Like Gravity(73)

Bringing his forehead down to rest against mine, he stared into my eyes. His own were brimming with unshed tears.

“You’re gonna tell me what happened,” he whispered roughly. “Everything. Every detail. And when you’re done, I’m gonna find the f*ck who did this to you and make sure he never sees another goddamn sunrise.”

His words were vengeful, but his hands were gentle as they came up to cup my face. When he pressed his eyes closed, trying to regain control over his emotions, a solitary tear slipped out from beneath his eyelid and tracked down his face. I leaned forward to kiss it off his cheek, and his eyes sprang open to look at me once more.

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

I nodded.

“You scared the f*cking shit out of me, you know that?”

I nodded again, my eyes locked on his.

“I saw you leave for the bathroom. Sang two whole songs, and you still hadn’t come back. I knew something wasn’t right – I could feel it. So I stopped playing, found Lexi, and asked her where the hell you were.” His eyes pressed closed again and I saw the tic of a muscle in his cheek as he tried to temper his anger. “She had no idea. She was too busy eye-f*cking Ty to even notice you’d been gone for way too long.”

“She didn’t know,” I whispered, coming to Lexi’s defense. I’d been the idiot who’d gone outside alone, without my cellphone. This was all on me. “It isn’t her fault, it’s mine.”

“She should’ve f*cking known better,” he snarled, clearly not willing to forgive Lexi tonight. I decided to let this battle go. For right now, Finn needed someone to blame – someone to take out his anger on. His frustration with her would fade once the police found whoever had attacked me. At least, I hoped it would.

“Finn,” I whispered. “I need to talk to the police. Give them my statement.”

“I’m staying with you,” he told me, his tone leaving no room for argument. I sighed. I hadn’t exactly wanted him to hear all the gory details, but I had no fight left in me. I’d used it all up in that alleyway.

When Officer Carlson and the other policeman – a thin man with a graying beard and an avuncular manner who introduced himself as Officer O’Callahan – approached, I sat up slowly and Finn moved to stand by the side of the stretcher. He kept his fingers laced with mine, giving my hand reassuring squeezes whenever my voice faltered or I struggled to find the words to explain what had happened during the attack.

When I reached the point in my tale that I had to describe my attacker’s sexual arousal, Finn’s grip grew dangerously tight. I could tell, without even a glance in his direction, that he was waging an internal battle to keep his composure – warring with his instincts to lash out in rage. He somehow managed to remain silent so I could finish giving my statement. The policemen listened with stony faces, their expressions hardened by years of experience with victims whose fates were far worse than my own.

When I was finally done speaking, feeling shaken from reliving every moment of the attack, it was my turn to answer questions. They pelted me with query after query, wanting to know about the most minute, seemingly inconsequential details. To their disappointment, and my own frustration, I didn’t have answers to many of their questions.

Did he have any distinguishing marks or characteristics?

It had been so dark; I didn’t know.

Could you estimate his age?

Maybe somewhere between twenty and forty? I couldn’t be sure.

Did he mention any kind of motive?

He hadn’t said anything, even when I’d broken his nose or smashed my high heel into his face.

Do you believe this is related to the break-in incident at your house last month?

It was possible, I supposed.

Can you think of anyone who would want to scare or harm you?

Finally, a question I could answer.

“There’s this guy. Gordon O’Brien. He’s threatened me before.” I swallowed tightly, talking around the large lump in my throat. “I think he gets off on scaring girls. And he was definitely at the club tonight – I noticed him when I walked in.”

“When you say that he’s threatened you in the past, what do you mean?” Officer Carlson asked.

“He grabbed me roughly the last time I bumped into him at Styx – he lifted me clear off the ground,” I explained. “I pleaded with him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I ended up having a panic attack right there in the club.”

“And you didn’t report this incident to the police?” Officer O’Callahan chimed in sternly, disapproval apparent in his tone.

“It’s my fault,” Finn jumped in, his face cloudy with rage and regret. “I thought I’d handled the situation. Apparently I hadn’t.”

Officer Carlson raised one eyebrow as he turned his attention to Finn. “And how exactly did you ‘handle’ the situation?”

“I punched him in the face, sir,” Finn answered, never one to beat around the bush. I actually thought I might’ve detected a note of pride in his voice.

Officer Carlson looked as if he were fighting a smile. Officer O’Callahan chuckled outright, evidently amused by Finn’s forthright nature.

After asking a few more questions I couldn’t answer, taking down all the information we knew about Gordon, and promising that they would be in touch as soon as they had any leads, the police officers left to go examine the alley more thoroughly. Apparently, as soon as they’d arrived on the scene, the officers had checked the alleyway to see if my attacker was still lurking in the shadows.