Dangerous black ties

Someone had to

The door was knocked on softly.

"Come in," I say in response.

Jermery comes back with a small cup and a bigger one filled with water.

"It's something a little stronger; your plain Tylenol isn't going to help with your broken arm and ribs," Jermery says to me, slightly clearing his throat as if trying to not upset me.

I softly take the small cup from his hand. The broken arm was wrapped tightly.

Dropping the pills in my mouth and sitting it on the bed, grabbing the other glass of water.

The coldness of the water eased the dryness of my mouth. I swallow it and take a few more drinks before Mr. Greyson comes back holding a bag of clothes.

"Here I had my Cecilia sister bring them over; she's about your size." He says, setting down the bag on the edge of the bed.

"Not that I'm not appreciative of everything, but I was kind of wondering who changed me?" I ask carefully so as not to be offending.

"My sister did; she saw how bad off you are and how you were covered in blood; she didn't want it to frighten you." Mr. Greyson says, running his hands through his hair.

"Oh, okay. Well, I'll have to tell her thank you," I say, gesturing to the clothes and glancing down at the gown.

"She should be over here later today if you want to talk to her." He says, glancing at his watch.

"Alright, I'd like that," I say with a smile.

"Here in a week, you are going to need a cast for your arm," Jeremy states.

"Is that necessary? I'm sure I'll be fine in a couple of weeks." I say, looking at him.

"Meredith, your version of fine needs to be reevaluated," Jeremy says with slight agitation.

My facial expression must have reflected my emotion of being offended and hurt.

He sighs.

"Meredith, I am a doctor; I've seen your x-rays. They show tears of abuse. Years. Many old broken bones. All in different stages of healing. Your arm hasn't even been broken just one time. You have had your clavicle broken two times before. Your ribs don't even get me started. So when you keep saying I'm fine, I have a hard time believing you." Jermery says.

"I've always been fine. I'm alive." I say taken back by his words. Slight defensiveness was laced in my tone.

"Just being alive shouldn't be classified as fine." I hear from the doorway.

I glance up at Dexter.

He leans against the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest, holding my file in his hand.

Once my eyes meet his, he says, "Because this isn't fine." He shouts.

Making me flee back in fear.

He sighs deeply and loudly.

"I didn't mean to frighten you; nobody is going to hurt you anymore. I promise." Dexter says his eyes visibly softening.

Mr. Grayson takes the files from Dexter's hand abruptly.

He takes out an x-ray of my ribs. "See, look. These are recent; all these are old; he points to different ones. All different stages of healing." He says he is trying to get me to fully understand the situation.

I push it away.

"I don't want to see that," I say overrun by emotion.

He puts the X-ray back up in the file and closes it, handing it to Jermery.

Jerry walks to the door. "I'll be back soon to change out your fluids." He says walking out, leaving Dexter and Mr. Grayson.

"Are you hungry?" Mr. Greyson asks me.

I was a bit hungry, but I didn't want to invade.

"I'm-" I started to say before Dexter interrupted me.

"I swear to god if you say I'm fine one more time." He says, looking at me with a pointed look.

"Yeah, I'm hungry," I say cautiously.

Mr. Greyson nods one time in acknowledgment. Before walking out.

Leaving Dexter and I.

I look at Dexter finally absorbing all his looks.

I see his hands bruised and red.

I continue to stare at his knuckles.

He sees me staring.

"I'm not going to apologize for what I did. He isn't dead, but he had it coming. Looking at your file, I think we let him off easy. He didn't suffer nearly as badly as he should have." Dexter says to me as he softly rubs his knuckles with his palm.

"Dexter. You work at an office. You aren't some kind of hitman. Or something. What were you thinking?! He could have hurt you or anyone you brought." I say frustrated.

My dad was a dangerous man; I know that firsthand.

He softly chuckled to himself.

"I was thinking he deserved to have someone beat him as he did you, his daughter," Dexter says as his face shows an emotion I can't quite describe.

"You don't even know me," I say, looking at him defensively.

"I know you well enough for only knowing you 5 days. Besides the point, no man should beat a woman. It's wrong. You couldn't defend yourself, so I helped defend you." He says to me nonchalantly.

"I didn't ask anyone to do that," I state pulling my eyes away from him.

"You didn't have to. Every time I saw more and more bruises on you, I just saw red. I know that Jeremy. And Mr. Greyson felt the same way. I knew I should have prayed more the day I saw those bruises on your back, but I didn't. Especially because the day before you were grabbing your broken ribs. Or even if you spoke horse, your dad probably choked you. Now you have a broken arm. I knew something was going wrong." He says to me defensively back.

He just sighs.

"I'm not sorry for helping you. Someone had to." He says it in a calm voice.

"How are you feeling though? You look like you are feeling better." He asked me, halving over me.

"Much better. Do you mind leaving for a minute so I can get dressed?" I ask him, looking at the bag of clothes on the bed.