Jeff's cell phone rang out on the night stand next to his bed. He groaned then rolled over to see who it was.

Britta

He answered it groggily, "Britta it's 2 am, so this is definitely a booty call. We'll make it quick because I have to teach class in th-"

"Jeff," her voice was small and shaky, like she had been crying.

He shot up in bed, suddenly wide awake. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Can you come over?" she asked timidly.

"Britta, what happened? What's wrong?" he asked again.

"I was finishing up a shift and this guy had been talking to me all night. He walked me home and he was kinda drunk and I asked him up to my apartment for coffee but he thought I meant," she began but didn't need to finish.

"Britta did he touch you? Did he hurt you?" Jeff nearly yelled, and his pulse quickened. He could feel his face turning red with anger.

"No, he didn't do that, but he did kind of hit me a couple times, then he just stormed out," she started to explain.

Meanwhile, Jeff had already jumped out of bed, and thrown a t-shirt over his head. He grabbed his keys and wallet from a side table next to the couch, then slipped on the closest pair of shoes he could find, not caring that he was in his pajamas, and they were a $900 pair of Italian dress shoes. Britta was still telling him what had happened, "but he said he'd be back, and now I'm afraid to be here alone," she forced herself to keep it together.

"Lock your door. Don't answer it for anyone other than me. I'm on my way," he said as he grabbed a hoodie and shut his door behind him.

He wasn't sure how he made it to her apartment in seven minutes when it usually took more than fifteen. He also wasn't sure how he hadn't been pulled over since he ran every light (safely, of course).

He parked then ran from his car up the three flights of stairs to her apartment, and didn't stop until he got to her door. The greying wallpaper in the hallway was stained and peeling in spots. It was dimly lit, and the light closest to her door flickered and buzzed. He tried the knob, but it was locked; of course it was. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the knob and deadbolt, but it still didn't open. He knew she had three other locks that you could only access from the inside, so he pounded his fist against the door.

"Britta! It's Jeff. Let me in," he yelled through the door. A moment later he heard all of her locks click, then she cracked the door open, peeking through, just to be sure. When she saw it was him, she threw the door open and he stepped forward, taking her into his arms and lifting her up off the floor. She had once told him she always loved it when he hugged her that way.

"Jeff, I'm so stupid."

"Stop it, Britta, this isn't your fault."

Her fingernails dug into his back as she clung to him. She couldn't help it anymore, and the tears broke through as she continued. "I was so scared. He was a big guy and he made a pass at me but I told him 'no' so he grabbed me by the wrists and knocked me to the floor. I couldn't move," she cried into his shoulder. "Somehow I managed to knee him in the crotch, so he hit me a couple times, then stumbled out of my apartment."

Jeff reached his left arm up and stroked her hair, while his right arm still held her against his body. "I'm here. You're safe." After a moment, he set her down and released his arm from around her. She stepped back then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Now that she was in the light Jeff could finally see where the guy had hit her.

"Oh my god, Britta!" he yelled and leaned down to better inspect her face.

"Is it bad? Oh god, it's bad, isn't it?" she asked. "I was too afraid to look."

The left side of her face was red and bruising. Dried blood was crusted along the side of her nose and mouth, and there was a cut on her cheek. He took a breath to calm down because he could tell he was making her feel even worse. He smiled slightly then cupped her cheek as he told her, "well, you probably won't be nominated beauty queen any time soon, but don't worry, you'll be pretty again in no time," he joked, trying to ease some tension. It worked because she smiled and a small laugh escaped her mouth.

"Come here," he said gently, and took her hand. He lead her to the kitchen sink where he sat her down on a miss-matched chair he pulled from her kitchen table, then got a towel wet. He dragged another chair in front of her and sat down facing her.

As he started cleaning up blood from her lip and the side of her face, she said, "last time I was the one cleaning blood off of you, remember?"

He smiled and winked at her, "how could I forget?"

"I think I liked it better when I was playing nurse," she admitted.

"Of course you did. It's hard to deny the view was spectacular."

She playfully hit his shoulder, "get over yourself, Winger."

"But it's true."

"Doesn't make you any less of an ass when you point it out."

"But all the ladies love Jeff," he joked.

"Shut up."

They fell into comfortable silence as he continued working. Suddenly she yelled, "ouch!" and flinched when he wiped a sensitive spot on her cheek.

He pulled back. "Sorry!"

She reached for the towel, "here, I can finish myself." She got up to go to the bathroom to clean herself up, then told him, "just wait on the couch. I'll be right out."

"Okay."

Her sofa creaked when he sat down and a wayward spring poked him in the back. He picked up some hipster artsy magazine from her coffee table that was sitting next to a bloodied rag. He figured she must have used it on her face before he got there. It made his pulse race again just seeing it and imagining someone hitting her. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down then noticed it was slightly cool in her apartment. "Did your Super ever fix your radiator?" he called to her.

