Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

she liked it or not, he was going to help her.
    “Hell no,” Lester said. “It’s gonna be bad enough without him seein’ ya like that. I really am sorry, Lizzy. They came outta nowhere.”
    “It’s okay.”
    “It ain’t, but thanks,” he said sheepishly. Lester shook his head once to clear it and started down the street mumbling to himself.
    “We should follow him,” she said, taking an unsteady step forward.
    Simon gripped her arm more tightly and shook his head. “He’ll be all right.”
    “He was out for too long,” she said. “I should—”
    “Would you stop! Just stop for one moment and let me take care of you!”
    She stared at him for a long moment in obvious shock. He saw a flicker of vulnerability cross her eyes, but she pushed it away. He’d seen it though, and it gave him hope. “Please,” he said softly. “Let me take you home.”
    “Home,” she said, and a near hysterical burst of laughter bubbled out of her throat. She glanced nervously around the darkened alley, and he felt her arm began to tremble. The trauma of the night finally caught up with her.
    “Elizabeth,” Simon said.
    She looked up at him, eyes bordering on tears.
    He slipped an arm around her back, and she nodded numbly.
    * * *
    Once they were safely back in the apartment, Simon maneuvered her to the bed and piled pillows behind her. “I’ll get a cloth,” he said and disappeared into the bathroom.
    His hands shook as he turned on the cold tap. He glanced into the bedroom to reassure himself she was still there. She was, but it didn’t calm his pounding heart. He wet a washcloth and hurried back into the bedroom.
    Elizabeth’s head was tilted back against the headboard, her eyes closed. His heart clenched again. He’d come so close to losing her. He dragged a chair to the bedside, the sodden rag dripping in his hand as he leaned forward. “Do you need to go to hospital?”
    Elizabeth opened her eyes and shook head slowly. “Not that bad,” she said and reached up to touch her forehead.
    “Let me,” he said, holding out the cloth. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
    “Mugged,” she said stonily. It was her turn to put up a wall. Was this what it felt like to be on the other side? Is this how she felt every time he shut her out?
    “They grabbed me,” she continued, closing her eyes briefly. “And I hit my head. I think I saw them. I’m not sure. It’s all a little fuzzy.”
    “It’s all right,” he said, then held up the washcloth. “May I?”
    She nodded and watched him warily, but he made sure to be gentle as he probed the wound. The cut was nestled below her hairline. It wasn’t very big, and the blood was already starting to congeal. He carefully wiped away the few dark, crimson lines that streaked her face. She hissed in a quick breath when he touched a particularly sore spot.
    He pulled his hands away quickly. “Sorry.”
    “Doesn’t matter,” she said.
    Simon rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at the soiled carpet at his feet. It did matter. If he could only find a way to tell her just how much. “I am sorry.”
    “You already said that.” Her voice was bitter and harsh. The tone, even more than the words, struck a cord in him. Wounded and lashing out. And it was all his doing.
    “I don’t mean...” he said and sighed in frustration. He simply couldn’t remain seated. He stood and walked to the far side of the room, tossing the bloody cloth onto the table. “I’m a fool.”
    Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. “Go on.”
    “You have every reason in the world to hate me,” he said hoarsely. When she didn’t deny it, he felt his resolve weaken. There were so many things he wanted to say, needed to say, but he couldn’t find the words. He touched the back of his chair by the window and nearly fled into the safe confines of lonely misery it provided. The little, wooden chair had come to symbolize his retreat from life. Twice, he’d sought refuge there, hiding from his emotions, but it was a lost cause.
    Closing his eyes, the images from his nightmare flashed before him. He remembered the desolation he’d felt at the end of each dream, the unspeakable torment of watching her die. He’d never been more frightened in his life. Until tonight.
    “I understand if you choose not to forgive me,” he said slowly, unable to look at her. “I behaved abominably. It was a mistake.”
    “You said that too.”
    Simon turned to look at her, letting