Minutes Before The Miracle

CHAPTER - 16

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Thought of the chapter :-
The surprise is that you continued to be surprised.
         - Jill A. Davis

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STEVEN

Today must be the shittiest day of my entire business career.

I have already fired four people back to back for mistakes so silly that I fear I will regret my decision. If I don't get out of my office right this instant, then there are high chances that I will fire my entire staff.

There is a solid need of hard liquor.

As soon as I hit the bar, I notice a small melee of people surrounding something. I don't give a crap about it until I notice those killer silver heels. Shoes are definitely the first thing that people observe.

Emma.

I push into the thin crowd and witness her passed out, near a pool of vomit. Her tresses are a complete mess and her limbs are spread in various directions. Those seemingly butter smooth lips are covered in a white froth on one side.

At this point of time, there is only a single word that can describe her - VULNERABLE.

And somewhere, in some closed corner of my heart, I feel responsible for her condition and startlingly a bit guilty as well.

People are staring at me, some are whispering, others might be contemplating. I ask for a bottle of water and someone passes me three. It's so disgusting! I am not going to give her a bath right here but I know better than voicing my thoughts and giving people an opportunity to speculate every plausible brainless thought.

I take out my handkerchief, wet it and clean her face up. Carefully, I strip off her jacket that's soiled in puke, then throw both the kerchief and her jacket in the trash.

I try to wake her up but she doesn't even budge. Among hushes, whispers and gasps, I carry her to somewhere safe. The moment Emerson sees me coming, he hurries and opens the back door. This is the attitude that I appreciate. Professionalism. Emerson doesn't question; he does his duty, accepts his pay and doesn't care to intrude, unlike others. The one I am carrying in my arms for one.

Depositing her on the backseat, I gingerly check her pockets but they are all empty, except for a lip gloss. Why can't girls put a few essentials in their pockets? There is no way in purgatory that I would walk inside the crowded bar and enquire about her purse.

With no other alternative available, I decide to do the obvious.

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My eyes cease to blink as I stare at her. The plethora of lights that filter through the window of my car dances in different tones over her face. She scintillates in the twinkling brightness and right now, right here, in this drunken passed out state, she looks miraculously magical. It feels like she is luminous, illuminating the entire city, even my dark hell-like heart.

Finally, we reach my place and Emerson helps me with the elevator as I pick her up. I dismiss him with a goodbye and enter my house.

Depositing Emma on the sofa of my living, I open my guest room. It's spick and span; credits to Mrs. Guildings. I pull out an extra sheet and spread it out on the bed.

Gathering her up in my arms, I walk back to the guest room and tuck her. Switching off the night lamp and pulling down the drapes, I walk out of the room, absorbing a single last glance at her.

I change into my T-shirt and PJ pants, go down and grab a glass of scotch. I down it in one go and return back to my bedroom to call it a day.

The only option I have is to retire to my bed 'cause I don't feel like doing anything in particular. Not even work. I lie down and stare at the ceiling, the events of the day flooding in a series in my brain.

It's not new for me to pass through sleepless nights but today feels different. Closing my eyes, I wait for this long wakeful, restless, moonlit night to pass and the dawn to break. I guess I can't call it a day after all.

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