"What do you think?" she replied back.

"That guy is useless," he said, then shook his head and pulled his jacket tighter across his chest. When she walked back out a few minutes later, her face looked much better, but was still slightly swollen and red. She had changed into an over-sized sweatshirt and pajama shorts that may have been too short for October, but it was unseasonably warm, and even if it hadn't been, Jeff wasn't in a position to complain.

"Sorry I called you so late," she started.

"No, don't apologize. It's fine. In fact, I would've been mad if I'd heard what happened and you hadn't called me," he told her.

His left arm was draped comfortably across the back of the sofa, and as she sat down, the hairs from her ponytail teased his forearm. Through his pajama pants, he could feel warmth from the side of her thigh, which was nestled up against his. Due to the small size of the sofa, when she turned toward him, her right knee ended up almost entirely in his lap. "Well, I'm actually kind of hungry and was planning on ordering some take out-"

"Britta, it's 3 am," he said skeptically as he interrupted her.

"Hey, I lived in New York," she reminded him. "I can find a 24-hour take out place anywhere," she defended herself.

He just shook his head and laughed, "wow, a 24-hour take out place? Sounds completely unnecessary, and possibly riddled with bacteria," he joked back. "This I have got to see."

She called in their order and twenty minutes later they were arguing over what to watch on Netflix when her doorbell rang. Jeff started to get up to answer it, but Britta forced him back down in his seat as she reached for her purse. "Please, I've got this. It's the least I can do, considering I woke you up and made you rush over to my place in the middle of the night and it wasn't for sex."

Jeff put his hands up in the air as a mock surrender, and let her go.

She walked over, opened the door, then froze. "Told you I'd be back," a deep voice laughed. She was forced back into her apartment by the guy from before. He knocked her to the ground again, and was trying to covering her mouth with one of his hands when she screamed.

"Britta, what is-" Jeff turned around and saw the guy on top of her. "What the hell?" he yelled, as he jumped over the back of the couch, one handed. "Get the fuck off of her asshole!" he hollered. He reached down and pried the guy off of her, then picked him up and slammed him against the wall, knocking down a picture frame. Britta scrambled up from the floor, and ran behind the couch.

"Who are you?!" the guy asked.

"You don't get to ask that," Jeff threatened. "Judging by your behavior, I'm guessing you're the one who did that to her face." The guy didn't say anything. He was struggling against the grip Jeff had on him, but he was obviously drunk, and physically was no match for Jeff. His feet were barely touching the floor.

"Answer me!" Jeff demanded.

"Whatever, dude put me down!"

"Oh, I'll put you somewhere alright." Jeff forced him back out of the apartment door and pushed him against the opposite hallway wall with his forearm against the base of the guy's neck. "That woman in there," Jeff pointed at Britta's open door, "never even think about her again, unless it's to remember that if you ever try what you did to her again, I'm going to kick your ass!" he yelled. "It takes a really big man to hit a woman. Now get the hell out of here." He grabbed the front of the guy's jacket and tossed him down the hall.

"Yeah, whatever," the guy said as he stumbled down the hall, "she's old and not even that hot. She wouldn't have been worth it."

"Keep walking asshole, you have no idea what you missed out on!" Jeff called in his direction. He heard the guy trip and possibly fall down the stairs but didn't bother checking on him. He just stood there for a moment with his jaw clenched, staring in the direction the guy had taken off, making sure he was gone. The hallway light flickered across the angular features of his face for a moment then he turned, and walked back into Britta's apartment. She was standing in the middle of her living room, arms wrapped protectively around herself, and she was visibly shaking.

"Hey, hey, hey ..." he shut the door and rushed over to wrap his arms around her. "It's okay."

"He told me," she started but had to stop to catch her breath and start over again. "He told me he'd be back. I didn't believe him."

"This is why I'm glad you called me. You weren't alone this time," he tried to reassure her.

"But one day I will be," she said as he continued to hold her. "I'll be on a date, or even just answer my door, and I'll be alone and vulnerable."

"Okay," he released her, then backed up and took her by the shoulders. "Get your stuff, you're coming to my place. I'm getting you out of your lease, and you're moving out of here. It's not safe."

"But what about the take out? It's already on the way."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at her lack of priorities, then told her, "it'll take a few minutes to get you packed. If they get here before we leave, great, we'll eat at my place. If they don't, we leave a $20 on the door."

"But my cat!"

"He'll survive the night. Now get moving."

She started to walk toward her bedroom door, but stopped and turned around. She walked back to Jeff, reached up and took his jaw in one hand and wrapped her other arm around the back of his neck, then pulled him down to give him a quick kiss.

"What-" Jeff began to ask after she pulled away, but she cut him off.

"Thanks," she said, then her lips curled up into a small smile. She walked away, leaving him dumbfounded in her living room.