Attention, Attention.
Saving Everything.
{A//N} Chapter 6 really was the last one since no bitches commented in time for the original author's spotlight preferences. This little stretch of words and every slice of story henceforth are courtesy of your one and onlyghost.
He'd played that song with so much heart. The chords ribboned and soared beneath and around the words that spelled out exactly how he felt... his feelings for me. It wasn't until he had disappeared did I realize how much I was hurting him. It wasn't until I lifted my head from the steering wheel (and wiped my quickly reddening eyes with my sleeve) did I realize how much I was hurting myself.
Before I knew it I was out of my car and breaking into a near-sprint after him. To my surprise he wasn't as far from the building as I thought he was. I slowed down, but not soon enough; he already heard me.
"Kellee?" He asked, turning on his heel to face me. It must have been really damn cold, because his voice was choked up and hoarse.
"Yeah," I breathed. "Its me."
I rubbed my eyes in a final attempt to hide the fact that I'd been crying that hard, and slowly walked alongside him. I broke the awkward silence before it ever had a chance.
"You played really great tonight, Will. That song was beau-" my voice cracked audibly. "Beautiful. It was good. Great, it was nice. I liked it. Loved it, actually. It was-"
"Have you been crying?" He interrupted. I cautiously looked at him in the corner of my eye. He was staring at my face, studying me with wild concern. I spluttered a laugh that was mingled with a sob.
" 'Course not! I'm fine. Never been--"
"Tell me the truth." He said, softly but firmly. I looked up at him and caught his gaze before I quickly averted my eyes to the pavement. I let out a thin, shuddering breath just as I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Look, its cold. How about we get some hot chocolate and warm up?"
"My car--" I protested.
"Don't worry about it," he said, waving away what he must've thought was the worry floating above my head. "There's a diner two blocks down. Really. My treat."
The diner was deserted save for a few guys seated at the bar, looking as if they were desperately trying to piece their lives together over steaming beverages and warm, promising desserts. Or maybe they'd just had a rough day at the office. I vaguely wondered why I was so dramatic. A waitress suddenly appeared from a particularly filthy booth and hurried past the bar, plain eager to get into the kitchen. I wasn't far enough so that I couldn't read her name tag - "Janet", it said. She was balancing at least twenty dishes and six mugs on a long, black tray, but she handled herself so skillfully that I wondered how long she'd been working in the food industry for. She didn't look a day over seventeen. Without warning, the girl slammed to the floor. The tray clattered violently even over the sound of dishes crashing and glass shattering. A woman shrieked a few booths behind me. The girl quickly got to her feet, swearing under her breath and wringing her wrists, running her eyes back and forth between them. I gasped when I saw the blood, thick and dripping from her fingers, pooling in the palms of her hands. Shards of thin, white china- the remnants of a dessert dish- were embedded there in her skin, poking straight out for everyone to see. I closed my eyes and looked away when I saw what I thought was melted chocolate coating the pieces of broken dish in her hands, mixing with that blood.
A rather large woman burst from the kitchen, ignoring the doors that swung back violently (almost knocking the cook's lights out). She wore the same checkered uniform that the young waitress was wearing, only the woman's apron was faded black instead of pale pink.
"What the fu-" She was fuming. "What the hell happened, girl? What a damn hot mess!"
The girl was too shocked to look anywhere but at her hands...her terribly gored hands. The place was dead silent except for a couple of men at the bar who were snickering.
"I...I...." the girl stuttered. Her voice quivered, as though a gentle shake would break it forever. The large woman seemed too pissed for words.
"Fired." She said, raising her voice to a barely controlled shout. "Fired. FIRED! Don't bother cleaning this up. Ima get someone on it. You jest git your pritty ass outta here afore I call the cops." The girl began to shake on the spot.
"Wh...where....?" She choked out. Nearing her face threateningly to the girl's, the woman shouted.
"Do I look like I care?! Git to a damn hospital! Git out of my diner!" She looked her up and down in disgust. "Gonna git bluhd all ova my clean floors. Least they WAS clean, 'fore the likes of your clumsy ass done spilt this hot mess on it and done broke my dishes. Whatcha starin' at, girl? Ghost 'o Christmas past?! GIT OUT!!!"
Her hands held out helplessly in front of her, the girl turned to leave. One of the men at the bar tugged on the rim of her skirt, letting his fingers brisk her thigh intentionally. She stared back at him and he chuckled. His buddy winked at her.
"Now wait a second," William said. The sound of his voice surprised me so much I jumped a little. I felt like I'd been watching a gawd damned movie. "Manager?" He called out. The large woman turned on one leg, her face redder than a tomato and probably as hot as a chili pepper.
"Can I help you?" She barked. Her agitation wasn't very well hidden. William pointed casually at the man who had touched the girl's skirt, not taking his eyes off the manager for a moment.
"That guy tripped her. I saw it. This wasn't her fault."
