Unexpected

Chapter 47

Dane

Ever since Mallory called me this morning, my emotions have bounced from nervous excitement to dread. She wants to have me over for dinner, something we have not done since she requested space. I'd like to think that would be a good omen, but the fact that she wants to talk in private has me worried. She's been impossible to read here lately. She's nice but distant. She said she missed me but has continued to stay away. I'd do something nice for her, and she would respond in kind, but I'm not sure if she would have done anything for me if I hadn't been the one to do something first. 

I've vented my frustration to Liv, who has continued to advise me to be patient. Which is so fucking hard. I wanted to call off working at the gym just to hurry over to her place and stop the torment, but deep down I know I've got to let her do this her way. If I'm too pushy, she might bolt, and I don't want to force her to be with me anyway. I need it to be 100% her choice. God, I pray that is why she requested me to come to dinner. That she wants me back because being so close yet so far away has been torture. Falling in love with her was so unexpected, but to have her walk away before I could even tell her is the worst . . . never knowing what could have been.

I took a quick shower at the gym and put on clean shorts and a tee-shirt. It's all I have on me at the moment, and I hope it will be fine because I really don't want to take the time to go change at my house before going to hers. THAT is how pathetically bad I want to see her. I park in my driveway and jog over to her house. As I'm lifting my hand to ring her doorbell, I hear a male voice from within.

I glance toward her driveway, but only her car is in the carport. This scenario seems like deja Vu from when I came over and found Jonathan at her table. Surely, she's not asking me over to introduce her new boyfriend or something. My heart clinches in my chest. She wouldn't, would she? There's only one way to find out . . .

I turn the doorknob and push the door open easily, but what I see doesn't seem real. Looking across the living room, just past the entry to her kitchen, is a man on the ground. He's bent over on his knees. He must have heard the door open, because he lifts up to look over his shoulder at me, and it is then that I realize he is on top of Mallory. There's blood all over her face . . . She's not moving . . .

The man rushes to get up, but I run full speed and tackle him back to the ground, knocking over a chair in the process. We wrestle for a moment, but I manage to get the upper hand. I punch him once, twice, and the third blow to his face renders him unconscious. I scramble back over to Mallory. It doesn't look like she's breathing.

"Mallory!"

I shake her, causing her head to roll where she's facing away from me. I then see the huge gash along her scalp where blood continues to ooze a dark, sticky red that mats into her hair. I pull my shirt off over my head and apply pressure to the wound. With a trembling hand, I feel for a pulse in her neck. The marks from her attacker's hands are blatantly visible on her too pale skin. But I feel it, a very weak beat that is spaced unnaturally far apart. I grab my cellphone and dial 911.

"Come on, Baby, hang in there." I whisper through my tears.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I . . . I need an ambulance and the police . . . my girlfriend was attacked . . . she's dying . . . please . . . hurry!"