when the day met the night

Ben didn't mean to run into it, but sometimes brains did stupid things and people ended up slumped over larger-than-average, big, brick mailboxes wondering just exactly how everything in their life led up to that one exact moment.

It shouldn't have happened in the first place. He ran the same route every day, never deviating from his allotted five mile path. He passed the same houses, pounded the same pavement, and stuck to routine. Always routine.

Then he saw this girl.

Ben couldn't help but stare as he passed. She did something to his brain and he just couldn't stop, hence the reason he didn't see the mailbox. Ben had been referred to as a bulldozer of a man in passing once, but apparently the title didn't mean much considering he plowed into the mailbox like a bull and it was still standing. It mocked him as he peered up at it, and all its red brickish glory, from his new seat on the pavement.

This was definitely not routine.

Something wet trickled down his face as he caught his breath, the untimely slamming of his diaphragm knocked the wind out of him.

He removed his hand from his forehead as the reason behind this incident came running up from where she was gardening in the front yard.

"Oh my god you're bleeding." A British lilt struck him further into a stupor.

Ah yes, that was indeed blood that was running down his face wasn't it? Surprisingly, the fact that the whole right side of his face was lit up like the fiery inferno of an active volcano with no intent on calming didn't matter because of the woman standing in front of him. There was a worried crease between her forehead as she gently knelled down and helped him sit up. He regained the use of his lungs only to have his breath stolen away again, this time by hazel eyes and freckles.

He grunted slightly as she raised her hands to his bloody wound, inspecting it lightly. "You're going to need stitches."

Ben moved to stand up, not wanting to impose any more than he already had, which was a lot considering he was now bleeding on her perfectly manicured lawn.

"I'm sure I'll be okay," He said. Ben surely didn't feel okay by any means, but this woman didn't need to know that.

"Bloody hell, don't be stubborn. You probably have a concussion, and I really don't want to call a mortician because you bled out on my lawn. I'd have to call your family, it'd be a whole mess and one I don't want to deal with so you're coming with me." During her monologue she drug him by the arm to an old, blue Volkswagen bug. She turned around and gave him a once over before adding, "lets hope you fit in my car."

The ride to the urgent care center was fuzzy at best, but a car ride Ben knew he would remember.

"So," the problematic woman said as she backed out of her driveway. "I'm Rey. Considering I'll be your caretaker for the day I feel I have the right to know a first name."