Free-Falling

"Just take it- what's the big deal?"

"I just can't, Jason... it's.. I don't know... " she put a hand to her forehead. This just wasn't the time.

"Look- we have to know one way or the other. I'm not going to *watch* you take it, if that's what you're worried about," he pressed.

"I just.."

"Yeah. Whatever," Jason's voice had a biting, petulant edge to it that cut Ren to the core. The only thing worse was the slamming door as Jason left, then the other slamming door of his own apartment.

A week ago, in a heated, intimate moment, they'd had what Ren had thought was a one-night stand. Jason had been the moody, reclusive neighbor, and she'd steered as clear of him as she could manage, because, frankly, she was scared shitless of him. David had been half his size, and any time he whistled or demanded "come here, pet", she'd had to tremblingly obey, kneel silently, not fight in her restraints as David had done whatever the hell he wanted to her body.

Clear, free, away from Jason she'd tried to stay, but the quiet, haunted man piqued not only her curiosity, but the more he unwillingly spoke to her, she had coaxed from him a haunting, horrible past similar in part to hers. No, he hadn't been molested and left home as soon as able to... but he'd lost loved ones to fire, he was mis-understood, and sometimes, he tried to drown his problems with the same whiskey she enjoyed, when he wasn't throwing himself into buring buildings as a volunteer firefighter.

They'd stayed "apart" until the night the fire consumed her bookstore. He'd dashed in and nearly killed himself looking for her, trying to ensure her safety, only to find that she'd thankfully been around the corner at the coffee shop when the blaze started.

... With another man. With her ex.

Why had that bothered Jason so? He didn't have any claims on her. She was nothing more than a neighbor, wasn't she? But then... there was a lot about that meeting he didn't know. It wasn't just a friendly rendezvous, and Ren was as glad for it to be done as Jason would have been. There were also those strangled whispers during their previous coupling, those words.. those three words. Had they just gotten caught up in the moment?

She was until that quiet moment on the couch, when he'd dozed off, and been awoken by nighmares of screams and flames... and Ren had knelt gently with him, just touching him, offering him a gesture of comfort that coaxed him from his world of horror to waking.

They'd slept together at first- quite literally. They'd lain down together on his bed, slept soundly and safely, away from dreams until the morning. The more they'd talked, the more they realized that maybe they weren't quite so bad as they'd first thought. Ren wasn't so much a quirky, bizarre little pest, and Jason wasn't the muscle-bound roaring lion of a bully she'd first envisioned in cowering fear.

One thing led to another, and soon... it had happened. The thing had happened, which led Ren here.... and then... there.

The box hadn't done backflips, started tapdancing, or anything else in the two straight hours she'd observed it, either by sitting and staring fixedly at it until her vision blurred, pacing anxiously around it, or absently turning it over in her hands. Ren was as scared to open the damn thing as she was to take it.

Finally, with weak, watery knees, she went to the bathroom with a digital watch, took a breath and glanced around, as though she might never come back out again, and closed the door. Modern technology had made it a fairly mess-free affair, but then the fifteen agonizing minutes kept her sitting primly on the closed toilet seat, glancing anxiously at the watch, at the stick, at the watch, at the stick... until when the watch beeped, she lept off the seat and flung the watch into the sink. She didn't seize the stick immediately. It was still in it's little sleeve, as though it had a mouth that were pursed tightly against a secret and only intense goading would get a peep out. With trembling, numb fingers, she held the stick and sat down again. Ren's throat was dry as she slid it out and turned it over. One "not" line... very clear, very blue, as though it were a thumbs up... but then, like a demon on her other shoulder... opposite it was the faintest, slightest line. Two. No, one. Two. Was it one or two? "Fuck!" she whispered, more a squeak. "What does it mean," she murmured at the stick. Was this common? There was no pigmentation in the second line, but it was THERE. She could see just the ghost of it. Perplexed, frustrated tears welled up but didn't spill over. It was the limbo sort of "hold it in, then they can either be joyous OR tragic" . She had no idea what to do.

Ren had never felt so alone. When she'd tried to tell people close to her what her father was trying to do to her while they were alone in the barn or house, they had turned away, isolating her. When she'd tried to tell people about David... about the clothing she wore for him, the things she did to him- to herself- to give him pleasure, they had backed uneasily away, or scratched it down on their office pad and gave her more pills. How alone she always felt after an altercation with Jason. As though she'd never feel him again. This was another of those alones.

