The Bar

38. Fight or Flight

As the chef stormed towards Clara, his hands outward to reach for her throat, a switch clicked in Clara's brain. Fight or flight.

As he approached closer, Clara's fist clenched shut. As he grabbed onto her loose tshirt, she swung.

Cavenaugh's men were taken by surprise as Max fell backwards landing on his back on the wood floor.  He groaned a little but other than that, the man was out like a light.

"Holy shit!" One guy yelled. He'd have to put money in the swear jar later.

Clara feels an intense pain through her hand and some pain in her chest as it beats furiously within her. Her pulse racing, her blood pumping at high rates through her veins, the adrenaline with it. Her head begins to throb as the adrenaline descends. Her left hand grasps the other, hissing in pain for a second before she notices the eyes that stare at her.

"That was a surprise," laughs the russian patron Clara has served minutes before.

She looked at the swinging door and found her boyfriend standing shocked at the scene in front of him.

She hit him! Actually hit him! His brain swarming with a feeling of excitement. He smiled at her, his eyes wide like a child seeing a new toy. His hands ran through his hair as he carefully stepped foreward.

"Are you okay?" He asks her as he steps over Max's limp body.

She nods but the pain in her hand is excruciating. The last time she felt this pain was in her arm the time her father broke it.

Najeem moves around Clara, his eyes dart towards her hand that is swelling, changing bright red.

"I'll get some ice," Najeem says with a few curses under his breath.

"Let me see," Flint says holding out his own hands for her to offer her own.
The hand was growing by the second, further the pain grew with the swelling, the redness was growing lighter.

"It's definitely broken," Flint says. "I've broken my own hand more times than I can count and this..." he reexamines her hand before continuing, "Is definitely broken."

Flint looks up as heavy footsteps sound. He expects Najeem with ice but instead he sees Cavenaugh.

"I can call my consierge doctor. He can get her some pain meds and set the hand, cast it," he proffers.

Clara feels a surge of pain, wanting to cry because of it. Flint looks at Clara's doe eyes. He can tell that she is in pain, her eyes growing red from holding back tears.

"Okay, call him," Flint gives in.

Cavenaugh takes out his phone instantly dialing the number.

Flint searches Clara's face, trying to figure out her emotional state. Was she hurt emotionally? Scared? Was she going to cry? Was she thinking about her father?

Flint would give just about anything to know what was on her mind, but as seconds turned into minutes he began to give up searching and finally ask.

"Clara," he says nearly whispering her name. "Are you alright?"

Clara can't look up to meet his gaze. She felt a sense of shame of her actions yet they surprised her and confused her all the same. She was a shaking mess, not crying, not sobbing, just shaking. Flint held her close, his arms wrapped around her. His hand ran through her hair soothing her the way she liked. With subtle shushes and kisses on her forehead, Flint moved Clara away from the dinning area to his office.

As Flint motioned Clara to the couch, Najeem shut the door giving them privacy. With only Flint and Clara left in the room, Clara felt somewhat calm but that only led to her senses being unleashed. Putting her gaurd down, Clara began to feel her tears pour down her cheeks and down the ridge of her nose.