Chapter 9.2

The wait at the bar dragged on and on. It probably would have been quicker if he had a pair of breasts, or if he stopped people with them from pushing past, but it went against Thomas' nature to tap a woman on the shoulder and ask her to take her turn. He imagined doing it and blanched at the thought. No, it just couldn't be done.

So, he fussed and fidgeted, glanced over in a vain attempt to see Nadia through the glass door on the other side of the crowd and contemplated what to do next.

On the one hand, if he were she, he would want to know what type of cad he dated. On the other, it wasn't his damned business. But, if he told her, she might leave the bastard, and he would be there to wipe away her tears.

He dismissed the thought and reminded himself he was a gentleman. None of your thoughts about her is gentlemanly, Thomas. It was true. And yet there was a big difference between action and abstraction.

When he finally emerged with a large bottle of water, he remained confused and undecided. Don't jump the gun, Waterhouse. Just help her dry out and make sure she gets safely to bed. Yes, that was what he would do.

He opened the door to the balcony and found himself in a bad Latin soap opera. Nadia was hunched in the far corner, her face in her hands, and Khai loomed over her. The young man from the hostel was backed up against the wall. The boy turned his head, fixed wild eyes on Thomas and shot past him to freedom.

What in the hell is going on?

The melodrama persisted as his mind raced to put together the pieces of the puzzle.

"I didn't do anything!" Nadia cried out. "I promise I didn't kiss him. He kissed me. I pushed him away. You saw it!"

"You encouraged him," Khai hissed, jabbing his finger at her chest, where the modest swells poked above her singlet. "Look at you, dressed like a slut, what do you expect?"

Thomas' mouth dropped open. A tremble moved down his arms and ended in tight, white fists. Only nerves and his natural timidity stilled him.

Not your business, Waterhouse.

"Stop it, Khai!" Her hands fisted in her hair, and she started to rock. "Don't say that. I'm not a slut. I'm not a slut!"

"So, what were you doing out here alone with him?" Khai sneered. "I told you not to dress like this. You might as well have given him an invitation."

This was gaslighting. It had to stop. All doubts, insecurity and shyness evaporated. "That's quite enough."

Khai whirled around, face stretched into a charming smile. "Sorry about this, mate. Just need to sort the missus out. Step back in, and I'll shout you a beer."

Thomas snorted. "You will leave the lady."

Khai's eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted. He turned a negligent glance back at her and swaggered over. "Leave off, right. This is none of your business. Nada, zip, you hear me? She's my woman, and I'll do what the fuck I want."

Khai was quite a bit shorter than him, and so Thomas found himself looking down at the man, imagining he was a worm. A sense of calm and certainty settled about him. She needed him, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't protect her.

His hand darted out and grabbed Khai by the scruff, forcing him up on the balls of his feet where he teetered, barely reaching Thomas' eye level. "I saw you earlier," he breathed, so Nadia could not hear.

Khai's eyes widened, and he pulled back, mouth opening and closing, wordless as a slippery fish.

Thomas continued, this time allowing his words to extend further. "Where I am from, we don't talk to women like that. We treat them like ladies. We help them when they are assaulted." He yanked Khai's shirt in emphasis and shoved him away.

Khai stumbled back to the balustrade, and Thomas followed, leaning in close. "I have an idea. I will take the lady home and make sure there are no more attacks." His brows drew in tight. "You can continue your evening and enjoy the unique experience of buying your own drinks."

Mottled-red blooms erupted on the face glaring at Thomas. Khai floundered, brushing his hands in a vain attempt to smooth the cheap nylon of his shirt.

"Fine," he snapped, shoving past Thomas." Have her." Upon reaching the door, he eyed Nadia, spat on the ground, and slammed it behind him, muffling the sound of music.

The parade had concluded, and the air was full of the sounds of a city winding down for the night. The hum of car engines, the beep of a pedestrian crossing and the occasional honk of a horn. A bat whooshed overhead and let out a high-pitched squeak, causing Thomas to duck his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes for a moment, then squatted down and pulled her hands out of her hair, carefully untangling the waves that knotted around her fingers.

The moon was full and lit the terrace in ghostly light, enough for him to see her pale, freckled face and red, puffy eyes. He brushed a tear away with his thumb. "Shh, it's okay. Here, you need to drink this."

She shook her head and waved the bottle away, crying.

Thomas put it on the ground and sighed as he combed his fingers through his hair, considering how to proceed. In such a state, she was beyond reason. He needed to be direct.

Hands on her shoulders, he started shaking her, willing himself to be firm. "You're drunk — real drunk. Have some water so I can get you out of here."

She scowled back at him. Shadows patterned her face. "Just leave me here. I can sleep on the ground."

"Like hell, you will." He began to lose patience. "I'm not going to leave you until you finish this and walk back to the hostel with me, so the sooner you —"

She snatched the bottle out of his hands and fumbled with the lid. He took it back from her and opened it.

Cold water fizzed over his tan chinos, creating a dark patch on his groin.

"What the?"

A hand flew to Nadia's mouth, and she started to giggle. Her eyes popped, and her body convulsed. Thomas read the signs and jumped back as she retched, whimpering when the wave of nausea passed.

Careful to avoid the vomit, he approached from the other side and sat next to her.

"Urgh," she moaned, then, "Oh —"

He held back her hair with one hand and placed his other palm on her back, making tiny circles as her stomach emptied.

"I'm so sorry —"

Thomas handed over the soda water, thinking that if unanticipated, at least the bubbles would settle her insides.

"I'm sooooo embarrassed." She stopped to sip. "You must think I'm a horrible person ... I've been so rude to you ... I'm not ... I swear ... I'm not ... I'm usually kinda nice ..."