"I thank you for your concern, young man, but this is hardly--"
"I saw it, too," piped up a teenage boy with a thick New York accent from another booth. "That wise guy tripped her, and they was laughin' about it like it was nothin'. I saw it all with the eyes in my skull. He even felt her up when she tried to leave."
The men at the bar were silent. The manager stared between William, me, the boy, the men at the bar, and the girl shuddering as her own blood dried on her arms. Finally her gaze settled on the men at the bar.
"You best be gettin' outta here," she growled, "Or else when I call that hospital to tell 'em I got a hurt girl on my hands, Ima tell em to send over cops too. Don't you come back here neither. If I see you 'round here again, I will call the police." She pronounced the last words distinctly, as if to sink her message in. The two men glanced at each other and began to mutter amongst themselves quietly, cursing. They got up and the shorter one smacked a ten dollar bill down beside the check and their cleaned plates. He shot the manager a vicious look and then they were gone. The manager mumbled about calling the hospital and rushed into the kitchen. I found my voice.
"Janet?"
"Yeah?" She whispered. "How do you know my name?" I smiled in spite of the circumstances.
"Your name tag."
"Oh." She glanced down. I noticed her arms were shaking harder than the rest of her.
"Do you mind if I take a look?" I jokingly assured her I played doctor all the time when I was in elementary school. "Its not as bad as it looks," I lied. "I would apply pressure to stop the bleeding, but it looks like the china is stopping most of it. I don't think we should mess with it...you know, try and pull anything out, because it could really hurt you. You'll be okay. The ambulance will be here soon."
I amazed myself with how smoothly I was talking. Her injuries weren't fatal, but they weren't pretty to look at. Inside, I was throwing up from having to look at that gore.
"Thanks, I...I hope I'll be okay....so it means a lot that you...thanks." She smiled weakly. Her sparkling blue eyes were lost in exhausted eye sockets- the outline of her skull was very clear. I wondered how long she'd been working that night.
The ambulance came and took the girl- Janet. I wouldn't let her go with them until I was assured that she would be okay. The medic said that by the looks of things, she would need surgery to make sure all of the debris was completely out of her flesh. By some miracle, no tendons had been severed. She would be returning home with both her hands.
"Are you okay, Kellee?" William asked curiously as we began the short walk back to my car. I slurped on my hot chocolate, nice and hot in my Styrofoam cup. He had some sort of frappa-mocha-whatever in his.
"Yeah," I responded truthfully, wide awake. "Why do you ask?"
"You hardly touched your apple pie."
He'd played that song with so much heart. The chords ribboned and soared beneath and around the words that spelled out exactly how he felt... his feelings for me. It wasn't until he had disappeared did I realize how much I was hurting him. It wasn't until I lifted my head from the steering wheel (and wiped my quickly reddening eyes with my sleeve) did I realize how much I was hurting myself.
Before I knew it I was out of my car and breaking into a near-sprint after him. To my surprise he wasn't as far from the building as I thought he was. I slowed down, but not soon enough; he already heard me.
"Kellee?" He asked, turning on his heel to face me. It must have been really damn cold, because his voice was choked up and hoarse.
"Yeah," I breathed. "Its me."
I rubbed my eyes in a final attempt to hide the fact that I'd been crying that hard, and slowly walked alongside him. I broke the awkward silence before it ever had a chance.
"You played really great tonight, Will. That song was beau-" my voice cracked audibly. "Beautiful. It was good. Great, it was nice. I liked it. Loved it, actually. It was-"
"Have you been crying?" He interrupted. I cautiously looked at him in the corner of my eye. He was staring at my face, studying me with wild concern. I spluttered a laugh that was mingled with a sob.
" 'Course not! I'm fine. Never been--"
"Tell me the truth." He said, softly but firmly. I looked up at him and caught his gaze before I quickly averted my eyes to the pavement. I let out a thin, shuddering breath just as I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Look, its cold. How about we get some hot chocolate and warm up?"
"My car--" I protested.
"Don't worry about it," he said, waving away what he must've thought was the worry floating above my head. "There's a diner two blocks down. Really. My treat."
The diner was deserted save for a few guys seated at the bar, looking as if they were desperately trying to piece their lives together over steaming beverages and warm, promising desserts. Or maybe they'd just had a rough day at the office. I vaguely wondered why I was so dramatic. A waitress suddenly appeared from a particularly filthy booth and hurried past the bar, plain eager to get into the kitchen. I wasn't far enough so that I couldn't read her name tag - "Janet", it said. She was balancing at least twenty dishes and six mugs on a long, black tray, but she handled herself so skillfully that I wondered how long she'd been working in the food industry for. She didn't look a day over seventeen. Without warning, the girl slammed to the floor. The tray clattered violently even over the sound of dishes crashing and glass shattering. A woman shrieked a few booths behind me. The girl quickly got to her feet, swearing under her breath and wringing her wrists, running her eyes back and forth between them. I gasped when I saw the blood, thick and dripping from her fingers, pooling in the palms of her hands. Shards of thin, white china- the remnants of a dessert dish- were embedded there in her skin, poking straight out for everyone to see. I closed my eyes and looked away when I saw what I thought was melted chocolate coating the pieces of broken dish in her hands, mixing with that blood.
