That Last Little Spark

“I won’t be doing anything much before three tomorrow afternoon. Can I come in before that?” Jess asked the woman on the other end of the line, a secretary at the New York City Police Department near the Theater District.

“Is two PM alright?” the woman could be heard shuffling papers around.

“Uh, yeah. Perfect.” she thought before answering, hoping Bam would be long gone on his way back to Pennsylvania by then. Tonight at dinner she would bring up the extended invitation to him, since he had to go back home for more clothes.

After talking to the woman for a few more minutes, Jess closed her phone and turned to find Bam missing. She walked down the hall to find him messing up his hair in the hallway bathroom mirror.

“Who was that?” they asked each other at the same time, staring at each other for a few seconds before breaking off into giggles.

“Ville Valo. He’s in the city tonight. You?” Bam asked.

“Last minute dress fitting.” Jess lied. The less Bam knew about tomorrow, the better...or so she thought, as she walked into her room and closed the door to change.

“Where are we going tonight?” Bam yelled through the door.

“Pietrasanta! It’s this Italian place over on 9th Avenue!” Jess called back. She changed into a dark blue button down top and dark jeans. Looking at the closed door before looking down at her hands, she gently peeled the tape off of the white guaze pads. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the gauze off and looked at her hands. Her palms began to sting when they were exposed to the cold air in her room. She gently traced the crisscrossing cuts on each hand, biting her lip and inwardly commanding herself that she wouldn’t cry.

To distract herself, she stood up and started brushing out her hair, putting on the necessary jewelry and makeup before she opened the door, her hand stinging when she gripped the doorknob.

“Ready?” she smiled when she saw that Bam was still leaning on the door.

“Yeah.” he took her hand, but she winced and pulled it away.

“Are you okay?” he asked and turned to face her.

“Promise me you won’t be angry.” she replied.

“Angry about what?” he asked in confusion.

“Just promise me you won’t get angry.” she repeated.

“I promise I won’t get angry.” he said softly. He watched as she turned her hands over and showed him her palms. Like she had done, he traced the cuts in disbelief.

“How much do they hurt?” he asked.

“Only if I grab something. Like grabbing the doorknob hurt like hell.” she admitted.

“Maybe you should put more gauze on until tomorrow.” he suggested.

“No, they’ll be fine. The doctor used enough medicated gel that I’ll be lucky if the chemical smell is gone by next week.” she assured him with a teasing smile.

“If you’re sure...” he trailed off, still gently tracing the cuts.

“I’m sure.” she slowly intertwined her fingers with his and led him out the door.