This pause was longer than the rest. Thomas thought she was going to be sick again, but she shook her head as if trying to recall the direction of her thoughts.

"Thank you for rescuing me." She slurred her words. "You're like a knight in shining harmour — armour," she corrected. "Sir Thomas." She gazed up at him, grinning stupidly. "Did you wet your pants?" She began to snicker.

Thomas raked his hand through his hair again. God, he thought, the next hour or so were going to be long ones.

"You're most welcome, and I assure you I have maintained the full capacity of my bodily functions this evening."

She looked at him like he was speaking in a different language.

"I didn't piss myself. Drink. You need to sober up a little before we start walking."

She brought the water to her lips again, drank deep and started to shiver. The cold would help her wake up, but he took pity and wrapped his left arm around her, holding her for warmth. He wrinkled his nose. Even though he had been dying to touch her since he laid eyes on her, this was not the way he had envisioned it.

"Khai will be angry with —"

"Damn Khai!"

She flinched. Berating himself, he apologised and used his hand to tip water into her mouth. She drank some more, placed the container on the ground and nestled up to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and rubbing her right cheek against his chest. Oh, God.

"Thanks," she murmured.

Although this was not a situation he had ever hoped to be in, and it was taking a lot of willpower not to misplace his dinner from the reek, it felt apt, and despite the dropping temperature, his whole body prickled with a strange coziness.

He rested his head back against the bars and studied the sky. Only a few stars outshone the urban glow, but the brilliant moon and quickly moving clouds illuminated by the city lights, more than compensated. He waited for quite some time, absorbing the moment and reflecting upon the sudden change in his circumstances.

A snore eventually shifted his attention back to her.

"Nadia." He shook her lightly, and she grunted. "Nadia! Wake up. Time to get you back."

She grumbled, and half opened her eyes. "Wha —?"

"Come on." He stood, putting his arm behind her back and pulling her to him. The water tipped over and rolled to the side. He picked it up, and she almost fell with the movement.

"What's going on?" she mumbled. "We didn't?"

"No!" I wish.

"I'd never cheat on Khai. I try to tell him, but he never believes me —"

Her words stopped when she lurched after him and tripped on the door runner. Thomas steadied her as she focused, roused by the loud music.

"There's Khai. He's with that American again ... what's her name? Minnesota? Montana? Savannah — that's it. It's not a real name you know. It's a cat or ... or ... a lot of grass ... oh no! I shouldn't have smoked that grass. Was that you who gave me weed? I never smoke dope. Why did I smoke it tonight? Stupid, stupid ... Did you give me a cigarette? Don't you know I don't smoke them either? Why isn't he coming here? Is he angry?" As she spoke her disjointed sentences, her voice changed from disdain to concern, until she stopped altogether, flopping forward.

Thomas caught her before she could fall to the floor. Khai regarded him, standing with Savannah, shaking his head as he spoke into her ear. The woman looked concerned but hung back.

Thomas propped her up. "Come on, time to get you to bed."

Nadia muttered as he partly lifted, partly pulled her along. After she slid down half a flight of stairs, he lugged her the rest of the way out of the building, and then they were outside.

He considered the best way to get her back as she swayed next to him. It would be possible to hail a taxi, but he held reservations about the safety and didn't know if she'd even be allowed in one.

"Sayyyy something."

"Huh — like what?"

"Something British and proper, you're good at that. It's quite funny."

He groaned at her imitation of his accent, uncertain whether to be offended or to laugh. Even in his own country, few people spoke like him, and he copped his fair share of taunts when away from his own set. He couldn't help it. No one could change their native culture.

Well, if it would assist in keeping her awake and slightly lucid, it was worth a go. They were going to have to walk.

"Right-t-o," he said automatically.

She giggled. God, he hadn't meant to say something silly yet.

"Are you ready to walk again?"

"Suuuurree."

He spoke with the most exaggerated English he could manage — "Jolly good then. Tally ho!" — and found it had not turned out to be much of a stretch.

She broke into hysterics and Thomas struggled to keep her upright. It had worked at least.

A couple walked past them and shook their heads. "Gringa boracha," one of them muttered.

As they blundered back, he wracked his memory for every stereotypical and pompous quote he could come up with, rationing them for the moments when she started to lag, resorting to Monty Python, Fawlty Towers and Black Adder when he became desperate.

Halfway back, they needed to stop while her stomach emptied, but they completed their journey faster than he anticipated, though he carried her limp weight the last couple of blocks.

Any relief at making it to the accommodation was short lived. The comatose figure in his arms was past coherence, her brain on lockdown and he unable to pry the location of her bed from it.

Well, he knew where one empty bed was.

Thomas let go of Nadia's legs. Her body fell into a vertical position. His left arm protested at the strength required to keep her standing while his right hand groped in his pocket for his keys. He managed to pull back the covers to his bed and tucked her in, shoes and all. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the space next to her, but he shook his head and went into his en suite to brush his teeth and put on his pyjamas.

Done, Thomas returned to the bed and leaned over to take a pillow. She was fast asleep, snoring quietly away and appearing as content and innocent as a kitten. Tomorrow would be another matter. She was going to feel like death warmed up.

The door to the bathroom was ajar and the light on. If she awoke in the night, she would see the water and packet of aspirin he had left on the bedside table. She would be okay, he told himself.

He flicked the switch and closed the door behind him, shuffling to the lumpy apricot modular and curling himself under a thin knitted blanket to settle in for the night.

There was going to be hell to pay in the morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gringa boracha — Drunk foreign female (not of Hispanic or Latino origin).

Image by Yoann Boyer on Unsplash.

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