When I woke up, it wasn't like some slow dreamy thing where the darkness finally released its quiet fingers from around my heart and I opened my eyes all nice and leisurely and whatever stupid metaphors you want to add to describe the perfect waking up moment. There was no gradual change from unconsciousness to reality. My eyes literally snapped open and I sat up so quick that the blood from my head drained too fast and I almost blacked out again right there and then.

And then, get this, since the very first thing that I thought I should do was run away, I didn't realize how tangled up I was in the sheets and in my momentary panic, I actually fell of the bed. I landed on my butt and almost hit my head on the bedside table and the whole nine yards that comes with tumbling off king-size beds. And then, as if that was not bad enough, the sheets that I was wrapped up in also came down with me because I had tried to grab onto them to stop from falling which left just the mattress and pillows.

So there I was, completely clueless as to what happened, numb from my head to my toes, buried under a pile of white bedsheets on the marble floor of some strange house in some strange bedroom in some strange place with a giant clump of Ace bandages wrapped around my left shoulder. And the bandages actually had frowny faces drawn all over them with a black marker.

But of course, things just had to get worse.

"Is the carpet more comfortable than the bed?" A deep, lazy voice asked with detectable amusement, coming from the doorway. "Because if I had known that, I would have had fewer sleepless nights."

I glared at Wolfe, who only grinned back. "What happened?" I questioned dryly.

"You keep asking me that." He said quietly. "I thought you would have figured it out by now."

I threw my hands up in frustration and then winced. My shoulder felt stiff, like after a rigorous workout session on leg day that cramped up muscles and was hurt when pressure was applied. Whatever wonderful numbing thing that I felt after waking up was disappearing. My shoulder only hurt when it moved. I still hadn't figured out what had happened and Wolfe seemed reluctant to tell me.

Speaking of Wolfe...I glanced over to him, still sitting on the floor. He looked good. He always looked good. He was wearing a light blue sweater that matched his eyes and a pair of khakis with boots. There was a lump in his front pocket but I knew better than to think it was his dick (or at least I hoped I was correct in this assumption and that it obviously his gun) and he was frowning, as usual. Wolfe hadn't shaved in a few days and a thick stubble covered his cheeks and jawline. His eyes, cold and blue and unforgiving as always. But there was another look underneath that layer of iciness and it almost looked like regret. It went away as quick as it came, and was replaced with the same look of amusement, one that crinkled the corners of his eyes every time I did something stupid. Which, unfortunately, was very often.

The room I found myself in was very large and luxurious. The bed that I fell off of was enormous, big enough to fit at least four people with a hanging canopy overhead, which was sheer and black and tied in the corners with braided rayon thingies. The floor was marble and accented with a few gold designs and the windows went from floor to ceiling, covered with the same gauze curtains that hung around the bed. There was a balcony leading out to a landscape of trees and skyscrapers in the distance, a door near a white wood chest of drawers, and third door that Wolfe was leaning against.

"Well, I haven't." I clutched the bedsheets closer to me. I just realized that I wasn't wearing the clothes I left the house in this morning. Where my cute sweater and jeans had gone, I didn't know. Instead, I was in a white men's shirt and basketball shorts that were pinned in the corners because they were too big for me. I looked ridiculous and I felt practically naked under the piercing eyes of Wolfe Sterling, but that was nothing compared to the feeling I was getting from the realization that I never changed into these clothes- meaning, Wolfe must have. Pulling a side of the bedsheets over my head, I looked at him from under my toasty warm makeshift swaddle. "What color is my bra, Wolfe?"

"White with pink polka dots." He answered with a completely straight face.

"Okay," I said, because it was all I could say. "Want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Not particularly."

"Wolfe."

"Yes, Florence?"

"Please! Just tell me. Where am I?" I questioned furiously. "How long have I been asleep? Are my parents okay? Why did you try to murder a van full of people? Where am I? Where are my clothes? What happened to my shoulder? Where am I? Did I die? Is this heaven? Because if it is, then it's a real crappy version of the afterlife. Where am I?"

"Alright!" Wolfe growled. He stepped into the room and shut the door. After a moment's hesitation, he walked to me and sat down on the marble floor, leaning against the bedframe. I copied his position and we sat side by side, muscular shoulder to wounded shoulder. "Fine. Damn. Even when you're sedated you're annoying."

I glared at him. "You drugged me?"

"Anesthesia, Florence. I had to." Wolfe glared right back. "Now, would you like to listen to what I have to say or would you rather interrupt every few minutes with an unnecessary comment and keep wasting time?"

"Jerk." I muttered under my breath.

He heard me.

Wolfe sighed deeply. "You were shot."

"I was shot?!" The pain I felt was from a bullet wound? Man, that sounded so much worse (and cooler) than I expected. His words left me stunned and reeling. A bullet wound. Who would try to kill me? I was just a sad little coffee shop waitress with an addiction to Twizzlers and Harry Potter.

