Abby watched her boots tap out a staccato rhythm on the linoleum floor. The chattering of her teeth clanked together so violently, she thought her jaw might break from the impact as her body jackhammered and vibrated in the chair Trevor set her in. How long she'd been sitting there, she didn't have a clue. At least the cool rag on her neck felt good. Another drip from the end of it landed on the floor and she watched in splatter. Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on her breathing to stop the sound of the blood pounding in her ears.

Blood. Oh God! Abby swallowed the bile rising up in her throat. She was covered in the stuff. Even though she avoided looking at it, she knew it was there. Bright red and accusing. Another tremble rocked her already quaking body. She was going to be fired. No job meant no money. No money meant no rent. All of it added together left her back on the street trying to eke out a living. A scary reality now she was in New York. The more she thought about it, the more she couldn't breathe. Black spots formed in front of her eyes and the floor blurred. Burying her head into her hands, Abby panted heavily trying to get oxygen around the constriction in her chest, but it was like trying to breath through a swizzle stick.

"Try to calm down, Kitten," Trevor soothed. He had pulled up a chair next to her and she never noticed. His big palm started rubbing slow circles on her back, making her flinch.

"I'm sss...so ssss...sorry," she stammered. The effort taking more precious breath.

The sound of chair legs being dragged across the floor hit her senses like nails a on a chalkboard and she winced. Abby felt her hands being pried away and she found herself face to face with him. He was blurry. She wiped furiously at her eyes only to realize she was crying, again. Blinking rapidly Trevor slowly came into focus. His hazel eyes clouded with concern and anger. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said emphatically. "Do you hear me? Nothing!"

"Mmm...Mike is ggg...going ttt...to...." She couldn't finish, fear clamped her throat shut. A sob tried to break painfully through and she choked on it. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and she tried to blink them back. She couldn't seem to get any part of her body to cooperate, including her emotions, which only skyrocketed the anxiety. Panic kept her captured in its clutches and was a jealous bitch. Once it took hold, it didn't let go easily.

"Mike isn't going to do anything. Okay? You're going to be alright." Trevor's voice sounded worried but sincere.

But how was she going to be okay? She beat a man. A customer no less. And, of course, it couldn't have been any customer. No, she had to pound the crap out of some associate of the most powerful man in the universe. She basically beat up a mogul, in a public place, threatened him with a weapon and there was a whole crowd of witnesses who saw her do it. She would be lucky to not get life in prison, not to mention her stupidity could cost Mike everything he worked for. Another painful sob tried to work its way out and ended up a croak.

"Just breath, Kitten." Trevor inhaled and exhaled loudly, showing her the way. Abby tried. Really tried, but the hiccupping and sobbing made it difficult.

"Your lips are turning blue." He frowned at her for a moment and then smiled. "I know! Let's play a game."

A game? He wanted to play a game and all she could think about was different ways she could smuggle cigarettes in prison to buy herself a girlfriend. Telling him to fuck off wasn't an option, so she settled for what she hoped was a screw you expression.

"Don't give me that look," he said chuckling. "This will work, I promise. My mother has panic attacks all the time. The key is to think of something else, so I'm going to give you a quote from a movie and you tell me which movie it's from, okay?"

Abby shook her head no, at least she thought she did. It was hard to tell when your body was bouncing around like a Mexican jumping bean.

"Too bad, you're playing anyway," he grinned. Thinking for a moment, he tapped his finger to his lips. "We'll start off easy." Trevor straightened his back, tossed his head at a jaunty angle and boomed in a southern drawl, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

His Rhett Butler was truly horrific and all she could do was stare at him in disbelieving wonder. "Come on, I know you know this one," he cajoled.

"Ggg...gone Www...With the Www...Wind," she gasped out. Abby didn't intend on playing, but she thought it would be far better to answer than to suffer through another Rhett impersonation.

"Good job, kitten!" His eyes dancing with pride as he winked at her. "Okay...a little harder now." He cleared his throat. "Here's looking at you kid."

