Second Chance

I was surprised when I realised that the taxi had been directed to take us back to a hotel. And it wasn't just any hotel - it was the Four Seasons, a place that I had passed many times but could never have afforded to stay in myself. I couldn't help but chance a glance at Zacky as he paid the cab driver; he didn't look like a wealthy businessman, and yet he apparently had all of this money that he could throw away on making taxi drivers wait and staying in luxury hotels. My mind raced.

He took my bag from me and beckoned for me to follow him inside. I did so reluctantly, beginning to wonder if perhaps I would have been safer sleeping on Stacey's doorstep for the night. Still, being inside the hotel would give me people to run to if the need came up. And so I followed him in, taking the time to look around at the place that I knew I would never again have the chance to step inside.

Even the lobby was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. The floor was a mosaic pattern of browns and greys, setting the dress code for the rest of the room. The furniture - squared off chairs and the occasional rounded sofa - were strategically placed around the room, all in matching shades of beige with chocolate brown cushions; rounded coffee tables separated the chairs, looking as if they were made of the palest white marble; my eyes travelled over to the service counters, all a dark granite; behind them, wooden paneled walls held glass-encased fountains. It was almost like watching a constant downpour of rain, only somehow more tranquil. I had never seen anything like it.

I had to blink a few times before I realised that Zacky was waving a hand in front of my face.

"You alright there?" he asked, the concern back in his voice. "You look like you're going into shock or something."

"This place," I gushed, "is even better than I ever imagined."

"You've never been in here?"

"No," I admitted, unashamed. "I could never afford to stay in a place like this."

Well-dressed receptionists - two, despite the early hour of the morning - watched us from across the lobby. They didn't bother trying to hide the baffled looks on their faces, obviously having followed the same line of thought that I had when I realised that somebody like Zacky - tattooed, pierced and looking like he was part of a violent gang - could be staying in such a high-class place. Unlike them, however, I knew him enough to know that he was nice. At least for now.

"Well, today's your lucky day," he told me. "We'll still be here for a few hours before we have to check out."

He put an arm around my shoulders, steering me towards the elevators as I continued to take in my surroundings. I couldn't get enough of the room. I was almost going to be sad to leave it behind, until I was struck by an idea. If this was the lobby, I could hardly imagine what the rooms were going to be like.

The elevator took us up several floors. I didn't bother taking notice of how many, too excited to see more of the glorious building. When at last there was a small ding and the doors slid open, I fixed my eyes on a hallway. It was nothing spectacular - just soft brown carpet, chocolate coloured walls with matching doors, but somehow it still managed to look dazzling. We walked on down it, Zacky pulling a key card out from the back pocket of his jeans as he walked.

We stopped in front of one of the many doors. I watched Zacky unlock it and push it open before gesturing for me to enter. I walked in silently, my eyes already beginning to take things in. I hadn't had a chance to really absorb much of the room before he shut the door behind us, and somebody came running into my line of sight.

Even if I had been expecting to see somebody else in the room, nothing could have prepared me for this man. He dressed much the same as Zacky - faded jeans ripped at both knees were his choice of bottoms; I was almost surprised to see that his shirt was white, though the design more than made up for the lack of dark colour. These observations took less than a second before my eyes were flicking up to his face as he began yelling.

"Dude, where the fuck have you be-?!"

He cut himself off when he realised that Zacky wasn't alone. Wide hazel eyes landed on me. Likewise, my eyes were fixed on him. Like Zacky, he wore make-up. His was mostly black, running down his cheeks in lines. It went well with his hair, I thought - shoulder-length, black and messy.

"Who the hell is she," he spoke again, "and what the fuck happened to her face?"

With a sudden jolt of self-consciousness, I remembered that my face was sporting a very big, most likely painful looking bruise. It had slipped my mind the moment I had realised where we were. It occurred to me now that the receptionists in the lobby had been directing some of their looks toward myself. I could only imagine what they must have believed was going on.

"I can explain," Zacky assured him quickly. He took hold of my arm and half led, half dragged me over to one of two large, white beds in the room. "Sit."

I did as I was instructed, keeping my eyes on the stranger. He did the same with me, not removing his gaze until Zacky demanded his attention.

"This is Abigael," he introduced me, setting my bag down by the foot of the bed. "I found her in the alley beside the bar."

"So you decided you'd just run off with her?!" I found myself backing away from the yelling man. "You couldn't have said something to one of us first?! We looked everywhere for you, man! And what the fuck is with you not answering your phone?! We were freaking the fuck out! Then when we realised you weren't here eith-"

"Will you give me a minute to explain?!"

Silence filled the room as the two friends stared each other down. It took a moment, but eventually the friend gave a short nod and sat himself down on the other bed, directly across from me. He looked up at Zacky expectantly.

"She was being attacked," Zacky went on. "I couldn't just leave her. I called an ambulance and went with her to the hospital. I turned my phone off while we were there, and I must've forgotten to turn it back on. Sorry. You know I'd never deliberately ignore your calls."

