Page 39 of Homebound
Oh, it hurt to come crashing down to reality.
Gemma groaned as she rolled out of bed. Her foot shot shocks of pain up her leg when she put weight on it, but on closer inspection, the swelling seemed to have gone down a bit. Surprising, given her last night’s workouts.
She quickly dressed and laced up her damp boots, then looked around searching for her coat. A small laugh escaped her when the realization hit: She had never retrieved her coat from the girl last night.
Bundling up in layers of shirts and the two sweaters she owned, Gemma stuffed her chin-length hair under her knit hat and opened her bedroom door.
The house was quiet. The kids had left for school and Aunt Herise for work. Uncle Drexel’s arm was in really bad shape, torn up in several places, and he would be out of commission for a while. He must be sleeping now, the door to his and Herise’s room closed.
Last night Gemma had helped Herise to stitch pieces of his flesh together the best they could and bandage it tightly. Drexel needed antibiotics but the family had no connections in the medical field, and without connections procuring medication would be a difficult affair. Aunt Herise was worried sick.
What a sad situation.
In a gloomy mood, Gemma left the house and went to work. The temperature had dropped sometime in the wee hours of the morning and the misty rain of yesterday turned into cold snow falling in small but persistent flakes that clung to her sweater. By the time she reached the rusty prison door and touched the onyx plate, she resembled a snowman.
No one attended the check-in counter, for the time for checking in was long past. Gemma shook off the snow from her clothes and made her way to OO’s office where all latecomers were required to go for a reprimand. A particularly unwelcome requirement for Gemma, given OO’s avid interest in certain body parts of hers.
She knocked and he answered. Pulling the handle, she went in.
“Good morning, sir. I’m late. I am very sorry.”
He recognized her immediately, she saw his eyes narrow.
“Helper McKinley, is it?” He leaned back in his chair, assessing.
Gemma nodded. Her clothes were damp, and she was cold, and her nipples were like pebbles poking against the many layers of her shirts. She hated the reaction but was powerless to change it.
He noticed - and smiled.
“Just now coming in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have an explanation?”
“I… there were disturbances on the streets last night, and I got home very late. I overslept. I apologize.”
While she was rambling out her excuses, he got up and approached circling her like a predator he was. He stood so near that she could feel his body heat and smell the cloying fragrance of his aftershave. Where did he manage to get aftershave from, anyway? Regular people had to boil their soap, for there was none to be had in the City. They read about aftershave in magazines. That is, if they had access to a reading screen.
A hypocrite and abuser of his position.
He smiled warmly at Gemma. “You’re forgiven. Of course, nothing can be done about your lost pay…”
He trailed off and tapped an index finger across his lips as if considering exceptions for her transgression. His eyes, impassively cold and hotly appraising at the same time, openly roamed over her chest.
“I understand, sir. I will do better next time,” Gemma rushed to assure him.
Screw the money, the last thing she wanted was a favor from him. Not if she could help it, and she was very much afraid that soon she wouldn’t be able to. He was enjoying the novelty of her, this game of innuendo, his little chase, savoring the anticipation. But he wouldn’t want to wait long.
“May I please receive my stun stick?”
His brows rose slightly but luckily for Gemma, he chose to postpone his pursuit of her breasts for the time being.
“Follow me,” he said curtly and led her out of his office to the counter behind which a secured rack of stun weapons was located. He unlocked it and gave her one, notating her time in in the ledger with a fat note “tardy.”
Feeling like she dodged a fast bullet, Gemma climbed the stairs to the third floor where Arlo and Ruby crowded her with questions. She re-told them the events of the last night and even groused a little about losing her coat to the unknown migrant girl.
“Scatterbrain,” said Ruby.
