Her Hero (6 page)

             
“The press normally give chase.” He said as his confusion and suspicion raised goose bumps on her neck.

              They cut their trip to the park short by Horatius's insistence. As soon as they returned home the intimacy of the morning blown away. Horatius was back on the phone barking orders to the security firm while Stacy doodled in her pad. Although he joined her on the sofa in the evening Stacy felt his distraction, observing him absently watching the film while messaging on his phone.

             
The next morning she awoke to the smell of french toast and syrup.

             
“I thought I would make up for yesterday, by making you breakfast.” He said bringing over a glass of orange juice.

             
“Yesterday was a first for me.” Stacy knew she didn’t need to tell him, she hadn’t spoken of her parents with anyone else. His eyes spoke his understanding and relating.

             
“Until we were interrupted.” Momentarily he looked like he would get lost in his worries again but then he seemed to shake himself from his thinking. “What’s that.” Before she could hide it. He had swiped her sketch pad from next to her elbow.

             
“No. Please. Don’t.” Panic and vulnerability slapped her hard and Stacy fought to control herself. In her mind she saw herself wrestling the pad from him but then her thoughts took a left turn. The dangerous thought, of just how that wrestling match would end, helped her to remain seated.

             
She watched biting her nails as he flipped though it without a word or expression. Pausing from time to time he took a closer look. Stacy felt her breakfast threatening to come up, until he put the pad down and then started eating his own breakfast in silence.

             
The suspense was killing her, then she realised he had no intention of telling her what he thought.

             
“Okay, okay. What do you think?” He smiled slightly as he lifted his face and deliberately placed down his fork.

             
“You tell me the most dramatic thing to happen in your life. The death of your parents and how that has affected you but your afraid to show me your talent. What’s with that?” He was actually laughing at her.

             
“You think I have talent?” For some reason it was important that he like her work.

             
He looked at her like she were mad, “Are you fishing for compliments.” And then he let out a belly shaking laugh that lasted as long as her OJ.

             
Coughing, he straightened up and became very serious.

             
“So how many publishers have you shown your character to?”

             
Oh, god he had seen her project. Stacy had no intentions for anyone to see that. Like the Watchmen the character was an anti-hero. The whole thing was just too embarrassing. Too close to reality. Stacy had created the office temp super hero after her encounter with Horatius in the lift.

             
“No one. Besides it’s not finished.” Stacy was now playing with her food.

             
“You should. Although I am a bit disappointed I’m the side kick. You could at least give me a power like your character, instead of just being the bankroller of the operation.” He pouted childishly, but without seriousness.

             
“Actually why don’t I publish your comic.” He didn’t see her look of horror as he stood and started pacing, “Yes I think that’s what we shall do. Branch out. It might even give my rep a much needed boost...”

             
“No!”

He stopped his inner monologue and smiled at her with a knowing sympathy.

              “No?”

             
“No way!”

             
“Why?” His mouth was in twitch mode. Sadly not successfully stifling his smirk.

             
“No one will buy it.” Stacy was getting desperate and she heard it in her voice.

             
“You won’t know ‘til you try.”

             
“Yes but.”

             
“But what?” He was pushing her and she felt her rational reasoning seem ridiculous.

             
All the years on the road drawing, sketching. It was hers, her escape, her therapy and he wanted to expose her to the scrutiny of the world.

             
Horatius, no longer smirking sat and took her hand.

             
“Look. If you really don’t want to publish it, then fine. But if your saying that because you’re scared of being rejected, then don’t.” She hesitated as she acknowledged the truth in his words. “Listen. You hate being a secretary...”

             
“Personal Administrator.” she corrected.

             
He paused only to give her a scathing expression, “If you love drawing why not make that your profession. Life is too short to spend it doing something that doesn’t feed your soul. Let me help you.”

             
The last few years flashed through Stacy's mind. The dread every Sunday night. The wishing her life away as she clock watched.  The contentment of doodling and the elation on completing a story board.

             
She thought of all the characters she had developed in her pad. The town and the story lines she had, just waiting.

             
Waiting for what? Herself to draw them and then for those designs to sit unseen in a cardboard box in her latest bedsit.

             
It was as if her life and meaning had collided when she met Horatius and with it a sense of validation. For the first time Stacy felt a part of life and not just an observer.

             
Throwing caution to the wind she threw her arms around his neck. Kissing him furiously. She covered his face slowing as she gravitated like a magnet to his lips.

***

Horatius woke with a start. Stacy’s hair lay across his chest and for a second he felt relief and soul deep happiness fill him. Until his peace was disturbed by a bone chilling scream. Stacy practically leapt up before petering down, followed by a whimper. Immediately he reached for her but her silken skin slipped as she writhed in anguish, kicking him with impressive force and forcing him out of the bed.

             
He rushed to her side imploring her to wake. Her fear and heart became his. With his heart in his mouth he soothed her for endless moments, until her thrashing subsided and all that was left was a ball of sobs.

