So Different (3 page)

“We did, but you know Casper and Greybolt are almost unbeatable.”

“I know. Hang in there and we’ll talk soon,” he said before disconnecting.

Mariah smiled. Something to look forward to. Now she couldn’t wait to see Junior D.D.S. again, a change from her earlier dread, when she was working to talk herself out of punching him in the mouth if he brought that whole domestic violence subject up again. Oh, but this would be so much better.

Two weeks later Mariah exited the bus. It was cavity-filling time. She’d had to talk to herself on the trip over, to remind herself to be calm, or else it wouldn’t work. Didn’t want to tip off Junior that she was something other than serious. She’d even brought an extra set of clothes to work to change into before she arrived here. These were some of her more care-worn items of clothing—jeans with holes along the seam, shirt a little frayed. She was finding she was more excited about playing him than was healthy. It was nice to dish back at the limited expectations of others. Most times she overlooked the odd glance or two she usually received because of the way she looked. Other times it annoyed the hell out of her.

She entered the office, scanned the waiting area. Not so crowded today, she noted, as she walked over to the counter and signed in. Jupiter was missing from her usual post behind the counter, so Mariah proceeded to the waiting area and sat, recalling Junior’s words the last time she’d seen him. Sure, she was impressed by his need to help, but still, it smarted that he viewed her as a victim.

“Mariah, are you ready?” Rachel asked a few minutes later, opening the door.

“Sure,” she answered and followed her down the hall to the room. She took a seat and waited while Rachel put that napkin thingy around her neck.

“How’ve you been?” Rachel asked.

“Fine,” she said, and sat still while Rachel did something to her mouth—some type of cavity-filling prep. It tasted cinnamon, nasty, and numbing.

“Dr. Barnett will be with you in a second. He’s finishing up with a patient.” Rachel said.

“Thanks,” Mariah said, sitting back and listening. She could hear Junior D.D.S. talking and laughing in the room next to her. She closed her eyes and listened to the smooth, clear sound of his voice and the music being piped into the office and yawned. She was always tired.

“Mariah, it’s good to see you again,” Dr. Barnett said, pulling up his chair to sit beside her, dressed in green scrubs today. He watched as Mariah’s eyes popped open. He took a second to glance over her, taking in the new bruise on her cheek, and her left wrist wrapped in an ace bandage. The bruising surrounding her eye was almost gone and her hair was a deep blue today.

“So we are filling 32 bucal,” he said, turning to Rachel.

She nodded, and he accepted the syringe from Rachel and pushed it into Mariah’s gum.

Mariah used her time up close to take in his scent. It had lingered in her mind for some odd reason. She had been to the mall since then and had spent way too much time at the men’s fragrance counter trying to locate it. He’d been in her mind more than she was used to. She’d known from the start that she wasn’t his type, but he wasn’t her type, either, not usually. She’d stayed clear of the serious-minded, school-and-life-mapped-out-and-awaiting crowd and their moneyed parents. They usually didn’t have that much in common with her, whether they smelled good or not.

She snuck a glance at him when he turned his back. Still nice still in his scrubs, though. Solid and confident in his life. He seemed not to have let the ex fiancée get the best of him. He stood up, removing those plastic gloves.

“I’m going to let that work. I’ll be back in five,” he said.

She nodded again and closed her eyes when he left the room. She was just beginning to doze when he returned. He smiled at her sleeping pose and took a seat on his rolling chair.

“Open for me,” he said, leaning in close, and she complied, hiding her reaction to those words this time. She turned up the volume of her mp3 player to tune out the sound of his small machinery doing its job, ridding her of her cavity
.

Fifteen minutes later, he was done. He sat back and smiled. When she’d opened her eyes to take a peek, he seemed to harbor a tiny sliver of pity in that smile. It was still a powerful one, though, and she could feel it down to her toes.

“Rachel’s going to clean up, polish your tooth for you and then you’re done,” he said, rolling his chair away from her. “Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks,” she said, disappointed that he hadn’t tried to talk to her. She so wanted to act out her plan. He smiled and left. She heard him in the next room, greeting another patient.