"Yes, you were shot."

"Okay."

Wolfe pressed his lips together and perused me carefully for a second, as if searching for something with heavy desperation. I always got that feeling around him, that clench of vulnerability. He had the power to do anything he wanted to me, to my life. It was scary, to say the least. I always felt the need to have something, like a shroud of protection, around me when I was near him. Right now, the bedsheets were my shroud.

His shoulder pressed against mine gently, not enough pressure to cause me discomfort. Our thighs were almost touching, mine wrapped in bedsheets and his in pants. Wolfe locked his fingers and let them rest on his stomach. The bandages were gone from his hands. Angry dark pink bruises were forming on his knuckles, sure to leave a permanent scar. I wondered how many more of them he had on his body. If one fight produced that many wounds, I was afraid to know how much more memoirs the course of his hobby had given him. Scars were stories. I had my very own story now. A bullet wound.

Tracing circles around my knee with pinkie finger, I focused my attention on the gold patterned marble floor and listened to his voice. His presence was suffocating. I was hyperaware of Wolfe sitting beside me. Every movement of his was noticeable since we were at such a close proximity. Gathering my courage from whatever wisps of luck there was floating around the air, I let out a soft breath through my lips. "Where are we?" I finally asked.

"Manhattan." Wolfe said quietly. "Upper East Side. My penthouse."

"Okay." I said again. It really wasn't okay. Panic was lingering in my chest, ready to back up a full blown tantrum. However, I shoved the feeling down because I needed answers before I freaked out. No, I needed to approach this situation with a calm mindset. "Why are we in Manhattan, Wolfe? And if it's no bother, I would greatly appreciate it if you took me back to Brooklyn as soon as possible. Whenever it's convenient. Whenever you'd like to stop dicking around and give me some answers before returning me to the nice, normal life you plucked me from with your veiny hands. I'd appreciate it."

Wolfe ignored my sickly sweet sarcasm and sighed. "We were being followed, Florence."

"Alright." I nodded, trying to stay calm. "And why were we being followed, Wolfe?"

"I'm not sure if you know this, but I'm not exactly the most liked person around here." He said darkly.

"Really ? I had no  idea."

"You were shot." Wolfe ignored my sarcasm once again and continued softly. "They tried to shoot me too, but missed. Remember how that glass door exploded suddenly? The bullet that was meant for me hit that instead. You, unfortunately, were not so lucky. I removed the bullet, though, so you're welcome for that. It was a small thing, barely needed surgery." He glanced at my shoulder. "You'll be fine. Once the drugs wear off, I'll give you some pain medication. Your shoulder will be fine, it'll heal by next week. Don't worry about it."

"Sure, because a bullet wound is nothing to worry about." I mumbled angrily. "I want to know why. And who. Why did someone try to kill us and who done it?"

"Because they saw you with me and they thought we were working together." Wolfe replied slowly. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Before you freak out, Florence, it wasn't the cops who attacked us. There wasn't some undercover operation to take me out." Wolfe said this in a very wry tone. "Remember the white van? They caused the fight two blocks down to distract the cops and came after us while everyone's attention was focused on that."

"You keep saying 'they.' But who are they?" I questioned curiously. A part of me (more like all of me) was terrified. People coming after us? Vengeful bounty hunters? Dangerous criminals wanting revenge for whatever fuckery Wolfe caused in their lives? I wanted absolutely nothing to do with that, but now it seemed too late. I barely cared that I got shot, just being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. But I couldn't live with myself in my parents, Ade, or Clancy got hurt because of him.

Wolfe wouldn't meet my eyes. "There are some things I can't tell you, Florence." He grumbled softly. "There are some things I don't understand myself. But there's no point in scaring you about things I could prevent, events that I will prevent. We both learned our lessons, right? You got hurt because of me. I can't forgive myself for that, Florence, but believe me when I say that I am sorry." Wolfe's voice was sincere and choked up, almost. I wondered if that was an act. "If I just-" He inhaled sharply. "Look, what happened....happened. I can't change the past. But I can change the future."

"Wolfe, I need to understand what happened and I need you to explain to me what happened." I sniffled sadly. "And for that to happen, you need to let me in. Dammit, is it really that hard? Look, we're already too tangled up in this mess. We didn't stop it when we should have. But like you said, what happened happened. So tell me the truth and give me the answers I deserve so we can protect ourselves. I will not let myself or my family get hurt just because you can't open up once in a while. Don't hate everything. Don't hate me."

"Are you kidding me?" Wolfe looked at me with clear disbelief and anger. His lips pursed and eyes flashing, Wolfe spoke his words through frigid, clenched teeth. "Fucking hell, Florence, it should be me who's saying that. You got shot because of me. I don't hate you. I couldn't. After everything I've done, all the shit I've put people through, being closed off from the world and keeping my distance, hating everything and everyone...except you. You. You're the exception. Haven't you realized that by now?"