A small giggle escaped her lips. If she thought his Rhett Butler was bad, his Humphrey Bogart was worse. "Ccc...Casablanca," she answered, hiccupping loudly. A tear tickled her cheek and she swiped at it noticing that her hand shook less.

"Excellent," Trevor said quietly. Taking a hanky out of his back pocket, he softly wiped her cheeks free of tears. "There now, all gone. You've stopped leaking." Smiling, he put the soft square back in his pocket. "Let's see...how about this one." Leaning in towards her until he was just inches from Abby's nose, he said gruffly, "Nobody puts baby in the corner."

A small grin broke across her lips. "I lll...love this m...mmovie."

"I know you do."

"Dd...Dirty Dancing."

"Good girl." He tapped her nose softly before leaning back in his chair. For a few minutes Trevor sat there, breathing in deeply and letting it go slowly, keeping his eyes focused on hers. Before she knew it, she was mimicking him.

The pure bliss of being able to fill her lungs fully was indescribable and she greedily did it again and again. Her head cleared with each inhale and the steel band around her chest melted after each exhale. The boots stopped dancing and were silent. Her jaw, though it ached, no longer chattered like a typewriter and sense of calm washed over her. Abby was once again master of her own body. The pain in her feet still throbbed, a headache continued pounding away behind her eyelids and she was thoroughly exhausted, but if she could have mustard the energy, she would have jumped for joy. Instead she simply smiled.

"Thank you, Trevor." Leaning over Abby wrapped her arms around his massive shoulders and burrowed her head into his chest. His chuckling vibrated against her cheek and he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tightly.

"Anytime, kitten." How long they sat there, Abby didn't care. It felt so warm and safe, she was tempted to stay forever.

"Alright, I've been easy on you." He gently pulled away and settled her back in the chair. "One more." A little furrow formed between his eyebrows while he was thinking. He smiled broadly and stood up. "I'm also a girl standing in front of a boy asking him to love her," he impersonated in a high pitched squeak, batting his eyelashes.

"Did you try and swallow a woman and she got stuck in your throat?" Scotty asked in horror.

Yelping in fright, Abby jumped out of her chair and almost head planted onto the linoleum if it wasn't for Trevor's quick hands catching her.

"What the hell man!" Trevor snapped. "I finally get her calmed down and you come in here scaring the shit out of her!"

"Sounding like a scalded cat hanging over a bucket of water is not considered soothing." Scotty rolled his eyes and huffed with his hand on his hip. "Besides, I thought Abby might want a change of clothes, so I brought her backpack." He slid it off his shoulder and started to hand it to her, glaring at Trevor.

"Thank you, Scotty. You're the best."

"Oh good Lord jeezus almighty!!" Scotty swept his hands up and down in front of her. "Girl, what is this? You look like a survivor from a teen horror flick!"

"I take it back. You're not the best," Abby grumbled, crossing her arms self-consciously.

"Smooth move, Exlax," Trevor snorted shaking his head.

"I've heard snappier comebacks from a bowl of Rice Crispies." Scotty waved Trevor off. "Now, go change out of those wretched clothes and we'll do something about your face when you're finished," he said shoving the bag at her.

Too tired to fight, Abby grabbed the backpack and dragged it and herself to the restroom. Closing the door on the bitch and knuckle dragger arguments going on behind her, she sighed in relief. As much as she loved Trevor and could tolerate Scotty, dealing with them took a humongous amount of energy on a good day. Tonight, she didn't have an ounce of fortitude left. All she wanted was to go home, crash and sleep the sleep of the dead. Lethargy weighed heavily upon her and she stifled a yawn. She wouldn't be going anywhere though, unless she cleaned herself up.

Steeling her nerves, she broke free from the door and walked to the mirror over the sink. Holy crap on a cracker! She looked like a runway model for Jason Voorhees. The white tuxedo uniform top was spattered with bright red splashes of blood, along with parts of her face, neck and arms. Her stomach gave a heave and she lurched for the toilet. Thankfully, it was only a warning shot.

