3- Do you have a band aid? I scraped my knees falling for you.

CLARE

I make it all the way home before I realise I left my phone at the office. Damn it. For a second, I consider leaving it there. But who am I kidding? I’m far too addicted to technology to survive without it for even a few hours. Plus, my cousin Laura has been having issues with her mother, my aunt, and I am determined to stay reachable in case she needs me. So, I feed my cat before heading out again. She’s staring at me with that “feed me or else” look, and I know better than to leave without tending to her. If I try, I’ll come home to a shredded couch or a knocked over plant. Once she’s satisfied and I’ve earned her temporary approval with my tribute of tuna, I sigh and reluctantly trudge back to my car. As I drive, I turn up the volume on my radio, and start singing at the top of my lungs. By the second song, my mood is actually starting to improve. Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all. I mean, I’ve never been to the office in the evening before. Maybe it’ll be cool to see the place empty and dark. Kind of mysterious, right? Okay, fine, that’s a pretty weak excuse. New plan. On the way back, I’m getting ice cream. Yep, that’s definitely going to make this better. Ice cream fixes everything. One hundred percent.

I pull into the parking lot at work and immediately notice there’s another car here. Huh. I guess I’m not the only one here after dark. Maybe someone’s working late on a big deadline or something. I climb out of my car, straighten my skirt, and head toward the elevator. As I pass the other car, curiosity gets the better of me. Sure, it might be a little nosy, but I can’t resist peeking inside. Sometimes it’s fun to see what random things people keep in their cars, and hey, there’s no one here to judge me for it. Sadly, this car is spotless, nothing weird, nothing interesting.  How boring. I shrug and start to move on, but the moment I step past the car, I nearly trip over something. Or rather, someone. What. The. Hell. My first instinct is to panic. Is this why the car is here? Did someone have a medical emergency? Please don’t let this person actually need medical help, I’m not equipped for this. Especially since my phone is still sitting in my office, rendering me totally useless in a crisis. My only first aid skill is to apply a band aid or call for help. I kneel down, rolling the person onto their back, and freeze. It’s Lukas. What the hell happened to him? He’s beat up, unconscious, and looks nothing like the annoyingly smug guy I saw earlier today. Was he mugged in the parking lot? How long has he been here? I reach out to touch his shoulder, planning to check if he’s awake, but then hesitate as I remember that this guy reads thoughts. But then guilt kicks in. He’s unconscious, for crying out loud. Now is not the time to worry about him invading my mental space. I shake him gently.

“Lukas?” No response. Do I need to call an ambulance? Probably. I’m debating whether to run back to my office for my phone when he groans softly.

“Lukas?” I try again, touching his arm. His eyelids flutter, and slowly, he opens his eyes, looking dazed and confused. Then, all at once, he tries to sit up.

“Whoa, careful!” I warn, placing a hand on his arm. He winces and leans back onto his elbows.

“Where am I?” he asks, his voice groggy.

“The underground car park at work,” I reply. He sighs, oddly relieved. If I woke up dazed and injured in a parking lot, relief wouldn’t be my first emotion.

It takes a few minutes for him to gather himself. I hand him my half empty water bottle from the car, which he sips at slowly. Once he seems steadier, I help him to his feet.

“Come on. Let’s get you to my car. You need a doctor,” I say firmly. Lukas sighs but doesn’t argue, which is concerning in itself. I’m pretty sure he has a concussion. I load him into the passenger seat after quickly clearing the seat, tossing my handbag and random junk into the back.

“Wait here. I just need to grab my phone,” I tell him. When I return, he’s leaning back in the seat, eyes closed. My heart skips, and I grab his arm, thinking he’s passed out again. His eyes snap open, and I let out a relieved breath.

“Just resting,” he mutters.

“Good. I’m taking you to the hospital,” I insist. He nods, but as I pull out of the parking lot, I realise he’s watching me closely.

“Why are you helping me?” he asks quietly. I frown.

“I don’t know. You’re the mind reader, why don’t you tell me?” I sass him. He looks confused but doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans back and closes his eyes again. Fantastic. Not only is this night a total disaster, but my dreams of ice cream are officially dead. This is what happens when you stay late at work.

Hours later, we’re still at the hospital. My phone has been my saving grace, providing an excellent excuse to avoid eye contact or small talk. When we finally see the doctor, they start pestering me with questions. “What happened? How was he injured?” I don’t have answers. I just shrug and explain how I found him. Eventually, they confirm what I already suspected, he has a concussion. He also has a broken rib, a badly bruised face, and several scratches and bruises. When they ask him what happened, his answer is as useless as mine.

“I don’t know,” he says flatly. The doctor suggests he might have been hit on the head hard enough to lose his memory of the event. I suppose it’s possible, but I find it hard to believe someone could be injured this badly and not have any idea what happened just a few minutes before. Something isn’t quite adding up.

By the time we leave the hospital it is nearly four in the morning. I’m tired, cranky, my feet hurt from these heels AND I’m supposed to be heading into work in a few hours. HAH! No way that’s happening. My bed is calling to me. If it’s even possible, Lukas looks even more tired than I feel. Although he looks a little better now that he’s been cleaned up, bandaged and given some decent pain medication. The doctors gave strict directions that he shouldn’t be left unsupervised.

“Please tell me that there is someone at your home who can keep an eye on you.” I say hopefully. He shakes his head slowly.

“I… Don’t have anyone I can rely on.” He answers, but somehow his response seems a little heavy for the question I just asked. I sigh deeply. My karma is going to be beyond golden after tonight. Seriously.

“Fine, I guess I’ll have to stick around at your place for a while.” I sigh again. He immediately looks concerned.

“I can’t go home.” He says firmly and I frown.

“Huh? Where else would I take you?” I ask, confused.

“Anywhere else. Just not home. I… It’s not safe.” He insists. Okay, that’s it. I immediately pull the car over.