Chapter 9

John listened as the clock on the wall ticked away. Samantha stood across the room in a dark blue power suit and stared at the wall. The ticking stretched on as John waited patiently for her. He noticed how her hands tensed into claws and relaxed repeatedly. John didn't know what it was that Samantha had hidden away but he was willing to listen to her and help if he could. As a friend, of course. He wouldn't dare think of it as anything more at this point.

"Have you ever done anything truly stupid?"

"Other than drinking the MC-125? Yes, I have."

"And what was the result?"

"I landed in the hospital for a couple of weeks."

Samantha arched an eyebrow at that, surprised by the answer. "Well, I'm not going to pry into your past at the moment." She took a deep breath and John watched as she collected her thoughts and resolve. "My truly stupid mistake was that I once fell in love." She bit off the last few words like leather. "I met him at a golf course. I used to be quite good. So was Jeff. He was a smooth talker and I came from a fairly sheltered upbringing with lots of money. In other words, I was easy pickings for a guy like him. I really did think I loved him. He had an easy smile, handsome eyes, and that certain charisma that most girls found appealing. I was young and naïve and he was such a dashing man. My family didn't like him and had pretty much disowned me along the way. I should have listened to them. But, of course, I didn't. He left me not long after my parents cut off my funds and there was nothing more for him to take from me. Turned out he strung several other girls along as well. When he was through with me I had nothing but a sheet of paper saying that I graduated from business.

"I was humiliated as much as anything else. I was such a fool. I vowed never to trust anyone ever again. After a year I reentered the corporate world and moved up the ladder. There were plenty more men where Jeff came from and tried taking me for a fool because they thought me a scatterbrained woman. I took a certain satisfaction out of burning them, career wise."

John sat back and listened to Samantha's tale. Yes, it would seem she had been through the wringer. He did a little quick math in his head and figured that she had been living alone for the past five years. Still, that wouldn't explain everything about her. There was much more she wasn't telling. The haunted look in her pale green eyes spoke volumes more than a simple lying ex-boyfriend could explain. John opened his mouth to say something but was cut off when the redhead spun around with diamond hard eyes boring into him with anguished pain and anger. Hate against men, her parents for not being there for her, but mostly she hated herself for being such a fool. For trusting. Of course, John was the only person in the room for her to focus on.

"Would it help if I said that I hate golf?" John commented.

The comment unbalanced her from her pedestal of hate. John watched as she mentally scrabbled to gather her wits but failed utterly in his slight, sympathetic smile. Samantha's mouth curled up a fraction until she finally laughed through a surprising streak of tears. John moved across the room and pulled her to him. He felt her shudder in bittersweet laughter. He lowered them to the floor and she curled up in his lap. He wondered just how long she had been simply held. John ran his fingers through her coppery curls and stroked her gently in succor.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "There's more but I'm just not ready for that yet."

John shushed her. "I know," he whispered. "I know." John cupped Samantha's upturned face. Instantly he was awash in her emotions. An endless sea of pain greeted him and, reflexively, he accepted it all. He choked on the anguish and torture and he swallowed it. Bitterness and grief drowned him in its icy clutches. He stood alone, a rock in an ocean of agony as the wind lashed and bit at the turbulent waters.

To save his own sanity he built upon himself, the rock in the ocean, until he was himself a mountain of solitude in the stormy sea. Waves broke across his stony surface but he stood strong until the ineffectual forces weakened.

Suddenly, his mind was wrenched from Samantha's. He sat dazed and confused on the floor, several feet from where he was but a moment ago. His head hurt as if it were being squeezed by a vise. His stomach rolled and heaved in his belly. Disoriented, John braced himself with his desk and pulled himself up. That was a big mistake. The floor seemed to slide and spin beneath his feet and he found himself sprawled on the floor again. John watched as Samantha stood shakily from the floor and managed to stay up. She reached for the door and he tried to call out to her but he choked on fiery sour bile as it gorged up his throat and slid back down. He lay back on the floor and waited for the room to stop spinning.

It was several minutes before the room stopped rolling about enough for John to sit up and nearly an hour before he could crawl across the room and fish out an aspirin for his aching head. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. He realized, as he took another swig from the bottle of water, that he forgot that his right hand was ungloved. When he reached down to touch her he must of accidentally connected with Samantha. But never before had he ever built such a strong rapport. Never had he ever felt such strong emotions in anyone. The symbolic constructs he used were a simplification of what was running around in her mind at that moment. If he were slightly less experienced she very well could have killed him, if not both of them. John drank deeply from the bottle and emptied it then grabbed another while rubbing his temple.