Standing up she quickly ripped off the offending blouse, not caring that buttons pinged in every direction. Wadding it up, she tossed it into the garbage can. There was no way she would ever wear it again anyway. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, she cranked on the faucets and went to work. Keeping her movements robotic and methodical and her mind purposefully blank, she scrubbed vigorously until every last spot and spec was gone.

Tossing the used towels into the trash, she grabbed a few more and dabbed herself dry. Another glance in the mirror told her she'd been successful at getting rid of the gore, even-though she was now blotchy and raw in places. Her hair was disaster and all of Jo Jo's painstakingly done make-up was obliterated leaving her looking like a rabid raccoon. She curled up her fingers and hissed in the mirror, before turning to dig through her backpack.

Pulling out a thick hooded fleece, she buried her face into the material. Abby loved this sweatshirt. It was huge, grey, shapeless and comforting, like putting on a warm hug. The inconspicuous nature of it was also a huge bonus. Standing out in a crowd was something she avoided at all costs. Pulling it over her head, she wiggled and wormed her way into the massive folds before diving back into the backpack.

Burrowing around some more, she pulled out black yoga pants wrapped around a pair of sweat socks and continued her searching for her tennis shoes. She was almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of finally being able to take off the footwear from the abyss, but her hands found nothing. "You've got to be kidding me!" Crying in frustration, she tipped the bag upside down. Everything she owned clattered to the floor, everything that is, but her shoes.

In her haste to get to work, she must have forgotten to grab them. Abby kneeled down on the floor and pounded it in frustration until her hands hurt. Gathering up her things and shoving them into the bag, she swore under her breath all sorts of revenge and maiming towards her roommate. Forcing her feet underneath her, she stood up. The sweatshirt fell mid-thigh obscuring her skirt so it looked like it had little black ruffles. "Oh no, you don't look like a hooker or anything," Abby mumbled, frowning at her reflection. But, she sighed, she would rather look like a woman of the night than have to take the damn boots off and put them back on again. That was just too cruel to contemplate.

Twenty minutes later, after being fluffed and buffed by Scotty, Abby walked down the hallway towards Mike's office. Walked was a relative term; shuffled, limped, dragged...those were all probably more accurate. She hated this hallway. His office door was at the very end of the long hall, but first you needed to pass the restrooms. It always felt as if she was walking to her doom and in this case, she very well may be if Mike decided to fire her.

The lights that use to illuminate the way had fizzled out months ago, so occasionally you walked into a lover's tryst or an over inebriated guest, but mostly it was just really spooky. It made her nerves jump and her eyes searched every corner. When she finally made it to the end of the hall, she sighed in relief. Knocking softly, she waited until she heard a muffled "Come in."

Opening the door, she peeked around it and found Mike sitting at his desk surrounded by papers and his lap top. The room was dim and smelled slightly of vomit. Moving quietly into his office, Abby softly shut the door behind her. There was nothing exceptional about Mike's workspace. In fact, it would have been more of cave than an office if it wasn't for the wall of monitors covering one dark paneled wall, which kept it eerily lit. The shag carpet muffled her footsteps as she made her way over to his monstrosity of a desk. Cherry wood and piled high with papers, it always looked like a bomb went off.

Snuggled under a throw, Clara slept soundly on a couch tucked against the monitor wall. A trash can strategically placed on the floor. That answered the reason for the strange smell, Abby thought while she sat in one of the leather chairs in front of Mike's desk.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked quietly.

"I did." Mike peered over his readers at her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"That's pretty much what I expected you to say," Mike chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Trevor and I were talking and we both wanted you to know how proud we are of you."

"Proud?" This was not what she was expecting to hear. Abby made a self-conscious effort to close her mouth and snapped it shut.

"Yes, proud." Mike took off his readers and tossed them on the desk. "I'm very impressed with the way you handled yourself out there, dolce bella and it got me thinking about the safety of my staff. It's pretty obvious you've had some," he paused for a moment, "extensive self-defense training."

