TANK

2 (plot)

Face to face with the stranger, able to see clearly, it dawns on me, exactly how massive this guy is. He towers over me by at least a foot, shoulders completely filling the doorframe. One of his hands rests on the door frame near my head.

He's paused in, what I assume to be, surprise. I take a step back, the fluttering nervousness in the pit of my stomach expanding rapidly. "I-" I manage to stammer, "I-I was just about to leave, I promise I'll return your clothes I just thought it would be..." my voice tapers off as the stranger remains mostly unresponsive. He nods slowly, once, but doesn't move from blocking the door. "I understand if you need to leave, and I will help you, but," he pauses. "I seriously don't recommend it." He looks over his shoulder and herds me back inside, closing the door. "The pigs are swarming the street out there. It's like a war zone." He reaches for me, but stops short before touching me. "I swear, I'm not a bad guy, I'm not trying to trap you here. It's just not safe to leave right now." He leans back against the door, hand falling back to his side. "I'll take you where you need to go, first thing in the morning, but it would be safer for you to stay here tonight. Please trust me." I don't know how, but he manages to say this in a way that makes him feel small. I falter. I understand what he's saying, and I do trust him, but the nagging in the back of my mind won't stop.

I take a step back, and decide to ignore the voice in my head. "Okay," I say, "okay," I say again, reaching to grab his hand and squeezing it tightly with my own. I manage as reassuring of a smile as I can before pulling my hand back. I sit back down.

From behind I hear the click of the lock again, followed by the thud of heavy boots at the door. I barely look up in time to see the back of the stranger as he retreats into his bathroom. I find myself following him. I sit in the hallway outside of the bathroom with my back pressed to the wall. I can hear the dull thuds of his riot suit as he sheds it from the other side of the door. The shower turns on and I can hear the spray of the water. After a few moments of silence I find my voice to speak again, "What's your name?" I ask, first.

For a moment, all of the movement in the other room stops, he tentatively responds, "People call me Tank." Surprised, I let out a laugh before I can stifle it. My reaction is returned, with a rumbling laugh of his own, "I'm telling the truth!" He proclaims, Tank claims. "Fine, then what's yours?" He asks back. I think for a moment, biting my thumb. "If you're Tank," I respond, "then you can call me..." I deliberate, "Honey." A moment passes, "Okay," he responds, "Honey it is." We fall back into silence as he finishes his shower, a more comfortable silence this time.

The weight of the day begins to sit behind my eyes, and I find myself drifting to sleep sitting in the hallway. I try to fight it off, but the exhaustion lays its weight across my body, and I'm pulled under. I'm barely cognizant when the bathroom door opens, flooding the hallway with light. I blink, eyes bleary, and cover my face with my arms, protesting pathetically. Tank shushes me and scoops me up into his arms like it's nothing to do so. I feel myself being carried, then being placed into the center of a soft bed. I feel my hair being stroked, and lean into the desire to fall back asleep.

The touch leaves, and I blearily blink to barely watch as Tank pulls on a pair of ratty underwear. He grabs a blanket and pillow from his closet, before flicking off the bedroom light, and retreats to the living room. I allow myself to relax and fall back asleep.

Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I can feel the burning of the tear gas in my eyes and in my throat. Im running as fast as I can but the tear gas follows. No matter how fast I run it seems inevitable that I am swallowed by the cloud of gas.

I wake up with a gasp and sit straight up. A headache thrums inside my skull. I lean forward between my legs and try to even my breathing. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, sobering myself. I look around frantically.

Where am I?

I rip the blanket wrapped around me off, and pull at the shirt I'm wearing. Suddenly memories of the previous day rush back. I glance to my right and see an alarm clock. 3:16 am glows back at me in harsh red. I rake my hands through my hair, panic threatening to come on strong. Bolstered by my fear to be alone which unattended will devolve into a full blown panic attack, I get out of the bed and walk out to the living room, dragging the comforter with me.

The soft light of the moon hardly illuminates the apartment, but I can make out the curve of Tank's body from the couch, rising and falling with each breath. I can see that he has a defined jaw, and soft looking hair that falls in waves. Tank begins to stir, as though aware of my lingering presence.

"S'everything all right?" his voice rumbles out, laden with sleep. A low whine escapes my throat as I stand at the lip of the hallway. I see Tank move to prop himself up on one arm, trying his best to blink sleep from his eyes. "I don't want to be alone." I whisper to the room. Tank grunts, about to sit up, "Okay, I can come in the room and sleep on the floor if that's-", I interrupt him, "No! D-don't," I falter for a moment. "You don't need to do that." Tank settles back into the couch vigorously trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, "Okay," he says, "what do you need?" I hesitate for a moment, but know that I need to be held. I move forward until I'm right next to him. I reach out with one hand and lightly touch his chest. With a jolt his eyes flutter back open, and he reaches for my arm in an aborted motion. My fingers splay against his broad chest and I push him deeper into the couch, "Just, stop me if this isn't okay." I say.

He nods, silent, hands still frozen in mid air. I settle into the couch next to him, my back pressed against the length of his body. I pull my blanket around myself, the heat of his body already making me feel safer. My breathing is ragged as nerves swarm at the pit of stomach, seeking reassurance. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, where my head sits. His hand hovers at the dip of my waist. "Would it be okay if I..." he asks, tapering off. I swallow, hard, feeling the heat of his breath. "Y-yeah, that's fine." I manage to reply. Tentatively, his hand slips under my blanket and his thick fingers spray across my abdomen, pulling me in closer. The tension in the air seems to settle somewhat, and I listen as his breathing evens out into sleep before closing my eyes. I feel... safe. I let myself drift to sleep with the reassuring feeling of Tank pressed against my body.