             
As he stroked her she woke with a shattered and broken expression. He was undone. He would give his entire fortune to take that look from her features.

             
“Stacy. It’s okay. Your safe.”

             
She came around slowly. Sitting up, he joined her once again. He wiped her hair back from where it clung to her sweat covered neck and watched as her breathing regulated.

             
He cursed his uncaring member as it rose to the memory of her rasping breath. The memory of just hours ago were hard to wipe away but he forced himself to focus on her needs.

             
Taking her hand he absently stroked it. They sat in silence until he felt she had recovered.

             
“Does that happen a lot?” Stacy simply nodded and clung tighter to the covers.

             
“Do you want to tell me what it’s about?” Horatius felt it was imperative she speak about her terrors.

             
He recalled the doctor’s analysis and his subsequent research on post traumatic stress. Right now her recollections were limited to sleep. But how long would it be before she lived her nightmare whilst awake. Perhaps injuring herself or others. No he couldn’t let that happen, he knew, pressing her to open up.

             
“I just remember bit’s of the crash.”

             
“You were there? You didn’t tell me.”

             
“No need, I lived.” She pulled away slightly but he simply moved closer and wrapped his arm around her until she lay with her head against his chest.

             
She felt right there and Horatius knew there was no going back for him.

             
“Tell me what happened. Please.” She seemed to hesitate at his request but after nuzzling further into his locked arms she began.

             
“It’s the same nightmare. I remember, we’re overturned. I think another car hits us. I don’t know. It’s all a bit hazy.”

             
“Yes the accident reported three cars. The car behind couldn’t stop on time. He lived, minor scratches.” At his words she swiveled round surprised but then settled back, once again lost in her thoughts.

             
“Next I remember my dad screaming for me to wake up. I think I got out, or maybe someone helped me.” She paused waiting for an answer but he had no more information. “Then. I was at the side of the road. Behind that barrier thing, you know.” He nodded and he knew she could feel it.

             
“The grass was so green. I remember thinking, the grass is so green.” He enclosed his arms further. Pushing his legs into contact with hers. He just needed the contact.

             
“Then the grass was orange. Black and I...” with a torturous sobbing gasp she crumpled and pulled at his arm.

             
He allowed her to bury her face behind the rigid cords lining his forearm and felt the coarse hairs stick to him with her damp tears. He didn’t speak, he had read the pathology report. His sickening knowledge of what she had seen made it impossible for him to console her with mere words.

             
The reality however was far more harrowing than the clinical postmortem of events. Through her eyes it was so much worse and he couldn’t listen but he needed to. He needed her to release that memory or at least to share the burden of it.

             
“What?”

             
“I watched. I just watched!” Her voice got louder,  “I did nothing. I just watched as my mum and dad burned. They burned to death!” She was screaming over and over hysterically, rocking back and forth hugging her knees.

             
Horatius didn’t try to touch her, he just soothed with his voice.

             
“It wasn’t your fault. If you had tried to save them you would have died too.”

             
She turned with bare hatred firing from her eyes. “At least I would have tried.” Leaping out of bed she turned on him. “My dad was conscious! Do you know the sound of a person burning alive. Can you imagine the screams of a loved one!” She lashed out. Pounding her fist with feeble intensity until her strength left her.

             
Horatius welcomed her tiredness when she finally collapsed on him, silent tears colliding with snot.

             
Slowly he lifted and wiped her face with a tissue. He felt at a loss and if he was indeed a true hero, he would know just how to fix it, but he had nothing. Seeing her pad absently lying at an angle on the bedside table, he leant over and retrieved it.

             
“Use it.”

             
“What?” She looked at him as if he was the most insensitive man on the planet. That he was used to. Yet not from her and he didn’t like it.

             
“You can’t change the past and clearly you will never forget. So use it. Us the anger, the hurt, the fear and create a story that will touch even the most jaded.”

             
She glanced from his face to the book repeatedly before grudgingly taking the pad and flipping open the pages.

             
He watched as she scribbled, unaware of anything. He watched her expressions change with each sketch. Living the animation with her, fascinated in her nuances.

             
From the moment he met her, he was drawn to her. First through fascination, the girl with no hang ups. Completely unaware of herself, she shouted theft and emptied her bag across the counter with no clue of her individuality. No self conscious mumblings and blushing exposure.

             
Then her vulnerability and watching her now he was ashamed to admit to himself that he liked coming to her rescue. Though he could not take back the fact that he liked her soft side. The openness of her heart and the fact that she hadn’t allowed anyone in, for so long, was like a red rag to a bull.

             
But living together had changed him. Her effect on himself was what amazed Horatius. He wondered if he could go back to the way things were. The quietness, back to beige. Never, she had made him laugh, even when she made smiley faces from fruit for his breakfast. He cared, my god when was the last time he cared about anything. Even his latest project barely sparks an interest in him. Stacy made him feel like some neanderthal protecting what was his.