Another ten minutes with Rachel and she was done, heading toward her bus stop now, bummed that he hadn’t tried to talk to her again. She’d have to call his father. Her bus wasn’t due for at least ten minutes, she thought, checking her watch. She heard her name and turned to find Junior D.D.S. jogging toward her. He stopped in front of her once he reached her.

“You on foot?” he asked, looking around for her car.

“Yes, I took the bus,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. She watched him do that thing with his expression, like her taking the bus was in line with his expectations of her.

“You have time for lunch? Wanted to talk you. I noticed your new bruises,” he said, reaching for her arm, holding her wrapped wrist in his hand. Touching her gently, he then looked at the mark on her left cheek. She was pretty, he thought again. The small diamond stud was a light blue today, sparkling against her skin, sort of matching her blue hair.

“You okay?” he asked. She could tell he was genuinely concerned, and she should be pleased that he was a good guy, concerned for his patients. But for some reason she was irritated, in spite of it all. She had wanted him to want her, however irrational that desire had been.

“Yes, I’m okay. Sorry, I don’t have time for lunch, though,” she said.

“Boo?” he asked, touching her wrist. There was doubt again in his question. “Here,” he said, before she could answer, turning her wrist over, palm facing up while he reached into the back pocket of his scrubs. “I saw you were on the schedule today, and wanted to make sure I at least gave this to you,” he said, placing a card in her hand. “It’s for a lawyer friend of mine; went to undergraduate school with her. She could help you if you needed it, pro bono, and I wrote the name and the address of another shelter on the back. This one’s smaller. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable there. Tell me you’ll give it some thought,” he added, his face filled with concern.

She turned away from him, giving him her back. She let loose a low sorrow-filled moan, and put her hands over her eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, reaching for her.

“No, it’s not,” she said as he placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to offer support. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” She let out another wail, followed by a moan. Then she made her shoulders shake, and went back to moaning again.

He looked around and caught the concerned gaze of a woman passing by. “Don’t cry,” he said, rubbing her shoulder now.

She turned around, and pushed herself into his arms, wrapped her arms around his waist, and put her face into his neck. He really did smell good.

“Oh, Dr. Barnett. You don’t know what I’ve been through,” she said, moving her shoulders again, hoping to give the appearance of crying. She moaned again. This was her longest one yet, and she pushed herself into him more. He felt nice, she thought. If only…

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said again, grabbing her shoulders in a light grip, trying to pull back from her enough to see her face. She held on tighter and moved her face to lay just under his chin, moving her lips closer to his ear so he could hear.

“No one will help me… my friends, my family. She made me choose—them or her,” she said, proud at how needy she sounded.

“Who is she?” he asked.

“My boo,” she said into his shoulder.

“Your boo? Your girlfriend?” he asked, continuing to try and back away, wanting to see her face, to look into her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, nodding.

“Why don’t you come back to the office with me? We could talk, call the center together. I bet they could help you,” he said, still trying to pull away.

“Yes… no… I can’t leave her. She’s been so good to me,” she said. Her shoulders had resumed their shaking. Her grip at his waist tightened.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry,” he said, giving up on trying to push her away. He just held her now, his arm around her shoulders, taking in her nice floral scent. “Let’s go in, sit down, and just talk if you want to. You can just talk to me or we can call someone who could help,” he said again, into her hair now, listening to the sound of her tears. Her body was shaking from crying, and he was feeling helpless in the face of this.

“No, she’ll just track me down, bring me back. She’s done it before,” she said, and started moaning again, pushing herself closer.

“Really, Mariah, there are places that can help,” he said, stroking her back, hoping to soothe her.

That feels nice
, Mariah thought. He felt nice up close, just as she’d thought he’d feel, all strong and male. She moved her free hand down from his waist to his ass, cupping it softly, then squeezing. Nice and firm. It was just as she thought it would be, too. She felt him jump at the contact and had to stifle her urge to giggle.

She let loose another mournful wail, causing him to jerk a little at the volume, which prompted her to finally give into her laughter. She camouflaged it, hoping it would sound like crying.

“No…I can’t leave… let me think about it. I know it’s time. I know that she isn’t good for me. I almost left after that one time I dislocated my elbow. I know, I know, I should have left her then, but she is really fun. She makes me feel whole when she’s not hurting me,” she said, rubbing small circles on his ass now with her hand.