Perhaps, in at least one odd sense if irony, Ren *wasn't*, alone, however. Just a wall away, Jason brooded silently on his couch, a lukewarm beer in hand. It was some nerve she had, all but shooing him out to take the damn test... and then blowing him off, not so much as a call or a text one way or the other? What was it with women- no, what was it with Ren?

Jason had given her ample time, too. He'd worked out, jogged, gotten some work done down at the office, and done just about everything he could think of to soak up the time Ren wanted for herself.

What if she'd split, what if it was positive, what if, what if... so many different scenarios played out in Jason's mind as he butted his forehead frustratedly against his palms. Finally, his stomach tight, his nerves frayed.. Jason stood, pocketed his keys, and left his apartment. As he closed his door, he stood before hers and took an anxious breath. He'd crushed grown men with his strength, lept into burning buildings to save kittens... but a drop of his lover's urine on a platic stick scared him more than any of that rolled together.

Ren hadn't heard the door-knock. she was still too busy staring- no, squinting- at the line-or-not next to the NotLine. "Dammit... " she murmured, and bit her lip. Jason clenched his teeth as he slowly pushed on the door. When he'd knocked, it had come open slightly. It hadn't been closed all the way, and certainly hadn't been locked. He tensed, as if expecting the worst, and slowly stepped in. "Ren?" he called, though not loudly. He didn't want to startle her, and if she was asleep, he didn't want to wake her. There was no answer though, and the bathroom light was on and the door was ajar. He closed her apartment door behind him and locked it before walking toward the bathroom. He tapped on the door lightly. "Ren?" he called again, concern lacing his voice as he slowly pushed it open.

"In here," she said, still frowning. She looked up as he opened the door, and turned the stick around. "I'd have called you if I'd known what it was... it's... I think it's negative, but then there's that damn thing there..." she said, looking back at the stick. "Don't worry, it's clean, I made sure," she added hastily, but not thrusting it at him either. He still seemed put out about something, and that worried her more.

Jason cooly observed her for a moment, his forearms crossed over his brawny chest in silent assessment of the small woman perched on her toilet seat like a caged, apprehensive squirrel- somehow cute, but dangerous with claws and teeth.

Finally, his jaw worked anxiously, and he held his breath as he reached over, gently taking the test from her. After an examination of it, he blinked and passed a hand over his eyes, surveyed it again, and reached for it's empty box. "How the hell can you even.. Oh, that's Spanish," he grumbled, flipping the box over, and still not getting the answer he thought he wanted.

".. It's early," he shrugged, his eyebrows knitting together in a sort of question, as though seeking approval. "Yeah, it's still kinda early, maybe that's why?" He put the stick down, then. "I.. I just don't know," he shook his head, not feeling any better now than when he'd been brooding on his couch earlier. Instant gratification- that's what he'd wanted... or not gratification so much as closure, one way or another. And NOW, dammit.

"No- it's been that way for like... two hours?" she said, not looking up at him. "Wonder if the other one would do it, too..." she pensed, and stood, bringing the other back. "This one doesn't do lines, it's an actual "yes" or "No", and as much as it cost, it should sing it in five different languages," she frowned.

"Nah, hon, I meant- like along.. maybe it's too early in the... you know," he glanced at her flat stomach, and shifted uneasily. "I mean, it's only been a week since we.. ah.. " God, this was almost painful, talking about this. Jason groaned inwardly... why couldn't he be smooth and confident?

He sat down in her vacated spot and put his elbows on his knees, looking at the stick again. "I just dunno... "

She took the stick and put it back inside the empty carton, dropping it in the trash. "Well, either way, it was a bust," she growled irritably and leaned against the sink. "God, can you imagine if we *did* have a kid?" she moaned, clapping a hand to her forehead. "He'd be a total moron. I'd be putting little socks on his hands and making sure his helmet was on right, like on SouthP.." she stopped... which was worse, that she admitted to watching South Park, or that she'd just made a serious slur on differently-abled children? Her stomach pulled away from her abdominal walls as if cringing painfully.

Jason was silent for a moment, just looking up at her, round-eyed. Suddenly, a burst of laughter escaped him as he uncontrollably giggled at her morose whinage. "Yeah- can you imagine? We'd be pretty sad... can't even read a pregnancy test," his mirth finally ran it's course though, as he glanced at her askance. "Wait... South Park?" Wasn't she... a poised, intelligent author? What was she doing secretly vegging on the couch laughing at Terrance and Philip?

