Chapter 5: The Broken

"What is your deal?" I rasped through gritted teeth not bothering to mask my hostility.

His face both excited and riled me like nothing else could. I had exposed his incompetence and yet he showed no reaction other than studying my face. I was about to unleash verbal hell on him when he finally deigned to speak.

"Back in the army I had a friend like you, George, smart as whip but lacked the patience to understand and overcome. He preferred to use brute force rather than employ his beautiful brain. When our tours ended and we were discharged suffering from PTSD of course he chose a more direct approach to his problem. Long story short he died from a broken neck in the ring while fighting his opponent and his demons. Violence is never the answer, take it from a man of war."

He wasn't a psychopath; he was just broken. I didn't defeat him when we first met, he had let me win. I am not sure which bothered me more; the fact that I had misjudged him and labeled him just because he had not acted the way I had expected or the fact that I had been handled like a child. He could have easily taken me down yet he had chosen not to. His reaction had not been due to lack of social skills, it had been empathy. My father must have given him a warning prior to visit. I wanted to ask if him if he knew about my diagnosis but couldn't bring myself to do it.

"Your father told me about your mental condition. Don't worry I am not in a condition to judge anyone. Whatever it is you have cannot compare to the symptoms I have when my PTSD rears its ugly head. You are smart just like your dad said, you figured out in a week what took me a month. I know this company can grow and become even more profitable as long as we work smart", he stretched his hand out at me, tilting his head, urging me to take it. I did not want to, but I still did.

He asked me to go for a drink with him to celebrate our new work arrangement. I was tired and all I wanted to do was go home but I still found myself following him to my car. As I drove out I couldn't help the bout of what I imagined were anxiety driven butterflies that attacked my stomach. I found myself glancing at him every so often. I wanted so badly to know if he found me attractive. I did not know what I was feeling, but I was sure I wanted it to stop.

Ten shots of top shelf tequila later and he was an open book with an English accent. His was a tragic tale that started when a rich black girl fell in love with a trailer trash poor white boy, his parents. The setting was in the elegant city of London. Of course being British race was not the issue their social status was. His mother's parents were of course against the idea of their brilliant baby girl ending up with an unknown ruffian who had no noticeable background and lacked a stable career. His parents had met at a race event where his mother, Gloria, had been forced to go in order to represent the events sponsors and his father, Brian, had been the winner of the race. Brian not only won a race that day but he also captured the heart of the very gorgeous and filthy rich Gloria. Grand ma and grandpa tried to break them up unsuccessfully. They finally gave in but on the condition that Brian join the family business. Gloria's family owned a chain of car distribution company that dealt mostly in imported luxury cars. They were young and passionate about one another and at the time he thought he was trading up. The transition from a race car driver to a car sales man took its toll on Brian. After a life time of living free, the office life slowly suffocated everything that made Gloria fall for Brian. In exchange for his grandparents getting the son in law they always wanted his mother lost the love of her life.

Their once passionate love lives turned into a cold, lonely, unforgiving prison that drove Brian to drinking and Gloria to working. Young Marcus was always a disappointment; to his grandparents for not being smart enough, to his father for not being athletic enough and to his mother for simply existing.

At the age of twenty-one he enrolled in the army. It took him ten years to come back home and it was only the death of his entire family that had managed to drag him from the war front. An accident, they had said nobody had survived. That is how the thirty-one-year-old Marcus found himself the sole owner of a chain multimillion dollar company. He wanted to sell at first but decided against it deciding to hold onto the last memory of his family. He came to Africa in search of peace that he had hopped the mother land could provide, his words not mine. He was still in charge of the company but I t did not require a lot of input from him and so with nothing to occupy his time and the demons from the battle field haunting his dreams he decided to get a job and that is how he had met my father. The sole owner of a fortune company looks good on anyone's C.V and an interview later he had a job. Within the first month he had noticed the discrepancies in the books and alerted my father about, who did not seem surprised or too bothered by it.

"He must be waiting for his amazing daughter", his eyes were slowly drifting open and shut like a leaf in a hot summer breeze. His head was hanging dangerously close to the counter, the glass in his hand was one degree from tipping over and spilling over the table. He was about to pass out and that would be more problematic for me.

I called the bouncer who needed a bit of monetary persuasion before helping me take Marcus to the car. It was a good thing I was the only one that had driven or our precarious situation would have been full on problematic.

After tucking him safely in his seat, I drove out of the underground parking and headed home. His head was lolling to the left as he mumbled something incomprehensible. The memories of his smile flashed every so often in my mind forcing me to glance at him. When he talked about his family he wore a bitter smile, when he talked about his work he wore begrudging smile, it was the smile he wore when he talked about war that stole the show. His tours must have been gruesome and he now suffered from PTSD and yet when he talked about his time in the force he did it with a fondness that was unexplainable.

This was something that scarred him for life and yet he gave the softest smile when he spoke of his comrades. Driving down the freeway towards my house I was overcome with urge to turn on the music and sing along. I hated playing music when I was driving but with him here next to me the mood seemed perfect for some musical accompaniment. Music for me was a way of shutting up whoever was sitting next to me but not anymore at the very least not now with him here.

