Private Message (16 page)

I pulled another double at the café today, before my evening art class. I'm kind of bummed that we are done with the human form lesson. Seeing as I won't be able to stare at Ben for an hour and a half…then again I don't want anyone else looking at him naked ever again.

Dave called in with the flu, so it's probably a good thing that I came early, that I beat him to the punch of asking me for the favor. The day goes by pretty quickly, even though I am constantly looking at my phone every chance I get to see if Ben tried calling or texted me. Nothing.
Don't be that girl, Tess, don't be the girl who waits desperately for the guy to call, he said he'd call though…damn it! Knock it off! He'll call.

About an hour before my shift ends, with six cups of coffee in my system, he calls...finally.

"Hey baby, what are you doing?" He's casual.

I give him the bare facts.

He drops his voice. "Dave?"

"Gay."

His voice goes up a notch. "Good."
Yeah, no worries, Benny boy, that boy very much so enjoys the cock, so I have heard…over and over.

"What about you? Aren't you supposed to be working?" I tease.

"I am. Just adding the final touches to the Maroon show piece." Ah, I love thinking about that night, and soon I will get to see it in my favorite magazine. And by my favorite columnist, who just so happens to be my…well, not sure what to call us yet.

"What are you doing after work?"

I tell him, and he lets out a soft laugh. "Too bad, I'm not going to be there, huh? How will you ever get through it?"

"I don't know, Ben."

A moan invades my ear. "I love it when you say my name." He says as his accent rolls and deepens, when he is aroused, which in turn turns me on.

"Ben."

"Tess, stop or I'll come in and drag you to the back room."

"Hey, I've got to get back to work before my boss fires me for being late coming back from break. Rather than be fired for screwing in the stockroom." I snort.

He full-on laughs. "I suppose so. OK, have a good class. Bye."

I am five minutes late, rushing, remembering the chat Ms. S. and I had last week. I nearly face-plant as I trip over an extension cord.
Son of a bitch…
I can't sneak in unseen, can I? I avoid any eye contact with the other students and with Ms. S., who is laying out what looks like yards upon yards of rolled white fabric. I notice a few fans set up around the room, what the hell do we need fans for? It's almost freezing outside tonight, so it definitely doesn't need to be cooled down in here. Everyone has a strip of the fabric, little tubes of ink, rubber blocks and X-acto knives.

I scavenge for supplies as Ms. S announces that we are doing block inking tonight, and she wants us to etch a few designs in the rubber blocks and roll different-colored inks onto its surface, then transfer it to the fabric. But the images have to be related and create a story.

I decide for my first to carve London's Big Ben. Yeah, my theme is Ben. Yeah, Ben on the brain tonight, but that's OK though because I don't think anyone here is going to get it. For my second, I etch a phone. For the private message he sent me, that first night. The first private message he had ever sent. I smile at that thought. I used a metallic silver ink for this one and I press the rubber to the crisp white fabric. Now, for my third, I try to think of a way to visually sum up what we are now. I can't scratch the word
sex
into the block, for god's sake!

Ms. S. sees me in deep thought, tapping my knife on the rubber.

"Carver's block?" she jokes.

I chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I just can't think of the last design I want to use to tell my story."

"Well, tell me about the first two. That is, if you are comfortable in doing so."

I take in a quick breath. "This new guy I am seeing is from London, hence the Big Ben, but that's his name also, Ben." As I am explaining I am deepening some of the lines in the peak of the Big Ben when Ms. S. squeals.

"Ben? As in the Ben who was last week's model Ben?" She is full of excitement and shock. Why?

"Uh, yeah."

"Ben is my boyfriend's son. Oh, God, Tess!" She screams the last part so fast and loud that I jumped with the news and slipped with my knife.

"SHIT!" I scream. Holy hell, I am bleeding really badly! I sliced right between my left thumb and index finger. I hear some students panic; one passes out from the sight of my growing pool of blood. And one rushes over with a wad of the white fabric she was using for her project. I wrap it around my wound and the fabric fills with a spreading red stain.

"Tess, I have to take you to the emergency room!" Ms. S. says as she pulls me to my feet. "Uh, class dismissed." We rush out the door.

Ms. S. is the most terrifying driver I have ever witnessed. Speeding like a bat out of hell, speeding through a few red lights and slowing for the yellows. Yeah, I know that makes no freaking sense to me, either. At the ER, she pulls up to the doors and a waiting man opens my door and helps me out. Noticing the fabric filled with blood—a lot of it now running down my arm—he leans his head to a speaker on his shoulder, presses a button, and tells them "alert triage," because apparently I'm a "bleeder."

Mrs. S was alert enough to grab my bag, with my ID and insurance card.

A few seconds later a nurse takes me to triage. I start to feel faint as the blood keeps seeping down my arm. It's now soaking my pants. The nurse asks me questions but as soon as I tell her my name I black out.