Oh God, his head was killing him. Not to mention the jeopardy that his relationship with Samantha was now in. He had accidentally touched her. Granted, he probably helped calm her but in this case, so soon after explaining the situation, it would only serve to damage his credibility. He did not wish to betray his trust before their relationship even got off the ground.

John sighed and leaned back against the wall, he still hadn't managed to stand up or drag himself into his chair without having the floor bring him back down. Well, he certainly couldn't repair things by simply sitting on the floor. Mustering enough resolve to venture another attempt at rising, John cursed beneath his breath as he clambered up the side of his desk and managed to stand up. He locked his knees and stood straight. The blood in his head drained and he nearly fainted from the sudden rush but he managed to stay conscious. He gripped the edge of his desk and paced about the wooden frame until he was confident that he could manage without its help. Walking became easier and the jackhammers in his skull seemed to dull to only a mild cadence.

Still, he didn't trust himself the controls of any vehicle so he punched some buttons on the phone and waited for the other end to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Erica."

"Oh, hi John. What's up?"

"I..." John had to think for a bit. "I'm feeling really sick right now. I think I caught a stomach flu or something. Do you think you could pick me up from work?" Yes, he supposed his current state was similar to a stomach flu.

"Oh, jeez." There was a pause. "I'm sorry John but I can't get away right now. The bar is totally packed and we're short on hands enough as it is. Maybe in another hour or two. Can you stay there for that long?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll call a cab instead."

There was a pause on the other line. "I'm sorry John."

"It's alright. I'll call you later when I get back."

"I hope you get better."

"Yeah, me too," John said and hung up the phone. He picked it up again and dialed the cab service. It wouldn't be more than ten minutes. He sat back in the office chair and wondered what would happen next. Would Samantha hate him, or return to him confused and seeking answers? He didn't know. There was simply too much about her that he wasn't familiar with. If he were lucky she would accept his explanation and apology. If.

John stumbled down the hall to the elevator and thumbed the button. The door pinged and slid apart and John was shocked to find Samantha standing in the booth. "Sorry," John slurred. "I'll catch the next one." If he were lucky he might just take the stairs and fall down and not have to deal with the whole situation.

Instead of letting the doors slide shut his boss touched the button panel and held the door open for him. "Wait," she commanded. "Get in."

Too exhausted to argue the point he obeyed her and shuffled in. John took a deep breath and stared ahead with downcast eyes. He didn't plan on running into her so soon. He had no idea what to say to her at the moment so he said nothing at all.

"You look like shit," Samantha stated bluntly.

"Better than how I feel right now."

"You don't look like you're in any condition to drive."

"Called a cab."

A long moment of silence stretched out between them. John studied his reflection in the shiny brass elevator panel. He did look pretty bad. His face was pale and drawn and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His eyes were sunken within dark circles. The elevator stopped at the ground floor and dinged open. John took an unsteady step forward but was pulled short by a hand on his arm. "Wait," she asked and then called out over his shoulder. "Ron! There's a cab that'll be coming around soon. Could you tell them to cancel that? Thanks. I'll be taking Mr. Arrons home."

"Ms. Summers," John stammered. "That really isn't necessary. Especially in light of what has happened."

His words fell on deaf ears as the elevator doors slid shut and continued its descent to the underground garage. "And what exactly did happen, John?"

John noticed how she slid back into an informal tone and the use of his name rather than his title now that they were alone. "I'm not exactly sure. I forgot that my right hand wasn't gloved. I'm sorry. I've betrayed your trust in me. It was an accident but still inexcusable."

"Gloved hand or not, the point would have been moot," she replied. "You were about to kiss me anyway."

John was too shocked to stammer a reply. Caught up in the moment, John supposed he was about to kiss her. The events following that interceded, however, made him forget that point. He didn't know what to say.

"There's no use denying it," she continued. "I saw it there in your eyes. I saw many things." She paused as the elevator doors parted and revealed the cavernously empty lot. She did not look at him but made for her car. She fished in her purse and deactivated the alarm. "Get in."