Fractured (Bulletproof sequel)

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Re: Fractured (Bulletproof sequel)

Unread post by sexy » 06 Aug 2017 16:37

5. Francesca 9

The bar is dimly lit by faded lights that are plastered to the dark red walls around the room. People fill the place and the amount of them makes the temperature rise quickly. My heavy coat suddenly feels like a weight that's clamping me down so I shrug it off, throwing it over my arm.

I step further into the room, awkwardly glancing around as I try to find the person I'm looking for. Large parties of people standing at the bar in the centre of the room create a ruckus that makes everyone else become louder as well.

My eyes flitter across faces until I finally spot a man at a single table off to the side, alone. I walk forward slowly, waiting for him to catch my eyes. He looks up briefly and scopes out the room until his eyes land on me.

I give him a small smile and stop in front of the table he's sitting at. "Robert?"

The man's confusion quickly turns to recognition and a grin falls across his face. He stands up and I see that he's about the same height as me with dark hair and a small goatee. He edges his way around the table and I stretch my hand out to him but he comes over it and wraps his arms around my shoulders in a hug. A shocked noise leaves my throat as he presses his body right up against mine and I place my hands on his shoulders limply.

He finally pulls away after an agonizing five seconds and smiles. Robert swoops down and gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. I smile through my bitterness.

"Yes, I'm Robert." He gives a hearty laugh and I nod. "And you must be Francesca."

I nod in confirmation and don't bother to tell him to call me Fran. For some reason I feel like tonight is already nearing a sloppy end so I might as well keep it curt and polite.

Robert gestures to the seat across from him at the table and I move towards it as he plops himself down on his own seat. I sit slowly and tuck myself into the table, feeling the heat of the room creep up my neck.

"So Francesca," Robert grins, "this is nice."

It's strange to hear someone else call me Francesca other than my father but I bite back the initial discomfort in the name as I honestly don't want to find myself on nickname-terms with this guy just yet.

"Great," I say, glancing down at the menu.

A blind date is a bad idea – such a terrible and stupid idea. Yet here I am, sat with a complete stranger and attempting to find some sort of love life in the process. I'm not going to tell him five seconds into the date that it's never going to work because he's not my type, though.

I might as well humour the man.

Robert looks down at the menu and his hand goes to his goatee without him realizing it. He strokes the hair absentmindedly and the action is both disturbing and oddly enthralling all at the same time. I grimace and look down at my own menu, eyes scanning the food.

I look around at the other tables and see a few other couples and families eating food and immediately; I don't feel so alone. Being the only people at the bar having a sit-down meal will only make the entire 'blind date' become that much more of a show. But now that there are other couples around, maybe it won't be so obvious.

"So Robert," I attempt to engage myself in mundane conversation, "what do you do for a living?"

These are the types of questions that my dad's friends ask me when I see them. It's one of the questions I asked my dad's girlfriend, Jamie when I was grilling her a few years back. These are simplistic questions that require short answers that then leads into something else.

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It's safe.

"Plumber," Robert says through a large sip of beer and I realize that he hasn't bothered to even offer if I wanted anything. So instead of making a fuss, I just sit silently and wait to order a drink with the food.

"Oh that's cool," I nod. "Any fun tales?"

"Ah well, there was this one job." Robert suddenly cuts off into a laugh and the noise reminds me so much of a donkey that my eyes widen comically. "This guy had screwed up the sink in the kitchen when his wife was at work. So – as any other married man – he freaked out and kept it on the down low. He wanted to get the whole thing fixed before his wife came back so she never knew!"

Robert laughs and slaps his hand down on the table noisily and I jump from the sound.

"So, he calls me up and I get there a few hours later," Robert says and his story becomes a blur in my mind. I don't want to seem rude or come across as completely uninterested...but the thing is, I am. I'm not interested in Robert and probably never will be. He isn't my type in any way and I know it. "– then the pipe breaks and there's water everywhere! The whole kitchen's flooded with it and the pipe's just dangling from the cupboard! I'm about to go grab my other tools to fix it when a complete plot twist comes round the corner."

Robert stops and I raise both my eyebrows as if the suspension and tension of the moment is hitting me as much as it's hitting Robert.

"The wife comes home!" Robert bursts into a loud laugh and I duck my head slightly, glancing around the bar.

When Robert looks up, still in the middle of a laugh, I slap a smile onto my face and give a little laugh to him. The waiter comes by a little later and I flick through the menu quickly and pick one of the club sandwiches with fries before looking up and waiting for Robert to order so I can.

