Page 61 of Shamed
I wonder what she’d think about me reconnecting with Jayne. I know Mom wouldn’t think twice about me fighting off those men for her the other night, but would she question my motives? Would she think it’s weird that I feel the need to help Jayne, or would she be justified in her thinking?
After a while, I say goodbye, then drop by the women’s shelter on my way home to check if there are any newcomers who’d like to come for a class, all while thinking about my mom’s words.
*~*~*~*~*
Once I’m back home, I walk into the kitchen to get started on pulling out ingredients but then pause, gripping the edge of the counter while staring aimlessly over it into the living room.
It’s true that my apartment is quiet and . . . empty. Christmas is coming up, and I won’t have a tree or any decorations up because I figure there’s no point if no one else is going to see. I’ll go spend some time with Mom on Christmas day, but that’s about it for the holidays.
But would I call myself lonely? I’m usually too busy to think about it.
I guess that’s not entirely true. It’s at those times that I find myself texting Neil or calling Mom.
And she knows that.
Shaking my head, I pull out my phone, but instead of texting anyone, I put some music on to fill the quiet and try to clear away some of these unwanted thoughts, then it’s back to making dinner.
Several hours later, after eating and showering, I’m lying on my bed, plucking the strings of my guitar while thoughts of Jayne float into my mind. I should just leave her alone. Shedoesn’t want or need someone like me in her life. And as she said, she’s been getting by without me all this time.
But getting by isn’t living; it’s surviving. And sometimes you can be in survival mode for so long that you don’t even realize it until someone lifts some of the burden and you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.
Plus, just thinking of the trip she makes home after work each night, and the possibility of more men, like the one who was kicked out of the club, following her or attempting something has me wrapping my hand around the neck of my guitar.
No. I can’t fucking let that happen.
So, instead of being in bed at one a.m., fast asleep, I’m drinking a coffee, getting ready to head back to the club to wait for Jayne to finish.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jennifer
It turned out not to be a one-time thing. For the past ten days, besides my night off, Mase has walked a short distance behind me, making sure I get home safely after work.
At first, I protested, but he just folded his arms and acted like I was the one being ridiculous, then waited for me to keep walking before he would movean inch.
He never asked me for anything in return, but after a week, I brought him another cookie as a pathetic thank you, handing it to him without a word.
I’ve been baking way too many cookies lately, and I’ve taken several batches to the homeless shelters closest to me.
I’ve been aware of Mase’s presence with every step I’ve taken, and I can’t seem to ignore him, even though I’ve tried. He hasn’t even attempted to start any conversations, yet my mind stays on alert, like it’s waiting to hear his voice.
He’s just always . . . there, like a handsome, muscular bodyguard.
It has been an equal amount of torture and comfort for me, knowing he’s ready to step in if I need him, even if I don’t deserve it.
And his presence doesn’t end when I’m inside my apartment, either. I’ve looked through my peephole and have seen him sitting at the bottom of my steps, scrolling on his phone for about twenty minutes before he leaves.
I don’t understand why he insists on doing it, but I don’t sense any nefarious reason.
Leaning over the counter, I peek out my kitchen window, watching as more snowflakes fall. Tonight was significantly colder than it has been, and it was snowing from the moment I—well,we—left work.
Chewing on my lip, I walk back to my front door to look through the hole again. Mase is sitting at the bottom of the steps, leaning back on his elbows while looking up at the sky as flakes fall around him.
What usually is a dark and secluded-looking set of stairs along the side of the building is now brightened by the snow.
I arrived home a few minutes ago, and part of me was hoping he would leave right away because of the decrease in temperature and increase in snow. No such luck.
Pulling back from the door, my lips thin as I contemplate. It doesn’t feel right to leave him out there in the frigid air like that, especially at this time of the morning, when he’s only here for me.
