“Of course.  Let me know when you’re ready.”

I turn back down the hallway, intent on making a full pot of coffee.  I’m going to need all the caffeine I can get today while I help Tatum sort through this mess.  Staying up almost to the crack of dawn was a terrible idea.

Tatum asks to leave twenty minutes later.  She’s directing me to her apartment with small sentences and nods of her head.  Something changed since last night.  I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or what, but she’s barely looked at me today.  I try to break the silence with some of the questions I want to ask her.

“Do you have a car of your own?”  Maybe she walks to school or takes a bus.  Then I remember the day we met.  On the side of the road.  Because her car broke down.

“Um, I do, did…do,” she spouts confusingly.  Taking a deep breath, she tries again.  “I do have a car, but it’s being fixed.  Wyatt, uh, that guy is fixing it for me.”

“What guy,” I ask, although I already know who she’s referring to, and my blood boils.

“The one who at-attacked me,” she says, curling into herself on my passenger seat.  I want to reach over to comfort her, but I don’t.  She’s acting skittish this morning, and I don’t want to scare her any more.

“So you know the guy.”

Silence.

I glance over to catch her nodding her head.

Wait.  “So is this Wyatt, he’s the guy you called the day your car broke down?”

She nods again, but remains silent.

“How well do you know this guy?” I ask, unable to keep my voice from dropping two pitches and sounding like a growl.  But I’m pissed.  When we met, she mentioned calling her friend.  Sliding the puzzle pieces together in my head, what kind of friend gets a woman alone and tries to rape her?  I’m overcome with a desperate rush to hurt this guy.  To make him pay.

Tatum whimpers and the sound is a nail in my heart.  She shakes her head at me.  “Not now,” she whispers.

I let her have that because she needs time.  Trying a different tactic, I ask, “Where does he have your car?”

She doesn’t answer my question, but abruptly she says, “Turn left here.”

I follow her directions, parking the car in front of a three story brick apartment building.  There are a few suspicious looking dudes hanging around outside the front, and I can’t imagine a real nice crowd lives here.

“I’ll be right back.”  She leaves before I can get out another word.

So she knows this guy.  Once referred to him as her friend.  And he has her car.

Christ, she must be feeling powerless right now.  He’s stripped her of any and all comfort and safety she has: her apartment, her car, her trust.  I hammer my hands against the steering wheel trying to relieve some frustration.  I have so many questions I want to throw at her, but I know she’ll need to ease into my interrogation.  She seems closed off and reserved, like the type of girl who’ll clam up when she’s feeling overwhelmed.  She may have a big mouth and an even bigger attitude, but I also know she has anxiety.

Tatum yanking the door open breaks my train of thought.  She’s dressed in a pair of bright purple scrubs, and her hair is styled into a messy pony on top of her head.  It’s incredibly cute.  Why did I just think that?

She did a pretty decent job trying to cover her bruises with makeup.  I wish she would stay home with me today instead of subjecting herself to a possible interrogation from her coworkers.

As I shift the car into drive, I notice the backpack sitting between her feet.

“What’s that?” I ask, gesturing to the blue bag.

Her cheeks flush, and she looks out the window before answering.  “I grabbed a few things…for your place.”

“Oh.”  The word slips out of my mouth before I can stop it and at the look of distress on her face, I rush to comfort her.  “I mean, that’s great.  I want you to be comfortable.  How long do you need to stay?”

She shrugs.

“If it’s a problem, I’m sure I can find somewhere else.  I don’t want to intrude…” she trails off, and when I peek at her, her chin is trembling.  She’s trying not to cry.

How am I supposed to do this?  Where are her parents?  I know my job wouldn’t agree with me housing a student, regardless of the circumstances.  I’ll let it go for now, but I need answers in order for us to continue this…whatever the hell this is.

“It’s not a problem, Sweetheart,” I say, smiling at her gently.  “Stay as long as you need.”

Our town is small enough that I manage the short drive to the nursing home without her directions.  Which is good, because she hasn’t looked away from the window since we left her apartment.  When I pull up to the small facility, Tatum doesn’t move right away.  Instead, she stares down at her hands before turning slightly in her seat to face me.

“Thank you for doing this.  I know I was really rude to you before, and I’m sorry.”

“It makes me happy to help you.  Let me help you,” I tell her sincerely, imploring her with my eyes and my voice to listen.  She nods her head again, before opening the door and stepping outside.  “When are you off?” I call out to her.

“Pick me up at 6:30?”

“I’ll be here.  One more thing.”  I wait until she leans down into the car to ask, “Where’s your car at?”

She stiffens noticeably, and shakes her head at me sadly.  “I’m not sure if it’ll still be in working condition after yesterday.  I’ll see you later.”

I watch her until she’s in the building.  Minutes pass.  Still I sit, contemplating my next move.  It’s dangerous for me to meddle.  If someone were to realize that I’m her teacher…

I let that thought trail off.

But I can’t sit back and let her deal with this all alone.  What kind of man would that make me?  She needs someone to help her.  Even if it makes me an idiot, I want to be that man.

Like the nursing home, there’s only one mechanic shop in town.  Unless this guy works 20 miles away or at his own private garage, he has to be here.  I park out front, scanning the lot on the left where the cars being serviced are parked.  I forgot to ask her what she drives, so I can’t tell by looking if her car is here or not.  But I remember what that punk ass kid looks like, and she mentioned his name was Wyatt, so I make my way inside.

I step into a small convenience store when I first walk in, and I can see the service station is near the back.  A young girl, probably sixteen or so with a small round face and dirty blonde hair is manning the cash register.  Her eyes go round, and she blushes noticeably when I lock eyes on her so I decide to question her first.

“Hi, can I help you?” She asks shyly, her voice way too high for nonchalance.

“Hey, I’m looking for a mechanic I think works here.  Do you know someone named Wyatt?” I ask, making eye contact and trying to not be dismissive towards her childish behavior.  She’s twirling a strand of hair around her finger and blinking her eyelashes so fast she looks like she has a tic.

“Oh yeah, Wyatt.  Cool guy.  He’s working in the garage today.” I cringe inwardly when she slowly runs her tongue along her lower lip.  Too much.

“Great, thanks.  Can you point him out to me?  A buddy of mine told me to see him about doing some work on my truck, but I’ve never met the guy before.”

“Sure!” she giggles annoyingly as she leads me towards the shop.

We step in front of a large 4x4 window, and she points to a guy standing by a beat up Honda.  Even though he isn’t looking this way, I recognize the son-of-a-bitch from yesterday.

“Thanks for your help,” I tell the girl without taking my eyes off my target.

Before I step into the garage, I take stock of my surroundings.  Two other guys are talking over a white SUV, and a third is changing the oil of an Avenger, which means I need to keep things from getting too messy.  I keep myself in shape, but I’m not too confident about taking on four guys at once.  As I walk through the door, I slip my Leatherman out of my pocket, opening the knife and concealing it in my hand beneath my sleeve.