"I'll have the chipotle burger with fries and another beer on tap," Robert says and I open my mouth to speak when he continues, "And she'll have the garden salad." 15

I stare at Robert as he folds up his menu and gives it to the waiter. I hold my own menu out to the waiter and keep my eyes on Robert as the waiter turns around and walks away. He leans forward and grabs his beer, tipping his head back and downing the last quarter in a few seconds.

I watch as his throat clenches as he swallows quickly and feel the irritation for the fact that he ordered for me beat against the back of my neck.

"Right so as I was saying," Robert wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slams his glass back down on the table, "this guy's wife comes home and she's screaming and yelling and the two of them are just going at each other's throats..."

I tune out the rest of Robert's story and my eyes trail down his arm until they land on his left hand. There's a thin line around the base of his finger where the skin is lighter and clean. I frown and notice his finger lift up to rub against the pale skin before he twitches his entire hand and starts the process again.

"Are you married, Robert?" I ask, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Robert looks bewildered for a moment and his finger covers over the ring mark completely. "I'm sorry?"

"Your finger," I clarify. "Your wedding ring finger to be precise has a mark of pale skin going round the base of it where a ring usually goes. And it looks a lot like a finger that had a ring hastily ripped off it. Also, you keep rubbing your other finger over the mark as if the absence of it is noticeable and you need the pressure of the ring." 1

Robert looks at me, momentarily speechless. "What are you insinuating?"

"This isn't an accusation, Robert," I say. "It's just a question. Are you married?"

"No," he says firmly. "And how the hell could you find all that out from just looking at me?"

"Well you might be a plumber," I smile. "But I'm a therapist. It's my job to watch people. And I might even have the audacity to say that I'm very good at it." 1

"A therapist?" Robert asks them mutters quietly to himself. "Of course I would get stuck with a fucking shrink."

"You sure you're not married, Rob?" I ask. "You have all the traits to be a married man."

"Separated," he sighs. "We're finalizing the divorce now."

I nod and stand up from the table, taking my coat from the back of the chair. "Do you know why you divorced?"

Robert shrugged, his eyes glaring at me.

"I can make an educated guess," I say. "Never order a salad for a girl without asking her what she wants first." 8

I grip my coat in my hand and sigh. "I'm going to the bathroom."

I can feel Robert's eyes on me as I walk past sober and mildly drunk people at the bar. I head towards the bathroom and push open the door to the ladies. I look around and when I'm sure the place is completely empty and sigh, dropping my head down into my hands.

What the hell did I just do?

I rub my face tiredly and stare at myself in the mirror, noticing how tired and dead I look right now. First, one of my new clients doesn't even show up and now my blind date turns out to be a control freak who has an ex-wife running away from him.

I remember how I handled him out at the bar and cringe inwardly.

I can't believe I just said that to him. People always tell me that I don't have the block between work and social life. They tell me that my work falls into every aspect of my life and I can't get away from it. But my work is different – as a therapist I am constantly looking at people to see what makes them twitch and to see how they react. Its second nature to me and it isn't a twitch that I can just turn off and on.

But even so, I shouldn't have dealt with Robert as I had just then. I don't know the man and I don't have the right to judge him and tear apart his life like that.

I brace my hands on the edges of the counter and look at my reflection, realizing how pitiful I look. How alone I look. My first week at a new place is really turning worse and worse as the days go on. It has been two days since one of my clients copped out and my other client was even more difficult to work with than most. 1

I put my hands under the tap and the water is boiling hot. I hiss and jump back, cursing at the automated sink that never has cold water. I need something to wake me up and bring my brain back into focus.

I don't think I can go out there, though. I don't think I can face Robert after I nearly did twenty questions on his personal life. I groan out loud and feel my stomach growl, wanting that club sandwich and not the garden salad that is probably sat at the table right now.

I bite my lip and realize that I need to stop acting like a baby and just go out there and apologize. Start fresh. I glance at myself one more time in the mirror before turning around and walking out of the brightly lit bathroom.

In the bar, the darkness of the room contrasts highly with the bright bathroom and I blink rapidly to get my eyes used to the lack of light. I walk over to the table, moving and gently pushing past a few people.

It's only when I reach the table that I see the two plates of food, one a salad and one a burger, and no Robert in sight. I scoff and turn around in a circle, not seeing him anywhere. His bag and coat are gone from the back of his chair and there is no money to aid the bill left anywhere. 1

I shake my head

Unbelievable.

I step forward and sit down in Robert's seat with the burger and fries sitting in front of me. I pick up a fry and eat it, immediately knowing that my stomach is screaming in joy. My eyes flicker over to the full glass of beer that is sitting on the table and I grip the drink in my hand. I lift it up and tip my head back, chugging a hefty amount of it down.

His loss, my gain.

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