Page 15 of My Damaged Protector

I should be tired from a long day at work, not from having a shitty day.

I should be getting into bed right now, feeling fulfilled after another day doing what I love the most, which is saving people. But no, I don't have any of that!

And he wants me to be happy he's calling me?

No way.

“There wouldn't be any need for that if you didn't kick me off the team,” I snap at him.

I hear a long sigh from his end of the phone. I’m waiting for him to be done with this conversation and just end the call. He's not one to give up easily, though, so I'm not surprised when he speaks again. It's the tone with which he speaks that totally catches me off guard.

“This again. I didn't kick you off the team, Ian. I suspended you!”

“What's the difference?” He snaps in irritation.

“When you're kicked off the team, you are fired, man—fired, no coming back! Suspension, though, means you are being given a compulsory leave. So the difference here is that you get to come back as soon as you are okay,” he explains in frustration.

“And I'm not okay now?” I retort, knowing my question is a totally unnecessary one.

“God, I can't argue with you, man,” he says in a groan.

We are getting somewhere.

“The feeling is mutual,” I respond, even though I don't mean it.

I'm just hurting right now, and I need someone to lash out at. He's just unlucky to be the only person willing to put up with me.

It doesn't help that he won't hang up, and I'm too stubborn to be the one who gives in. If I'm going to be honest, I don't even want to end the call. Sleep is not something I'm sure I'll get any time soon, and being on the call with him gives me a couple of minutes’ break from the self-hate campaign I have going on.

“Stop doing this to yourself, man. Just… Just get the help you need, please.”

His voice is so soft this time around I fear he's going to get through to me.

I hear a crash in the room beside me again. This time, it's too loud for me to ignore.

Grateful for the escape, I speak.

“I think something is going on at the motel where I am. I'll call you tomorrow, good night.”

Whatever protest he has in response to me never comes as I end the call, toss my phone on the bed, and dash out of the room. As I open the door, a sneaky feeling that I might need my phone fills me, and I rush back to get it.

As soon as I pick up the phone, I remember I'm still in my towel, and I quickly pick up the jeans I was previously wearing, which are lying on the ground, and pull them up my legs.

Next, I ruffle through my duffel for a clean shirt. The one I was wearing was stained with blood from my cut, so I left it in the bathroom.

I choose the first shirt I find, putting it on as fast as I can as the sound is now getting louder. I tuck my phone in my pocket and then step out of my room. In front of the room where the sound is coming from, I start to bang on the door, and an eerie silence falls upon the hallway.

What's going on?

Muffled voices come from the door, and my instincts instantly flare up. Something is wrong.

Now, the wise thing here would probably be to rush down to reception, have the receptionist call the cops, and wait for them to show up.

I could even call 911. I have my phone with me.

But these two smart options just don't sit well with me.

What if someone is being raped inside the room?

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