Stunned, I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying anything stupid.

Wolfe continued. "Listen to me, Florence. I'm sorry that you got hurt. It won't happen again, I promise you that. I'll take you back to Brooklyn tomorrow."

"Tonight!"

"Tomorrow." He repeated. "You're in no condition to travel. It's almost seven in the evening. You can sleep here tonight. Lock the doors, too, if you don't trust me."

"Oh, I will."

It was quiet for a second. Suddenly, I found his hand reaching for my own underneath the pile of bed sheets. Before our skin made contact, I scooted away, putting some much needed distance between us. My cheeks were flushed. Wolfe's was not. My heart was pounding. Wolfe didn't even have one.

"You have a very strong aversion to being touched." A statement, not a question. An observation, but no inquiry. Wolfe's eyes searched my own, looking for an answer to a question I did not understand. He let out a soft, very gentle sigh but thankfully stayed put where he was sitting. I noticed his teeth grinding themselves together like I sometimes did when I was scared. Under his scrutiny, I never did well. It seemed to be turning into another one of those moments. "Why, Florence?"

I twirled a strand of my hair, more out of habit than anything else. Glancing down, I noticed Wolfe's hands clasped together very tightly on his lap, the bruises on his knuckles straining under the force. He had nice fingernails. Very clean cut and- oh, never mind. He also had a lot of veins that ran the course of his entire arms, intricately woven under a layer of skin. I still didn't understand what Wolfe was asking me as he patiently waited for a response. "An aversion to being touched from you." I shrugged.

"Why?" He sounded curious.

"Why what?" I asked in exasperation. Wolfe talked in riddles all the time and it really frustrated me. I don't think he noticed he did it, but every sentence that came out of his perfect lips had the air of holding more than words in the literal sense. Wolfe didn't always mean what he said, and if he did, then it was not the meaning that people first assumed.

"Why don't you like being touched by me?"

I frowned. "Personal preference?"

"Of others?" He questioned.

"What?"

"Florence, you twitch whenever I reach for you."

Bewildered, I stared at him. "I don't twitch, Wolfe."

"You do. You just did. Answer me why that is."

I sat up straighter, fully uncomfortable of where this conversation was heading, and I didn't even know where it was heading. Wolfe watched me carefully, waiting for a response. "I don't know what you're asking me." I snapped. "At this point, I really don't even care anymore. Are we done here? Can you leave? Or would you like to spend some more time asking complicated questions-"

"Florence-" The way he said my name held a warning that I didn't care to take precaution of. His voice was controlled but his words were not. "I'm asking you to tell me why you don't like being touched by me specifically. I don't put my hands on you very often, but those rare times I do, you act like my skin burns yours from the contact. I respect you and I respect your boundaries. I just want an explanation of why that is so I can understand our situation a bit better."

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

"You asked a stupid question." I gave Wolfe a pointed look.

"Then give me a stupid answer."

"Because-" Giving up, I decided to give Wolfe a half-truth, since he was so fond of giving me them. I scooted away even more. The space between us was very helpful during times like these. "You're mean and I don't like you."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Florence-"

"Okay. But I almost died because of you. And you say a lot of things that you don't hold your words do. You wouldn't hurt me now...but what about later? When I make you angry? Which happens very often, it seems. You have a very bad temper, Wolfe." I said. "You'll snap one day with me. What happens then? You're not a good person. I don't trust you enough to let you have such intimacy with me...that's not going to end well for either of us, anyways. Seriously, I need to pee. Can I go now?"

"No, Florence." He growled. Wolfe suddenly stood up, giving me a little fright. Out of instinct, I twitched nervously. He noticed it and the frown tugging the corners of his cherry red lips deepened. Wolfe didn't make a move to sit back down or come near me. In my seated position against his towering 6 foot height, it was very intimidating. "What have I ever done to hurt you? Physically?"

"Physically?" I repeated. "I did get shot just because I was with you. But you personally have done nothing. It's the emotional abuse that gets to me."

"Are you saying that I abuse you?" He raised his eyebrows and pinned me with a disbelieving stare.

"Are you saying that you don't?"

"Florence, why don't you trust me? What reason have I given you to justify your hostility towards me? I explained why I am here. I'm not going to hurt your family, or your business, or you. And I will do everything in my power to stop others from bringing you any harm. Today was a mistake." Wolfe growled. "I don't want to make you suffer. That's not my intention. I'm not going to deny that I've put you through a lot. I have, and for that, I'm sorry. And I know an apology is the most pathetic thing I have to offer as reconciliation for all of this-"

"Got me on that one." Anger curled its iron fist around my chest. "I don't want an apology. I want you to get out, Wolfe."

"Tough luck, doll." He growled. "I'm not doing that. I'll stick around here for as long as I please, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it."

"You have no right."

"You're right."

"I hate you."

"Oh, baby. I can't say the same.''