Horrified, Ren clapped a hand over her mouth and winced. "I ... oh, *why* are we sitting in the bathroom?" she recovered, and edged into the hallway. "I'll... yeah, I'll take that other one later... but... don't talk shit about southpark... it's very understatedly witty with entendre," she declared airily, as though defending Taittinger over Dom Perignon.

Jason just smirked, shaking his head, and stood obediently. He followed her out, flicking the light off as he went. "Whatever," he drawled, "Your secret's safe with me.. Wendy," he snickered one last time. "So.. entendre? Is that one of your author words, or are you trying to pass the SAT again?"

Even though his nerves were shot worrying about whether or not he was to be a father, he couldn't help but be amazed, even fascinated by Ren's innocent, sometimes vexing ability to mystify him. One moment, she was an apologetic bundle of nerves, the next a roaring lioness, the next, a goofball. It was... Jason sighed... wonderful, he realized.

"Entendre? Oh, you work at a high school and haven't come across that yet?" Ren taunted gently. "Just wait until SAT time... but no, 'entendre' means..." she cocked her head aside, thinking... "If I were to say," she bent over and stuck her head in the fridge- did she want a Mello Yello... or that bag of chilled peanut-butter M&Ms?.. "I want to park your harley in my garage...and you don't have a harley, and I don't have a garage... you know.." she rummaged around over the newly-stocked shelves, trying to find something to munch on.

"Oooh, Ok... the double meaning thing that I missed on a spelling test once," he nodded knowingly. "Yeah, I need a T-shirt... 'those who can't spell? Coach" he "hand-framed" the air in front of him as he walked into her kitchen, then her living-room. When she leaned into the fridge though, her intelligence took a back seat to her back seat. He couldn't help but notice that her black jazz pants didn't show a panty-line, yet he'd seen her pull on underwear earlier... God, she was pretty... no- she was beautiful. Her mind, her body... she was just beautiful. He'd do all he could to remind her of that, if she'd just let him.

"And that's why I write and don't think," she grinned as she snatched up a small pack of lunch-meat instead of her candy. "Want a sandwich?" she asked, producing the honey-roasted, compressed, preservatived stuff. She wished they could have ONE normal day. Just one.

"Huh?" he questioned obliquely, still lost in thought. "Oh- " he shook his head, snapping out of it, then. "Yeah, sure, if you're having one, too. He re-joined her in the kitchen and started hunting around for plates and bread.

"Glass-front box, next to the microwave," she directed idly, seeing him searching. She was wrestling with the "tear here" portion of a lunch-meat pack, which had torn off there.. yet was still sealed.

"So... are you... mad at me?" he ventured after a moment, finding the bread, then the paper plates and napkins.

"Dickweed," she snarled, causing Jason's eyebrows to shoot up. "Ah- beg your pardon?" He hadn't been expecting *that* rebuttal, regardless of whether or not she was angry with him.

"Isn't that like you- I need you most right NOW, and there you go.. AH, there.." she grinned, and looked at him, her smile fading. "What-" she looked at his face, then the lunch meat, and then her moth made an.. "OH... " as her mind registered his question.

"Oh.. " she turned, oblivious to the fact that she'd just sliced her ring-finger open on the same knife that she'd have slashed her wrist open with earlier... and of course, the same knife that had vanquished the lunch meat plastic.

"Of course not... I'm just.. dumb..." she shook her head, and then frowned at the freshet of scarlet dripping onto her floor. "What the..." , her eyes widened at the growing pool of blood trickling down her wrist.

"What do you m- SHIT!" He dropped the paper plate he was trying to separate from the one piggybacking it, and sprinted over, the conversation forgotten. "Damn, Baby.. Doesn't that *hurt*?" he blinked at her seeming indifference to it as he frantically bound it with paper towels.

"It's just a cut," she blinked at him. "I'm sure it did, but I just wasn't thinking about it at the time,' she shrugged, reluctant to relinquish her meat. At first, she was a little defensive, but Jason was gentle, and soon, she softened. "How can you be so strong... and not ... " her words failed her as she turned red and glanced ashamedly away.

