Free Nocturnal by Nathan Field Page B

afternoon sky was already beginning to darken, the glass cool to touch. I pulled the window-slide across and stepped onto the balcony, sucking in the fresh, late autumn air. The view was about as pretty as it got from the city center, looking down over the palm trees lining L Street, and the Capitol building’s grand Corinthian columns and lush gardens.
    “Come onto the balcony,” I shouted to Lucy, struggling to be heard over the television. “It’s going to be a beautiful sunset.”
    She ignored me, pretending to be mesmerized by the squawking talk show guests. When the audience started whooping and cheering, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I marched over to the bed, snatched the remote from Lucy’s hand, and pressed the off button.
    She shot me a withering glare. “I was watching that.”
    “It was giving me a headache. Jesus, what’s got into you? You’re acting like a five year old.”
    “And you’re acting like a control freak.”
    There was a tremor in Lucy’s voice that gave me pause. I noticed she was shivering slightly, even though the room was warm. I sat next to her on the bed. “What’s wrong, Lucy? Just talk to me.”
    “It’s nothing,” she said softly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
    “I’m already worried. I mean, look at you.”
    She dropped her head. “Why do you put up with me, Johnny? God knows I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”
    “Don’t say that,” I said, leaning in to comfort her. She recoiled at my touch, jumping to her feet.
    “I better go,” she blurted.
    I stood up and grabbed her hand. She tried to yank free, and I pulled her towards me, hoping to steady her. When my arms tightened around her waist, she let out an ear-splitting howl of pain.
    I immediately backed away, shocked. Lucy was hunched over, clutching her side.
    “Fuck, I’m sorry,” I said.
    Lucy shook her head. “It’s not you,” she said, breathing sharply through her nose. She was still holding her right side, as if a piece of her would fall off if she took her hand away.
    And finally, I twigged. Lucy’s modest outfit. Her defensive body language. Her many attempts to drive me away before we hopped into bed.
    “Why don’t you take off your sweater?” I said.
    She straightened slightly. “Excuse me?”
    “Your sweater, Lucy. I think your hiding something. If I’m wrong, you won’t mind taking it off.”
    “Whatever,” she scoffed. She peeled off her cashmere sweater to reveal a silky white camisole. She folded her bare arms over her chest. “Satisfied?”
    “And the camisole.”
    “I’m really not in the mood…”
    “–Just do it Lucy.”
    She flinched at my direct order. She took off her camisole, and then looked up at me guiltily.
    I couldn’t believe my eyes. On her right side was a massive bruise – yellow and brown at the center, turning purple at the edges. The bruise tightened against her ribs when she breathed, causing her to wince each time she inhaled. It was painful just to look at.
    “Jesus,” I said, moving forward.
    “Don’t touch it,” she warned, hunching over to protect herself.
    “I won’t,” I said, crouching down for a better look. The bruised skin was badly swollen but it was the damage underneath that concerned me. I asked, “Have you seen a doctor?”
    “No. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
    “It’s probably worse than it looks. Does it hurt to breathe?”
    “A little.”
    I stood up. “Then you need to see a doctor. Your ribs might be broken.”
    “I’m okay, Johnny. Honestly.”
    I was shaking my head in disbelief. “What a fucking monster. Why do you stay with him?”
    Her eyes shot away. “It wasn’t Sterling. I tripped on the stairs…”
    “–You’re lying. Jesus, you can’t even look at me. Why are you protecting him?”
    Her lips parted, and for a moment, I thought she was going to open up about her violent husband. But then she clamped her mouth shut and pushed past me, gathering her clothes from the bed. “I have