"I've taken a few classes over the years." Abby squirmed in her seat. Dead things showing up on your doorstep was a great motivator.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask why." Mike smiled kindly at her and she relaxed. "I do, however, think it's a great idea. So, beginning next week, Trevor and Jack are going to implement mandatory basic self-defense training for the staff." He eyes wandered over to the sleeping figure on the couch. Clara turned over in her sleep with a sigh. The light from the monitors gave her face a ghostly glow and highlighted the jagged scar which ran from the top of her temple down to the corner of her lips. "Maybe incidents can be stopped before it's too late," he whispered.

"What happened to Clara wasn't your fault Mike." Abby's heart broke for him. Reaching out she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. "You have to stop blaming yourself."

"I'm not so sure."

"Nobody could have known what that psychopath was going to do!" she hissed.

"And yet she had to pay for it." His eyes lingered on Clara before turning back to Abby. The sadness reflected in them made her chest ache. "And she's still paying for it." He scrubbed his hands over his face as if he was trying to wash it away. "Enough, I just thought you should know," Mike muttered as he dug around on his desk. "Here, this is for you." He tossed a white envelope on the desk.

"What is it?" Abby reached out and pulled it towards her. Opening it up, her mouth dropped open wide enough to catch June bugs.

"It's a tip."

"A tip? A tip for what?" her eyes narrowed.

"Can't you just accept it without asking a million questions?"

"No." she tossed it back on the desk.

"I told him it was a bad idea," Mike scoffed.

"Who?"

Mike shoved the envelope back at her. "It's a tip from Adam Steele." He slapped his hand down hard on it when she tried to push it back. "I'm getting really tired of this fucking game!" he hissed.

As she walked along towards the first of her two bus stops, Abby replayed and grumbled to the sidewalk about the turn of events this evening. The boots, being asked to replace Clara, the beeshey business men...Adam...she stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk.

Cussing loudly, she hobbled over to the side of a vacant building and gave her objecting feet a break. What the hell was the deal with the money in the envelope? She'd pretty much skedaddled out of Mike's office deciding it wasn't worth pushing his buttons over when she was lucky enough to have kept her job, but the damn thing felt like it was burning a hole in the bottom of her bag. Maybe she could borrow Jo Jo's computer and find Mr. Steele's address and mail it back to him. That would show his pompous ass.

Shoving off the wall she continued to put one foot in front of the other. She would think about what to do with her new found riches later, right now she just wanted to get home. "Maybe I should use some of it and get a nice cozy cab home," she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself to block out the chill as it started to drizzle.

A soft noise over in the deserted ally to her right, caught her attention. A cat? She strained her ears listening. Abby knew this route home well. The bright streetlights, lack of car traffic and pedestrians was the reason she had chosen it. It was relatively quiet at the times she traveled back and forth to work. Another clang made her jump. Except for tonight, she thought walking faster.

The little hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. Her spidey senses prickled. She was being followed. Picking up the pace, she chanced a glance over her shoulder. The only thing she could see was a pair of headlights coming slowly up the abandoned street. Focusing on the dim bus stop a couple of blocks up, she skirted closer to the road side of the walk. Thinking if she had to, she could wave at whoever was passing by.

Another loud sound brought her head around in a snap. Something glinted under a streetlamp before it disappeared back into the shadows. Fear gripped her hard and she turned to run, but the heel of her boot lodged into a crack in the sidewalk, pitching her forward into oncoming traffic. The last thought she had before her head bounced off the grill of the car, was how much she hated pinkie rings.

I wanted to take this time to thank you for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this installment of Bending Steele, and that you'll consider giving it a vote. I can't tell you how much your support means to me and how much it motivates me to keep going.

If you find any errors along the way, don't be afraid to point them out and I always enjoy any recommendations or critiques you may have. As always, I will try and update once a week, usually on Thursdays, but if you don't see an update here, check out my other story When Roses Collide. Thanks again!