The Strange Tale Of Ayla Jae

Chapter Three - Cuts, Stains, But No Brains

My answer is...less than satisfactory.

I look at Dave's face with as much tenacity as I can muster, trying to prove how okay I am, but I know it's no good this time.

"Ayla, was it that meat head from Chito?"

"No, Dave."

"That sadist you met who wanted you for...well, you know--."

"No!" It physically pains me to be louder.

"Chloe?" Dave's face is just depleted.

I look to Chloe too, just hoping she keeps the details to a minimum. She's always been good with discretion.

"Can we just help her? I'm fine, by the way, thanks."

"Chloe, don't be like that. You know I'm glad you're okay. You're not the one clutching your gut, avoiding simple questions."

I don't look back over to him but to the floor. I hadn't realized it before, but I feel my hand keeping my chest from hurting too much. Suddenly, my pride is starting to show just how stupid I feel. I also can feel the heat from Dave's glare on my face.

"Dave...it was a mistake. Poor judgment. You know."

"Yeah, I know." Dave says solemnly. I hear him get up. I meet his gaze for second before he slowly paces.

"It's always that. And I've always been your guys' beacon, a refuge, and a damn fool sometimes. But I wonder if it's actually doing you both any good."

I grip my chest a little tighter. The cut along my breast stings. I can't help but audibly groan.

"Please. You know we--I don't have any options."

I know he can see just how roughed up I am, and with my groan, he steps toward me. He tries to catch my shaky stature and does for second before I force him loose. Before I know it, it happens again. This time I don't fight his help. I just feel the wall of pain, and I rely on the simple focus of the moment to avoid passing out.

"Just," he and Chloe help start setting me down in his empty chair, "sit for second. We'll get Sam's beat up junker, and get you right."

His words irritate the remaining fight I have, and I push myself more into Chloe's arms.

"I can't do that, Dave!" I say through the grit in my teeth. "The money, the problem?"

"Just stop." He backs off just a bit. "I know. You wouldn't be here if that still weren't the issue. Sam and his old mates may not be practicing anymore, but they have a facility. More importantly," he stops to make eye contact with both of us, "They have empathy and discretion. They are our friends after all. That satisfactory?"

Dave keeps his eyes on us before calling for Sam.

"Sam!"

Sam almost immediately walks in, an empty pack of crackers lowered in his right hand.

"Time to go, I take it?"

Dave doesn't respond, but he looks to me. I want to fight their coercion. I desperately need to maintain my privacy. I wish this night hadn't gone south. Depending on their help again is just tasting gratefully bitter in my aching mouth.

I nod.

#

My apprehension on this whole situation is undercut by the damn aching that just won't stop. I keep hearing the worry from Chloe about it being internal, and it takes too much effort to keep it out of mind.

I do trust Sam, and I do trust Dave. Sam has always helped with stitches and even that one time I needed a shot I couldn't afford to get. It's always been risky, and my fears still egg on even now. I know better than to worry about Sam's friends' and their integrity, but I'm still terrified.

I've always been.

The sounds of the car attempt to distract me. They pull my thoughts away before being brought back every so often with the jerking motion of the whole thing turning down another street. I can tell Dave is doing his best not to drive insanely but purposefully. Still, even slight shifts are uncomfortable.

It's weird how distant the night feels with just an inch of glass separating you from it, instead of being out in it. To compound the feeling, Chloe is right beside me occupying the cramped back seat, holding a small freezer pack Dave snatched before we left onto different bruises.

A bright glare catches my eyes as we pass an old store. It's from a sign I've seen before. It must mean we're on the rough side of the pricy part of town. Old businesses and medical facilities downgraded to vacancy or apartment status. It always been ripe for shady swaps and underhanded work, but you never can tell if you're getting a talented rogue for your underpriced fixing or a gouging rip-off criminal.

"Ayla." The low voice of our driver lulls me back to the moment.

"Yeah, Dave?"

"I don't know if we can do this again. It's getting more difficult to help the way we help."

Sam speaks up. "Not now, Dave. She's hurt."

"We all know what you're both saying." Chloe's voice is soft but stern. She may have no clue what Sam is talking about, but she's probably trying to calm things quickly.

"I don't think Ayla expects you to give the world. Just tonight. This screwed up night." Her voice trails as she looks out onto the passing streets, her hand still holding the ice pack on me.

"Sorry, dudes. This just kind of came at the weirdest time." He signals and turns down another side street leading back out on to a larger shop center strip. "I've got more at stake right now than just you guys, and I know Sam does too."

"It's happening whether I want to or not, Dave. These guys are only here for a little while longer, and I have to go with them when they do leave. You'll miss me."

Dave seems to get sidetracked in the moment and punches Sam's shoulder.

"I'm just frustrated. It doesn't help my rent is due, and these goobs are out pushing their luck and coming back like this."

I am pushing my luck. Things have been decent. Whenever I find myself in even a little ease, I tend to get swept up in my relief and overstay my welcome in situations any same person would never get into or at least avoid of they did.

I need to say something. It should be something honest.

"You're both here. And I'm...glad." it comes out raspy and low, but I mean every word.

"If life weren't risky, I don't think it'd be worth the price of admission." The honest truth Sam says is on point. Dave audibly sighs.

"It's never simple. Worth it, but never simple."

I can tell Dave is struggling to stay calm and comforting. He's always struggling to keep that balance, and being around us tends to remind him of his own struggles years back, none of which I think he cares to relive.

Slowly, the rickety car comes to a halt. When I look out the window, there's a medium outdated building with a dimly lit identity sign.

I don't know exactly where we are, only that it's definitely not 'Delores Daydream Daycare'.