“I don’t wanna go with you, I don’t wanna- let go of me! Please! Please!”
The source of the commotion isn’t hard to see- some girl who’s clearly had enough to be a little impaired, trying to yank her hand out of the grip of a man twice as big and maybe three times as old as she is. The girl is a kid- Roderick’s passed through enough bars to see a fake ID-er when he sees one- with blonde hair and blue eyes that would look more in place in a renaissance painting than in a shady bar on the outskirts of town. She’s struggling, but she must weigh about a buck twenty and it doesn’t look like she’s even strong enough to fight the man off sober. Roderick gets up.
“Hey!” he shouts across the bar. “Leave her alone!”
“Mind your own business!” The man shouts back. “This is between me and her, you stay out of it.”
The girl is wailing, wailing, getting louder as her distress rises, a constant stream of I don’t wanna and I don’t know you and please. Clearly she needs someone to intervene, so Roderick makes it his business and crosses the bar.
“She doesn’t want to go with you.” he says. “Just leave her alone.”
One handed, the man shoves Roderick back. “This doesn’t concern you.” he repeats.
Roderick is only 24, what must be half of this man’s years of toughened hands and well-worn muscles, but he’s sober, and he’s mad, and his size isn’t for nothing. He exchanges the shove for a slap, open handed over the guy’s ear, the way he knows from experience hurts like a bitch. The man doubles over, as expected.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he spits. “I said mind your business!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Look at her!” This isn’t a dialogue; he doesn’t want to hear the man’s response, so he roars, loud enough to fill the bar, “Get out!”
Roderick doesn’t like to shout, not really, but he does it when necessary, because it works. His size and his image and the power of his voice are enough to make anyone think twice about what they’re risking, and the man releases the girl’s hand and slinks away. She collapses onto a stool, taking shuddering breaths, and even from here Roderick can see the beginnings of a hand-shaped bruise on her arm.
“Are you alright?”
The girl blinks up at him, her eyes showing relief and gratitude and fear- fear of him. Roderick is just about the opposite of the archetypical knight in shining armour, with the bulk of his body and his tattoos and his leather jacket, but still, she clings to his arm and weeps, choking out half formed sentences about friends abandoning her and dead phone batteries. He rubs her arm and shushes her and eventually manages to pry her (gently) off him.
“How about you go splash your face with a little cold water?” he suggests. “It’ll calm you down.”
Roderick slaps two twenties onto the bar, to pay for his drinks and the girl’s, and accepts his change a little brusquely. He’s not exactly angry with the bartender for letting her drink- this bar doesn’t always see much traffic, and the guy’s gotta pay his bills, right?- but he is a little angry with him for not saying anything to the creep who was basically trying to kidnap this kid.
The girl comes out of the bathroom with a clean face and a slightly steadier gait and Roderick knew, intellectually, that she was underage, but now without the mascara and contouring, he can see it.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
She sniffs. “Bethany.”
“Do you have anyone you can call to come get you?” he asks, and when she starts again to explain her dead phone battery, “Here- you can use my phone.”
She takes the phone, smiles gratefully, and hesitates with a finger halfway to the dial pad.
“Parents?” he offers.
“God, no, they’ll kill me.” Bethany wipes at her nose and eyes with the back of her hand, and starts punching in a number. “I have a big sister.”
“Good, call her.” he says. “If you want, I’ll wait with you outside- by the sign, where it’s well lit- until she comes for you.”
The cool air does Bethany some good, and she livens up to ask him about his tattoos and the nasty scar that he got falling off his bike at 60mph. She tells him about her friends-who-aren’t-really-friends and how this isn’t even the first time something like this has happened to her. She’s a sweet kid, and she deserves better, but teenagers can be so cruel to each other- Roderick knows that all too well.
When Bethany shivers, Roderick lends her his leather jacket- draped over her shoulders like a jacket- and Bethany takes the liberty of taking his shades off his face to play around with them.
“Wanna hear a secret?” he offers, smiling as she holds them up to her eyes and squints, “Those are prescription. I can’t see shit right now.” She giggles and hands the shades back to him, and as Roderick is putting them back on it occurs to him to watch his tongue.
“Fuck,” he says, which really doesn’t help matters. “Shi- mother-damn it, I can’t swear in front of a kid.”
Unsurprisingly, that’s the part she takes umbrage with. “I am not a kid.”
Roderick raises an eyebrow. “R-ight.” he says. “How old are you?”
She doesn’t answer, glancing back at the bar.
“I’m not a cop.” Roderick says, “and I know you’re too young to be there, anyway. Come on, how bad is it?”
Her smile is small and guilty, but it tugs at the corners of her mouth in a way she can’t help. “Fifteen.” she says, which is pretty bad but unsurprising. Fifteen is just about the right age for the kinds of plans that haven’t been thought all the way through, and figuring out when your friends aren’t really your friends. Roderick pulls out a cigarette out of habit and then puts it back away.
“What’s your favourite subject?” he asks.
They’re sitting there for about twenty minutes before a silver sedan pulls into the car park and Bethany perks up. “That’s her car.” she explains, as if Roderick hasn’t already figured that much out for himself, and bounces a little. The car parks and out of the driver’s seat comes a young woman about Roderick’s age, wearing a university hoodie and the expression of someone who’s just woken up and Hasn’t Had Enough Coffee for This. She has Bethany’s renaissance painting features- which is to say, she’s sort of beautiful- and she’s not very big herself, and clearly whichever parent they take after has strong genes.
Bethany springs off the curb and launches herself unsteadily into her arms. “Kitty!” Roderick stands up- he’s preparing to go back inside, but he’s not going to until Bethany is in her sister’s car and they’re driving away. It’s not safe for either of them.
Kitty sighs, a sound that’s equal parts exasperation and relief, and lets Bethany hold her. “Did you learn your lesson at least?” she asks, holding Bethany out at arm’s length to check her over, and then smoothing her hair off her face. It’s only now that her eyes travel off her sister and land on Roderick, and her expression goes blank and a little bit chilly. Bethany feels it in her body language, or perhaps knows her sister well enough to predict her reaction. Roderick isn’t surprised- he has this effect on a lot of people.
“This is the guy whose phone I called you on.” Bethany explains. “He’s not a bad guy, he stopped this creep from dragging me out the bar.” She shrugs Roderick’s jacket off her shoulders, as if she’s just remembered she’s still wearing it. The girl, the sister, keeps one hand on Bethany’s waist, as if she’s forgotten to let go, and so Bethany has to sort of twist out of it to reach far enough to hand Roderick the jacket. That being done, the sister draws her back to her side, and takes a step forward.
Roderick waves sort of awkwardly. “I’m Roderick.” he says. “Hey.”
She looks him up and down with a cold sort of caution in her eyes, before extending a hand. “Catherine.” she says, and then, with some effort, “Thank you for keeping her safe.”
“No problem.” he says. “And hey, try to go easy on her? She could’ve done worse.” he jokes. “She could’ve ended up like me.”
There’s something a little warmer in Catherine’s appraisal this time. One side of her mouth quirks up in a little smile.
“I think,” she says carefully, “that she could do a lot worse than ending up like you.”