A rather large woman burst from the kitchen, ignoring the doors that swung back violently (almost knocking the cook's lights out). She wore the same checkered uniform that the young waitress was wearing, only the woman's apron was faded black instead of pale pink.
"What the fu-" She was fuming. "What the hell happened, girl? What a damn hot mess!"
The girl was too shocked to look anywhere but at her hands...her terribly gored hands. The place was dead silent except for a couple of men at the bar who were snickering.
"I...I...." the girl stuttered. Her voice quivered, as though a gentle shake would break it forever. The large woman seemed too pissed for words.
"Fired." She said, raising her voice to a barely controlled shout. "Fired. FIRED! Don't bother cleaning this up. Ima get someone on it. You jest git your pritty ass outta here afore I call the cops." The girl began to shake on the spot.
"Wh...where....?" She choked out. Nearing her face threateningly to the girl's, the woman shouted.
"Do I look like I care?! Git to a damn hospital! Git out of my diner!" She looked her up and down in disgust. "Gonna git bluhd all ova my clean floors. Least they WAS clean, 'fore the likes of your clumsy ass done spilt this hot mess on it and done broke my dishes. Whatcha starin' at, girl? Ghost 'o Christmas past?! GIT OUT!!!"
Her hands held out helplessly in front of her, the girl turned to leave. One of the men at the bar tugged on the rim of her skirt, letting his fingers brisk her thigh intentionally. She stared back at him and he chuckled. His buddy winked at her.
"Now wait a second," William said. The sound of his voice surprised me so much I jumped a little. I felt like I'd been watching a gawd damned movie. "Manager?" He called out. The large woman turned on one leg, her face redder than a tomato and probably as hot as a chili pepper.
"Can I help you?" She barked. Her agitation wasn't very well hidden. William pointed casually at the man who had touched the girl's skirt, not taking his eyes off the manager for a moment.
"That guy tripped her. I saw it. This wasn't her fault."
"I thank you for your concern, young man, but this is hardly--"
"I saw it, too," piped up a teenage boy with a thick New York accent from another booth. "That wise guy tripped her, and they was laughin' about it like it was nothin'. I saw it all with the eyes in my skull. He even felt her up when she tried to leave."
The men at the bar were silent. The manager stared between William, me, the boy, the men at the bar, and the girl shuddering as her own blood dried on her arms. Finally her gaze settled on the men at the bar.
"You best be gettin' outta here," she growled, "Or else when I call that hospital to tell 'em I got a hurt girl on my hands, Ima tell em to send over cops too. Don't you come back here neither. If I see you 'round here again, I will call the police." She pronounced the last words distinctly, as if to sink her message in. The two men glanced at each other and began to mutter amongst themselves quietly, cursing. They got up and the shorter one smacked a ten dollar bill down beside the check and their cleaned plates. He shot the manager a vicious look and then they were gone. The manager mumbled about calling the hospital and rushed into the kitchen. I found my voice.
"Janet?"
"Yeah?" She whispered. "How do you know my name?" I smiled in spite of the circumstances.
"Your name tag."
"Oh." She glanced down. I noticed her arms were shaking harder than the rest of her.
"Do you mind if I take a look?" I jokingly assured her I played doctor all the time when I was in elementary school. "Its not as bad as it looks," I lied. "I would apply pressure to stop the bleeding, but it looks like the china is stopping most of it. I don't think we should mess with it...you know, try and pull anything out, because it could really hurt you. You'll be okay. The ambulance will be here soon."
I amazed myself with how smoothly I was talking. Her injuries weren't fatal, but they weren't pretty to look at. Inside, I was throwing up from having to look at that gore.
"Thanks, I...I hope I'll be okay....so it means a lot that you...thanks." She smiled weakly. Her sparkling blue eyes were lost in exhausted eye sockets- the outline of her skull was very clear. I wondered how long she'd been working that night.
The ambulance came and took the girl- Janet. I wouldn't let her go with them until I was assured that she would be okay. The medic said that by the looks of things, she would need surgery to make sure all of the debris was completely out of her flesh. By some miracle, no tendons had been severed. She would be returning home with both her hands.
"Are you okay, Kellee?" William asked curiously as we began the short walk back to my car. I slurped on my hot chocolate, nice and hot in my Styrofoam cup. He had some sort of frappa-mocha-whatever in his.
"Yeah," I responded truthfully, wide awake. "Why do you ask?"
"You hardly touched your apple pie."