I wake up in a hospital bed. Tubes with red liquid lead to my right hand, where an IV needle is embedded. Then I remember why I am here, and lift my left hand to see a huge bandage. Great.
Just great, you really did it this time, Tess.
I rest my head back just as a handsome middle-aged doctor enters the room.

"Tess Martin? Hello, I am Doctor Mitchell. How are we feeling?" He speaks in a familiar English accent.

I try to speak but my mouth is so dry. He reaches for a foam cup filled with ice water and hands it to me. I take a small sip from the straw, and it is heavenly in my hot dry mouth.

"Mmm…better now." I reply.
Oh, yep I feel some morphine.

Hello.

He lets out a light chuckle like Ben does…ah, Ben. "Well, that's good. You had a nasty slice, took all of seventeen stitches, but I don't predict any nerve damage. You were pretty lucky, young lady."

"Well, that's good, and thank you." Pretty sure I slurred that a little.

"Once they paged me, telling me that Gwen had brought in one of her students, I ran right down to attend to you. She speaks very highly of your work."

"Gwen?" I ask.

"Ms. Sawyer," he clarifies.

I nod my head and it feels like it's going to roll right off my body.

"You know what, Tess, you look vaguely familiar. Have I treated you before?" he asks, a little weary. I don't think he's ever treated me...

He squints slightly, then speaks before me. "Were you in here a few years back after a concert incident?" he asks me.
Uh...oh my god.

I can feel tears filling my eyes and I am sobering up from the morphine. "Yes," I manage.

"Oh, sweetheart. I am sorry I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that you looked really familiar, maybe it's because it was my son who brought you in that night and asked me to treat you." He explains and I think I am going to be sick.

Ben
. Ben was the one who saved me from my attacker? Ben was the one who drove me to the hospital? Ben was the one who just dropped me off and left me alone? Alone, after nearly being raped and then trampled on by God knows how many people?

I think I am going to be sick. The room is starting to spin and the doctor is rushing to my side. I see a blur of blue scrubs surrounding both sides of the bed. I feel the blood pressure cuff squeeze my arm and I hear the beeping of the monitors. My mind is swirling, not just for being forced to remember that night at the concert, but waking up in the hospital all alone, not knowing how I got there. And now I find out its Ben who had delivered me. It was Ben's father who treated my broken arm and fractured nose and dressed a few gashes.

I hear the doctor calling my name, trying to get me to focus and speak. "Tess. Tess, can you hear me?" he keeps repeating.

"Yeah," I let out after a moment.

Checking all of my vitals he continues to ask questions. "I didn't mean to bring up any unpleasant memories, Miss Martin. It's just my son went to great lengths that night to ensure that you became my patient."

"Ben? Ben Mitchell is your son?"

"Yes, dear, he is." He is checking my IV. "I assumed you knew Ben since that night."

"No, we just technically met as of recently."

I see a confused look on his handsome, distinguished face.

I can feel my cheeks fill with the new blood that has been transfusing through my body. "We are sort of seeing one another." I admit. And in a way, I'm admitting it to myself.

He smiles from ear to ear. "Ben spoke of a girl last night at dinner, but he didn't mention it was the beautiful girl who I bandaged up those few years ago."

"I don't think he knows it was me, sir," I say in a respectful tone.

"Please, darling, you're seeing my son, call me Jack." His tone is friendly and loving.

I just nod. I am not sure how I am feeling right now, and I don't mean my body, or the hand I so viciously sliced open.

"How long have I been here?" I ask.

Jack Mitchell takes a look at his gold watch and then at the clipboard in his hand. "Looks like Gwen dropped you off about three hours ago. Do you want me to call anyone?"

Do I? Do I want him to call my mom? No, she would just spaz out. Do I want him to call Erin? No, I can't explain any of this right now. It's bad enough that Ben's father knows even more than Ben does about that night. God, this is so messed up. James would ask too many questions.

Before I can answer, he says, "Want me to call Ben?"

My heart is pounding. I don't know if I can confront this tonight. Then again, I may as well get it over with…

"Sure." I answer.

I can feel my eyes start to get moist as I listen to Jack fill in his son on what happened. My feelings are mixed.

"OK, I will let her know. Bye son." He hangs up with Ben, then looks at me. "He's on his way."

And I breathe.

They've cut off my morphine. I want to rage at the nurse until she brings me something for the pain in my hand.

I wonder if Jack will explain that I am the one he brought in that night. I hope not. I want to tell him. Then there's a knock on my door. My chest starts to pound. Ben peeks in and in a few long strides, he's next to me. He leans in and kisses me hard on the mouth. Oh, now that's a way to forget about the pain.

Holding my face, he looks me all over, and then coils back to look at my heavily bandaged hand. "How are you feeling? When my dad called to tell me you were here I thought the worst, I thought I was about to snap and lose it all."

"I am fine. I just cut my hand pretty bad and lost a lot of blood, but I have been refueled, so no worries." I try to pull this off like it's nothing.