Because of You

~ Chapter One ~

"Don't you think you're being a bit melodramatic, George? It's not like I actually died."

The timing of her statement was unfortunately perfect for George O'Rourke. He was sitting down in his chair and taking a sip of his newly poured coffee just as she uttered her reassurance, but instead of making him feel better the surprise of what she said sent the hot liquid down his airway and pushed him into a fit of coughing that ended with a noticeable stain on his shirt and a string of curse words hanging in the air.

"For god's sake, Tulip!" He wiped his mouth with the back of his now dirty shirt and went to take a second sip of his drink but thought better of it with the cup halfway to his lips and set it aside.

"I just need to be a bit more careful," she continued, doing her best to speak around the hoarseness still lingering in her throat. "You know how distracted I get when I'm working on an idea. I was thinking about a new recipe for my menu, and I didn't see the guy, that's all."

Tulip smiled brightly, trying her hand a second time at assuaging the older man's concerns. She had forgotten just how bad the split in her lip was though, and a sharp rending of skin made her wince and her eyes momentarily well with tears.

George noticed her discomfort immediately.

"Lip a bit sore?"

She ran her tongue across the newly broken scab and then dabbed at it with her finger to make sure it wasn't bleeding.

"It's not too bad," she said absentmindedly.

"Uh huh. And how's the black eye?" She reached up to touch the bruised area, but before she could say anything he pressed on. "The wrist? And the ribs? Your neck must have gotten quite the squeeze considering you sound like you suddenly picked up chain-smoking as a hobby."

She sighed and gently crossed her arms in front of herself, careful of her bandaged wrist and the tender ribs he spoke of. "I get the point, George."

"Do you?" he countered fiercely. "You're attacked by some thug—"

"You don't know that."

He dipped back into his old-fashioned studded office chair and mimicked her own posture as the comfortable squeaking of leather welcomed him.

"Fine. Let's entertain your theory again. You want to believe a strung-out drug addict happened upon you because you were daydreaming about some amuse bouche for your restaurant's new menu. He grabs you and drags you into an alleyway then takes you to the ground as you're trying to fight him off, yes?"

When her only answer was open-mouthed silence he continued. "He kicks you while you're down, climbs on top of you, knocks you silly, and then chokes the shit out of you."

"George..."

"No, no!" he said, and held up a hand. "You can't stop me now. I'm just getting to the good part. You pass out because you're being strangled – possibly to death, but we're leaving that up for debate – and miraculously you wake up alone in the alley. A good journalist would deduce that your drug addict heard someone coming and had to leave before he could finish the job."

Tulip again opened her mouth to speak but George's greying and overly bushy raised brow made her quickly close it again. "By coincidence I have been a journalist – and a damn good one I might add – for nearly forty years, so I should naturally deduce the same.

"Now, where were we?" He snapped his fingers as if he had somehow forgotten and then swiftly regained his train of thought. "You come to, but your purse is dumped out – clearly someone looking to rob you for drug money, right?"