This was the second time we had met and also the second time I was overcome with urge to do something stupid and normal. He was making a mockery of my internal organs as he released a zoo in my stomach and was now pulling at my heart strings with his tiny whimpers as he fitfully tried to sleep. I sang along with Jenifer Hudson about a man who hadn't shown up. My voice sounded unfamiliar as I croaked along. The drive ended too fast.

Another tip and the watchman helped me carry, 'dead to the world', Marcus upstairs to my apartment. Thankfully I lived on the second floor so the heaving was over in minutes. Marcus was a big man and dragging him to the bathroom and helping out of his clothes took more energy than I thought it would. Don't get me wrong I was not planning to take advantage of a passed out man but the idea of putting him to sleep in my bed when he reeked of alcohol irked me. Helping him wash up, seemed like the most reasonable option and so with a lot of difficulty I set his naked body on the floor and turned on the shower.

He did not stir even as the warm water cascaded down his perfectly sculpted that tempted my eyes.

He did not blink even as I half dragged his body to my bed, he only stirred when spooned him under the covers. His breathing evened out as he fell deeper into his sleep and I fell asleep holding onto him while listening to his breathing. His ragged breathing and tiny cries dragged me out of my sleep not even an hour later.

He had a painfully tight grip on my hands as his past haunted his dreams. I shook him calling out his name until his eyes flew open. The look he gave then is one I would never forget. It was a mixture of utter terror, helplessness sprinkled with confusion. My heart broke then. Up until now my heart had only been for pumping blood, but thanks to this man that was now desperately holding on to me with his face buried in my chest, it now had strings that could be pulled and controlled by the unknown.

I snaked my hands around his torso holding him because it was all I could do. I slowly rubbed his back while humming an unformed tune. He did not laugh at the horrendous sound I was making instead he nuzzled into my neck tightening his death grip on me. I held him until he fell asleep and when his grip loosened I tightened mine. Tomorrow I would draw a line between us but tonight I would hold him to my heart's content.

When I woke up the next day he was gone. It was already noon and the bright light pulled me from my sleep only to be welcomed by an empty bed. I listened for movement in the house but was only rewarded with silence. A twinge of disappointment raced from my chest to my mouth leaving a bitter aftertaste. I was going to tell him to never come to my house again. The fact that he had left on his own should have been a good thing and yet there I was holding my breath waiting to hear any sign of him in my house.

I have never hated silence as much as I did then. I refused to get out of bed and acknowledge that he had just left. I barely knew the guy and yet here I was pining like a love sick puppy waiting for its master to come home. My phone rang forcing me out of my pity party. It was Loice

"I know you did not forget about our appointment today Melisa," she admonished without bothering with niceties of a proper conversation.

"Am sorry Loice, I had a late night yesterday it completely slipped my mind"

"Good you can tell me all about it then, open the door"

I opened the door to let her in not at all surprised by the fact that she had chosen to come to my place unannounced. I don't think she has a social life outside of her patients or maybe controlling our lives was a hard to quit hobby for her. This was not the first time she has shown up unannounced and it would probably not be the last time. She walked past me and into the flat with her shoes on probably to trigger me. I hated it when people walked into my house with their dirty shoes on my clean floor.

"So tell me about this late night event that made you forget our appointment" she said as she took out her notebook and made herself comfortable in my sofa. Her shoes looked clean but how could they be clean when she had walked outside with those shoes. The back of my neck began to itch as I tried hard not to take her shoes and throw them out myself. I heard her talking but the words did not register in my brain as my sole focus remained on the dirty shoes in my clean house. I had to clean the house later or at the very least call Sharon my cleaning lady. She knew exactly how I wanted my space cleaned and arranged and she was the only one I trusted with my house. She finally took them off placing them on the welcome mat.

"Now can you answer me?", she prompted looking irritated by my inability to focus because of her shoes. She knew my triggers and yet went out of her way to bring them to my attention. It was her job as my therapists to help me overcome these little things but I think she enjoyed her job a little too much.

"I went out for drinks with my coworker and then I brought him back home", I said glossing over the important part

"You brought your coworker to your house because he was drunk?" she questioned her eyebrows raising as a little knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

She knew me too well for my liking I thought as I recounted last night's events emphasizing on how he had made me feel rather than what he had said. she took it all in and when I concluded she closed her book and leaned in my direction her eyes studying my face intently. I maintained eye contact even when she came uncomfortable close to my face wondering what she was seeing as she looked at me.

"You like him." she said leaning back in the seat.

"How can I like someone I don't even know, we have met a total of two times. I have better sense than that plus this is reality not some fictional world where love at first sight exists"

"I never said anything about love, it is however evident that you are attracted to this man. He intrigues you and makes you feel things you have never felt before. You may not know this but these are the common characteristics of liking someone of course with enough time it develops into love but even if doesn't I am proud of you. Even though it took you twenty-four years you have finally learned how to like someone else."

"First he is my coworker and I think all office romance are as stupid as they are inappropriate, secondly he is suffering from PTSD and I am not in the best mental state myself there is no way the two of us can have a healthy and functional relationship and most importantly I do not like him," I emphasized the last statement going for confident and ending up with grouchy.

"I am glad you are doing well I am sure your parents will be excited to hear this news." it means you are finally growing up and that's a good thing. She stood up not bothering to reply to my tirade