Broken Submission

The Intervention

"That...could have gone better."

Derek couldn't help but agree. He'd walked back into the bar area to find Amelia juggling drink orders alone, metaphorically dropping most of them. She gave out the wrong drinks, measured them incorrectly, forgot to charge (even though all she had to do was jot down the member's name and order, everything was done through a tab,) and left some people waiting so long that they ended up just leaving empty handed.

When he'd asked where Tara was, he'd been informed that she left, claiming stomach troubles. Derek had stepped in himself to handle most of the orders. By the end of the evening, they were all tired, frazzled, and short with each other. Amelia had seemingly shut down completely. He'd offered to drive her home, but she'd rebuffed him. He'd watched her leave, a sinking feeling in his gut.

When he questioned Tara about the incident, she'd informed him that she'd started spotting and cramping. Normally not an issue, but for someone almost halfway through their first trimester...

Now, they sat in his office, him on the couch. Tony and Tara were snuggled in a chair, having returned from the ER with instructions to take it easy and see her OBGYN as soon as possible. He was shocked that Tony hadn't demanded that she go home and rest immediately. Apparently he'd tried, but Tara had wanted to talk to Derek first. She felt somewhat responsible for the fiasco.

Derek released a sigh. "I blew that, didn't I?"

"We threw her in the deep end tonight, but I honestly don't know if I've ever seen someone less adept at bartending." She looked amazed. "She can barely make a screwdriver, and that's while looking at the recipe."

She shook her head. "Didn't you ask to see any qualifications?"

He groaned. "It's bartending, and we're hardly a demanding bunch. I figured you'd give her some tips, and then she'd follow the instructions on the backs of the bottles."

"What he means to say," came a voice from the doorway, "is that he was thinking with his dick."

"Thanks Jack." Derek downed the last of his drink, which he had absolutely, 100% poured himself.

Tara and Tony stared at them. "You mean...?" Tony let out a laugh. "Oh wow, this is going to be fun to watch."

Derek squinted at him. "What's everyone's deal with her?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't know man, she's just kinda off. She comes in, does her thing, and is out the door before you can say boo. But hey, if you think you can break through that iron vault she locks between her and the rest of us, more power to you."

Tara shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Derek." She looked around the room like she was trying to find what she wanted to say. "It's just... you tend to take things to heart, and I've seen her, Amelia. When someone gets close, she cuts them off completely. She's really messed up a couple doms. It's like she doesn't care at all for them and how they might feel. I don't think she's a bad person," she said. "But I don't think she's right for you."

Jack leaned against the doorframe. "She's not wrong, man. You're not built for this shit."

Derek stood abruptly, setting his empty glass on the coffee table. "I'm going to head home. Thanks Tara for coming in tonight."

"Yeah, sure." They watched him as he walked out, a troubled look of his face.

Amelia managed to make it through the  front door before she started crying. She fumbled for her car keys. These were frustrated, depressed tears. How had she managed to screw this up so badly? She managed to clamber into her car, almost hitting someone as she pulled through the parking lot.

She stopped at the entrance to the lot. She took deep breaths, trying to still her shaking hands. It was like every mistake she made compounded her nerves until she couldn't handle the simplest tasks. She hadn't missed the confused and disappointed looks that Derek sent her way when he stepped in. This was worse than coming back after being forced to leave. Now, she had left them with this image of her—this blundering, incompetent, embarrassing image of her.

There was no way that Derek was going to let her try again. This had been a trial run, and she'd failed miserably. She pulled into her apartment complex, cheeks stiff with trails of salt. She found the closest space to her building and parked her car. Most women would sit there and clean themselves up in the rear view mirror. Maybe rifle through their purse. She knew better.

With efficient, practiced movements, Amelia scanned the parking lot before stepping out. She headed straight for the stairs leading to her apartment. A can of mace was in her hand. She saw people all the time, walking around, noses in their phones, completely oblivious. Those people were idiots. Victims. The safest you could be was when you acted like the world was trying to kill you. Because more often than not, it was.

When Amelia opened her door, it was here nose that warned her that something was wrong. Her eyes darted around the room, coming to land in the kitchen. Something red...

Carnations. Her kitchen had been heaped in the flowers. Amelia's heart stuttered at the sight, and she froze. Her breathing quickened, and she forced her gaze away. She took a step inside, trying to pierce the shadows with her eyes. Damn electricity. She pulled out her phone without taking her eyes off the room and turned on the flashlight.

The apartment was empty. She searched every room, every closet, every cupboard. At last, she returned to the door and bolted it with the new lock Derek had installed. She'd have refused him, except for the fact that he did break the existing one. There went her deposit though.

Taking a deep breath and finally dropping the arm that held her mace, Amelia stared at the flowers. They were bright, crisp. Homegrown, undoubtedly. The sickly sweet scent leaked into the stale air. She swallowed, not bothering to try and calm her shaking hands. It was finally happening. He'd found her.