the bus stop at the corner. "You want a ride?" Laura's typical nightly question.
 

"No, I got it. Thanks," I say and keep walking. It’s early enough I can still catch the twelve ten west toward my apartment.
 

As I wait for the bus, my eyes droop, exhaustion registering. Luckily I only have to wait a few minutes. Al, the driver, opens the door and I climb up.
 

"Good evening, Ms. Vivienne."
 

"Hi, Al," I say sleepily as I put my money in the machine.
 

"How was business?"

I shrug. "Slow, as usual." I turn toward the back of the bus and let out a sigh of relief. It's empty. "Seems pretty slow for you, too, tonight."
 

"It sure is."
 

I grab a seat right behind him. Al is getting on in years, but he obviously loves his job. I asked him once why he drives the late night routes, and he said it was so he could see me. But I think it has more to do with protecting us girls that ride at this time of the night. Usually there are several of us on the bus: some traveling home from work, others looking for their next fix. Going anywhere at this hour can be scary. Fortunately for me, my bus stop is just around the corner from my shitty studio apartment in South Minneapolis.
 

I fight to keep my eyelids open as the bus rumbles along. Almost home. Almost to my mattress.
 

"Vivienne, honey, you’re home," I hear Al say, and my eyes fly open.
 

"Thanks, Al." I gather up my things and step off the bus.
 

"Have a good night, Vivienne."
 

"You too, Al," I say as he closes the door. I watch as he pulls away, and I quickly make my way around the corner without drawing attention to myself. The street is dirty and it smells like trash and rotting food. Graffiti covers the walls around me.

I see my shadow lengthen as a car comes up from behind me, and I pick up the pace a little. Cars on the street this time of night, in this neighborhood, usually mean someone is up to no good. The car passes me as I reach my door. I glance up and see that it is a sleek black Mercedes. I scowl at it. What’s a fancy car like that doing in this neighborhood? I push past the blue door and into the entryway and unlock the inner door.
 

The hallways are an uneven brownish yellow, almost like they're stained with nicotine. Judging from the smell, that’s probably exactly what it is. The garbage that lines the baseboards of the entrance and the stairs is disgusting, but tonight I don't have the energy to care.
 

I shuffle up the stairs to the third floor. When I reach my door, I unlock the two deadbolts, turn the handle and slip into my apartment. I shut the door with my butt and lean back against it.
 

There is always a sigh of relief when I get home, knowing that I made it safely yet again. I've been harassed more than a few times on the streets and the bus, even in the less than twenty-five feet between the bus stop and the door.

I lock the two deadbolts and the knob and slide the chain. To be honest the door is so flimsy that someone could easily just kick it in, but the locks help me feel a little bit better.
 

My apartment is one room, a closet, and a bathroom. The kitchen consists of a small oven with a two-burner cook top, a half-size refrigerator, a small counter and sink. A few cupboards lie as empty and as useless as the fridge.
 

I head to the sink, grab a glass and fill it with water. I swallow it down quickly and refill it. As I drink half of the new glass, I unbutton my uniform with my other hand. When I reach the apron I put the glass down.

My hands slip into the apron pockets, and I feel the wad of cash from Mikah. My heart sinks. I can't keep this. It's not mine, and I'm nobody's responsibility. I walk the two steps over to my bed and fish around for my notebook between the mattress and the pallets that raise my bed off of the floor. I tear a blank piece of paper from the notebook and throw the money, the paper, and a pen from my apron onto the counter.

Then I take off my apron, smock and shoes. Looking down at my semi-naked form, I can see that small bump rising between my hips. It looks bigger tonight, no doubt because I've actually eaten a meal. Trying hard not to dwell on my swelling abdomen and the reasons for my current state of affairs, I shed my bra and panties and stumble into the bathroom. When I release the bun atop my head, the thick, curly red waves fall down my back and tickle my hips.

I turn the water on to the hottest setting possible, hoping like hell that there is some hot water left in the tanks downstairs. After a couple of minutes the water is lukewarm at best. I climb in, praying that it lasts for at least a few minutes before turning ice cold.
 

It doesn’t. I don't waste time and I'm in and out quickly. Shivering, I towel off, turn up the heat a bit and grab my cotton pajama bottoms and a t-shirt full of tiny holes. I pull on the clothes and wrap my hair in the towel. A few more minutes of chattering teeth before I hear the heater kick on. At least that works in this damn place.
 

I need to write Mr. Blake a note, but it can wait until morning. The shower and shivering have drained me, and I can't stay awake any longer. I don't have to be to work until four tomorrow, so I'll have plenty of time to write the note before heading out.
 

I climb into bed and shiver again as the cool sheets touch my skin. Pulling the blankets up to my chin, I try and settle into the lumpy, uneven mattress as best I can.
 

As I close my eyes, the last image my brain conjures up is an image of Mikah bent over me as I woke up from my fainting incident.

FIVE

"No! Stop!"
 

"I could kill you, bitch! What the fuck? You're such a whore." Smack across the face. He grabs my arms and shakes me. "You little fucking whore. I knew you would do this. I knew you were a no-good bitch." He pushes me away, hard, and I slam into the wall. As I fall to the floor all I can feel is the crack against my skull and...

My eyes fly open. I'm covered in sweat and the blankets are all twisted around my legs. I stare up at the dingy ceiling. Light streams in through the small window by the kitchen. Blinking back tears, I attempt to calm myself down by rubbing absently at my tummy with one hand.
 

"You asshole," I mutter.

I spent three days in the hospital after that night with a skull fracture, a concussion, severely bruised ribs and a sprained wrist. I was purple and black from head to toe. On the second day I found out that Riley had been arrested and charged with domestic abuse. He was later charged with endangerment when the hospital revealed to the police that I was pregnant. They had said there was a chance that I could lose the baby, but they took good care of me.
 

Yolanda, a state social worker, asked me if I had anywhere to go. I told her no, and she did what she could to give me a safe place for me to recover after leaving the hospital. Once I was in Amber’s Place, Yolanda helped me find this apartment and set me up to meet grouchy Bartie at the diner. Given that I had no experience, he was reluctant to give me a job as a waitress, but he said I had a great smile and gave me a chance, and it all worked out okay in the end. I suppose Laura had something to do with it; she took to me quickly and was very attentive when it came to training me.
 

My stomach starts doing flips. I pull myself free of the blankets and stumble into the bathroom. At least I make it to the toilet this time.
 

After I'm done retching, I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair. As curly as ever. Looking myself over in the mirror, I notice that a little color has returned to my cheeks and my eyes don't seem as hollow. It must be the burger I ate yesterday, but it’ll only last for a day or two and I'll go right back to the way I was.