He tried to push away from her hand but ended up pushing his pelvis into hers, pulling back just as quick, cause that wasn’t a good idea, either.

“She’s broken your arm? Mariah, that’s serious. It can only get worse,” he said, choosing to ignore her hand for the time being and concentrate on her words. He was sincere as all get-out.

“It wasn’t intentional. She didn’t mean it. We’ve been together forever. I’ve always loved her,” she added, her shoulders no longer shaking. She let herself hiccup, a sign that her tears were winding down.

He finally managed to remove her hand from his ass and the other from his neck, and stepped back. She had her hands covering her face now and had turned her back facing away from him. He watched her take a deep breath, gathering her composure, he imagined.

“Promise me you’ll think about it? That you’ll hold onto the card?” he said to her back.

“I will,” she said, turning toward the sound of a bus. “I’d better go,” she said, hurrying away.

“See you,” he said, watching her hurry to meet the bus that was making its way to the stop. He watched her get on board before turning and leaving. It was more serious than he originally thought. He’d discuss her with his pops again, and see if there was anything else they could do for her. The way she held on to him and ran her hands over his body made him feel a little weird. He wasn’t sure what that had been about.

* * *

“So how did it go with Mariah?” his pops asked him at they sat at the table with his mother, eating dinner.

“It’s worse than I thought. She told me her boo had broken her arm before, and that she’s afraid to leave.”

“Her boo?” his dad asked. The elder Barnett turned away from Adam and looked at his wife. Oddly, she smiled in response to his dad’s expression.

“Boo is an endearment. It means her loved one. That’s new-school talk, Pops,” Adam said.

“Huh. So what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. What can you do when someone needs help, but doesn’t want to accept any?”

“I’ll call her, talk to her. Let’s see if that helps,” he said.

“Thanks Pops,” he said, sitting back in is chair. “I don’t understand women like that. You’ve seen her. She’s pretty underneath all of her colored hair and tattoos. Why do women tolerate that type of treatment?”

“Don’t know, son,” Adam Sr. said.

“It’s good of you to try and talk to her,” his mother said, reaching and placing her hand on his.

“Changing the subject for a moment, I need a favor from you,” Adam Sr. said, waiting for Adam’s attention. “There is this event I usually attend once a month, the last Saturday of the month. But your mother wants me to go to some dinner party this Saturday night instead. Fund raising for what, dear?”

“Homeless shelter,” she said.

“I would like for you to go in my place. Would you mind?” he asked, looking at Adam Jr. “Me and a few of my retiree friends usually go. I purchase four tickets every season.”

“Sure. Go where?” he asked.

“The roller derby. We are one of the many sponsors for a team,” he said.

“The roller derby? Didn’t know that was still around. Wasn’t that on TV ages ago? A fake sport where men and women push and shove and fight, right?” Adam asked.

“Yes, but it’s a different sport now. It’s all female. I like to go and show my support. It started up again in Austin in 2000, locally grown, and I try to support the locals. The passes are in my desk. There’s four of them. I haven’t been able to talk your mother into going yet. Take your buddy Michael with you. There is a bout scheduled on the last Saturday of each month. I missed the exhibition in January, but would really appreciate it if you make this one for me. You should try and enjoy yourself. Have you been out since you’ve been home?”

“I’ve been giving it more and more thought lately,” he said.

“Perfect timing, then,” he said, giving a smile to his wife. “Don’t forget, it’s important,” his pops said, seriously looking at him.

“Sure,” Adam said.

“I’d like for someone from our place to represent us. If you don’t go, let me know. I’ll get your sister to attend. She and her friends like going. She told me there is man potential everywhere.”

“No, I’m good. I’ve got this. Didn’t know the roller derby had become such a big deal,” he said, smiling at his dad. He sat back and listened as his dad started in on something political with his mom. He let his mind drift to what, if anything more, he could do for Mariah. He felt bad for her and women like her. If her clothes were any indication, she probably ran low on funds, probably hadn’t finished college, had no serious means of support, and probably felt trapped, surviving the best she could. He knew domestic violence wasn’t just limited to those without resources, and that it cut across all economic strata.