Page 8 of Hodge
“How long have you been here?”
“A few hours. You were asleep when I came back with the flowers, so I waited.”
“You waited with me?” I ask her, not sure why she would do such a thing.
“Yeah. I can go,” she offers, setting the vase back on the table and standing.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Sit down, Kemah.” She immediately drops back into the chair and takes a deep breath before blowing it out. “Do you do this a lot?”
“What? Visit people?”
“Men, you just met. Men in accidents.”
“No. You’re actually my first,” she tells me, and for some reason, it makes me smile.
“He do that?” I ask, nodding toward the bruise on her neck. She quickly pulls her long brown hair over her shoulder, trying to cover the bruise, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen it now.
“No. It wasn’t him.”
“Who?”
“Does it matter? I came here to see you,” she retorts, licking her lips. I’m not sure what it is about her that’s calling to me right now, but there’s something. Maybe it’s the fact that she came back to see me.
“It kinda does matter, Kemah. I’ll fuckin’ kill whoever did it.” Her cheeks flush as she shakes her head and starts to stand once more. I don’t know why she keeps running, but this is it.
“Sit down.”
“No. I think it’s time for me to go. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she says as she starts for the door.
“I said sit down, Kemah.” This time, my tone is harder, harsher than before. Kemah turns to look at me, and I see the pain in her eyes. She’s used to this treatment. Someone bossing her around, but I can also see there’s a side of her that likes it. A side that craves it. A side that needs it.
“I …”
“Are gonna sit back down. Now.” The demand in my tone must be enough for her. She walks back over and sits back in the chair before looking at me as if she needs further instructions.
“Now what?”
“Now we talk.”
“About what?”
“You.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“I think there is,” I tell her.
“There’s really not. I’m nearly thirty, and I have nothing to show for my life. I’m fat, ugly. Used. Broken. My parents, mainly my father, gave me away. That’s about all there is to know about me.”
“First of all, you’re gonna stop talkin’ down about yourself. You’re not fat or ugly.”
“Look at me!” She snaps louder this time. I sit up slightly and look at her. She’s a plus-size woman, but that doesn’t mean shit, and she should know it.
“I am lookin’ at you.”
