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Rubbing my swollen eyes with my fists, I stand and make my way to them to introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Shayne, and this is Tammera, but I call her Mera. Welcome. Did you bring any clothing or bathroom necessities with you when you came?” I ask, because I don’t see any bags.
“No,” the blond bombshell says, lifting her face. I wince when I see an array of bruises trailing along her cheek and down her neck. “I’m Charlee, and this is Hemmingway, but I call her Hemmi.”
“Nice to meet you, Hemmingway. Or do you prefer everyone to refer to you as Hemmi?” I question, lacing my tone with sincerity so I don’t freak her out. Booming voices and fast movement can be triggers for those who’ve suffered domestic violence. These two aren’t the first to seek sanctuary here from abusive partners.
“Hemmi’s fine,” she answers.
I get an inkling that there’s something different about these two. Call it intuition or whatever, but there’s still life shining brightly in their eyes, and that’s not something I’ve witnessed from survivors. I question if they have alternative reasons for being here. I’ll keep my eye on them and watch to make sure I’m not imagining things. But, I don’t think I am.
“Follow us and we’ll take you to get your bedding first, then we’ll hit the commissary for clothing and bathroom supplies. Afterward, we’ll come back and help you make your beds and put things away,” I suggest.
“Thank you,” Charlee says, holding her hand out to indicate they’ll follow me. I turn to Mera and both of us share a look. Neither of us believe they’re as helpless and as docile as they’re trying to come across as.
* * *
Rounds are made, and by the time we make it back to our dorm, all four of our hands are loaded down with supplies to the point where we’re nearly toppling over. When my feet tangle with a sheet, I nearly face-plant, and am pleasantly surprised when Hemmi breaks my fall by anchoring me with a stronghold on my elbow.
“Careful,” she says, sounding worried.
“Fast reflexes,” I mumble, side-eyeing her with curiosity and noting how in shape she is.
“Years of practice,” she conveys, sending me a halfhearted smile.
When we hit the room and drop their load on their beds, Mera’s had enough and snaps, “Cut the crap. Who are you two, because you’re not who you’re trying to appear as being? Do you work for her brothers?” she asks, pointing in my direction.
“No.” Hemmi sighs, but Charlee, she has an amused smirk on her face.
Charlee nearly drops me to my knees with her next admittance. “But we are here because of your brothers, just not in the way you’re presuming.”
“Explain,” Mera hisses, her fists digging into the divots of her hips.
“You want the truth?” Charlee inquires.
“Nothing but,” I gasp out.
“The whole truth,” Mera adds to my request.
“Is it safe to explain? Here, I mean. No ears can hear what we have to say?” Hemmi probes.
“This is a safe haven,” I explain. “Our privacy isn’t invaded here.”
“We hope,” Mera expands, blowing out a heated breath.
“That’s not good enough. Follow me,” Charlee directs, leading us into the bathroom and turning on the sink faucet where it spits and sputters before a steady stream begins flowing. She reaches over and turns the dials on the shower, causing it to rain down with water. “Sorry, Pops,” she says, confusing me more.
Is that a metaphorical apology?
Who the hell is Pops?
I’ve studied deities of all kinds, and that’s one I’ve never heard before.
That confusion quickly dissipates when she starts explaining.
Julius
Even with theaudio breaking up here and there, with a little fine-tuned tweaking, Country has managed to get it to the point where we’re catching more of the conversation than what we were. A word here and there cuts out, but we’ve gotten the gist of things. So far, there is no danger toward our girls.
We listen to them be introduced to our gem, hit the laundry facility for bedding, gathering clothing and bathroom necessities. Finally, they’re hitting the bedroom where hopefully, they keep up with their cover story and gain the trust of the woman we need on our side.