Jason risked a glance at her face as he dampened a towel with one hand and began cleaning her up. "And not what," he murmured, starting a pile of paper towels on the counter as he first stopped the blood, then cleaned the rest of it up, then put a towel around it until he could find a bandage. "Where's your bandaids?" he asked abruptly, though his hand softened around hers, holding it more gently now that his fear for her safety had gone.

"Yeah," she said, pushing back her hair and glancing bewilderedly around. It was getting stiflingly hot in the kitchen, and she wanted to go jab at the thermostat. "It's- they're on my dresser," she jabbed her thumb toward her room. She felt stupid for saying what she had... but it was already out.

"Ok," he nodded, remembering her directions to her first-aid stuff. "Hold this here, and don't look at it or let up, ok?" He smirked faintly, "I'm a trained professional," he added wtih a hasty wink before disappearing down the hall. A faint trickle of sweat stuck his T-shirt to the center of his back- how had her kitchen gotten so hot all of a sudden?

"Ok, cotton balls, the big box on the..." he began opening drawers of her jewelry box then- and immediately realized that this was the WRONG box when his fingers closed around something smooth and cool. He withdrew it curiously, glancing over his shoulder, then back to it.

Jason gasped softly. A thin, black, leather necklace- no, it wasn't a necklace.. it was... his stomach turned- a collar... dangled off his finger. A small, cheap silver padlock had seemingly been prised open, and upon closer inspection, he realized that the collar had been tugged on, stretched almost to breaking in some places, ruddy, dark stains mingled with white rings that could have been sweat rings laced the inside... and there were small metal studs that would have covered the throat.

He just stared, open-mouthed, and wondered. Why? Why would anyone subject themselves to this? It was... sick! Then, however, the slowly-dawning realization lit upon Jason. It hadn't been willingly at all. It all fit together now. Ren's flinching, practically jumping from her skin whenever Jason had initially raised a hand around her- never to her. The perpetual apologizing, and the "M-" or "Yes Sir" occasionally slipping. M wasn't Mr. It was...

He flung the collar back into the drawer, glowering with revulsion, his face dark with anger.

Master.

David had been one of "Those" people. Subjecting Ren to his iron-fisted edict, and whenever she failed to comply appropriately, he tore into her with words and abuse... all kinds of volatile situations rolled through Jason's mind as he ran a hand through his hair, a cold sweat upon his forehead and shoulders then. That... bastard... Jason renewed his hatred of David all over again, and vowed silently to GET him.

As he finally found the bandaids and neosporin, he drew a breath and composed himself before returning. "How can you be so strong, and.." she'd said. And what? He knew now. "How can you be so strong, and not hurt smaller people like me?" or something to that effect.

You didn't hurt people you loved. David never loved her, and if he ever had, it was nothing on the love Jason had for his Ren.

"Sorry, I got lost," he gave a distracted smirk as he gently maneuvered her to a chair and sat her down in it. "How doesn't this hurt you?" he murmured, daubing a very small bit of the ointment onto the slice. "It's not a small cut," he insisted as he worked.

"I..I'm kinda used to little stuff like that," she shrugged. "Pain becomes something else after awhile, if that makes sense," she murmured.

"Sounds like that came out of a book," he mused. "I don't believe it, though. Pain's pain, no matter what someone wraps it up as," he reasoned, looking dead into her eyes.

"There, all done," he said, releasing her hand to Ren's reluctance. She smelled sweet and exotic, and it made him dizzy. He had to stand up and clear his head of the scent of her, the feeling of her, so warm and so close to him, then.

"You go sit down, and I'll make the sandwiches- I'm a professional at that, too," he winked. "Not on your vanity though, I almost didn't make it out alive!" he joked then. "What do you want in your sandwich?" he said, straying too close to asking about the collar.

"Hope you didn't get lost on there, I forgot to tell you they were in the little clear box next to the jewelry box... but it's so covered in junk," she offered a faint smile, but obediently followed the direction his finger was pointing, replying, "It's up to you- surprise me, I trust your sandwich-making skills," with a mild chuckle. Her hand was still tingling from his attention to it. Ren hadn't realized it, but the couch still had a sheet on it from last night. She took it into her arms and lumped it around, then put it at the end onto which she flopped. She picked up the candy bar she'd hurled earlier, and put it on the coffee table, wondering what had made her so angry about Jason Knight that she'd fling good carbohydrates like that.