"You still should have called to let us know what was going on," his friend growled, "but I suppose we can forgive you. But what's with bringing her back here? You didn't think to take her home?"

"Of course I did! But it's not safe for her there. Her father's the one that beat her up."

"So report him to the police. Why's she here?"

"She was gonna stay at her friend's place, but there was nobody home when we went there. So she's gonna hang with us until I can take her back there."

The man raised an eyebrow, an incredulous look crossing his face.

"You're kidding, right? We have to be on a plane in," he shot a glance at an alarm clock on the desk beside his bed, "less than four hours."

"A plane?" I repeated, speaking for the first time since entering the room. Both men turned their attention to me. I directed my words to Zacky. "You didn't say anything about a plane!"

"We have to be in Adelaide tonight," he informed me. "That's why I said you'd be saying with me a few days. We have the day off tomorrow - I can bring you back here then."

In my sixteen years of life, I had never once left Sydney. Thinking of doing it for the first time now with somebody that I hardly knew was a daunting thought.

"Security won't allow it," was the next thing I heard. "You shouldn't even have brought her here. Seriously, just call the police. They'll deal with her. We don't have time for this right now."

"We're gonna make time for it."

I watched on as the two men stared at each other again, neither of them speaking for several minutes. I took this time to take in the rest of the room, done in the same shades of brown and beige that had made up the lobby. It was probably half the size of my house, though I could comfortably have lived here - a huge, flat-screened TV could be found at one the opposite end of the room, adjacent to a decently sized window looking out at Sydney Harbour.

"Where are you going?"

I looked back at the two men, noticing for the first time that Zacky's friend had stood and was heading for the door. He glanced around at the sound of Zacky's question.

"Going to get Matt," he replied shortly, pulling the door open. "He can figure this out."

Zacky sighed as the man left the room. I looked back at him, unable to shake the feelings of sympathy and guilt that had come over me. I was doing nothing but causing him trouble, and it was a very poor way to repay him for all that he'd done for me.

"I should go," I said. "Please. I don't want to be a nuisance."

"You're not. And you're not going anywhere. Not by yourself."

There was a finality in his tone that stopped me from arguing. I directed my gaze back to the window, back to the harbour. I looked out at the bridge, just coming into view in the morning light. Headlights raced back and forth along the bottom, people commuting from one side to the other. I watched them with little interest.

"You look tired," Zacky observed.

"It's been a long night," I agreed. "You must feel worse. At least I passed out for a while."

"Eh. I'm used to not getting much sleep."

He flexed his fingers. I heard his knuckles crack and couldn't suppress a shudder.

"Cold?"

"No. Your jacket's making sure of that." He grinned, seemingly pleased by this. "I just hate the sound of cracking knuckles."

"Sorry. I'll try not to do it again."

The door opened again, and we both turned out attention to it. Zacky's friend returned, followed by not one, but three other men. I felt a surge of panic at the sight of them all. They were a gang. They had to be.

"Don't be fooled by all the tattoos and piercings," Zacky chuckled, catching sight of my expression. "They're great guys. I promise."

I forced a small smile, not sure how much I could trust him on this one.

The tallest of their number stepped forward. No doubt, he was their leader. His biceps were huge, every inch of them covered in ink. A black and white bandana adorned his head, masking most of his dark hair. The way that his faded black shirt clung to his upper torso told me that underneath it he was as buff as his arms promised. A part of me was screaming that I should be running, but his eyes told a different story as he smiled and offered me his hand to shake. I hesitated a second before doing just that.

"I'm Matt Sanders."

"Abigael Williams."

"So your father beats you, huh?" he asked gently, nodding at the bruise on my face.

"Yes, sir," I replied, swallowing hard under his gaze.

"Do you have any other family you can go to?"

"No." I didn't feel that this was a good enough answer, so I continued. "My mother died, and both she and my father were only children. And my grandparents are all dead."

"Friends?" he tried again.

"I took her to her friend's place," Zacky spoke up. "There was nobody home." He lent forward, gaining Matt's full attention. "I don't care if it's just for two minutes - I'm not leaving her on the street alone. Her father's still out there. He might come back to finish the job. C'mon, man. It's not even for two days."

Matt turned his attention back to me. I did my best not to look away, watching on as he assessed me. He kept his mouth firmly shut as he considered something.

"Two days," he finally agreed. He looked over to the three men by the door. "It won't hurt."

I looked over in time to see the friend from before roll his eyes and storm back out of the room; the second tallest of their number, a lankly looking man with a set of handcuffs tattooed around his neck, shot a glance at Matt before following suit and leaving; the third, the shortest of their number, stood awkwardly where he was.

"And you," Matt went on, narrowing his eyes at Zacky. "Do not ever pull a stunt like that again." He was angry - that much I could tell. "We'll talk about it later. Just pack your shit, yeah? We gotta get a move on."

He departed the room, followed by the last of their number. Left alone with Zacky, I felt a lot calmer. But knowing that we wouldn't be alone for long did nothing for my nerves.

It was going to be a very long two days.