Karen was getting out of her car to go inside of the club when Ryan first saw her from across the street. She was wearing a short skirt that barely covered her ass and a top that really did nothing more than cover her chest. He immediately knew that she probably worked at the club – especially if she was wearing an outfit like that.

Karen looked around, usually there was someone to usher her into the club on nights like this. It was already dark outside and she knew from previous experience at other clubs and venues that the worst people lurk outside after dark. She locked her car with the simple push of a button and the car’s security alarm beeped once as all the lights flashed. The moment the lights flashed, something slipped from her arm and she quickly bent down to get it off the ground.

Ryan watched in captivated horror from across the street as a large man emerged from the shadows of one of the dumpsters with something in his hands that Ryan could only identify as some kind of large stick. Perhaps it was a stick, perhaps it was a baseball bat; he never figured it out.

Karen sensed the lurking presence too and she immediately pulled herself upright just as she heard a male voice shout some incoherency from across the street and a sharp dull blow hit her right below the knee. She immediately fell to the ground from the hit and for a split second everything around her was fuzzy.

As she looked towards the sky, she noted that the stars were splotchy and messy against their dark blue canvas. Then something that is not supposed to be in the sky at night appeared over her face.

“Hi,” she says to the face of the man standing above her, her voice hazy as if she were in a daze.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks as he bends down on his knees to help her up.

“I think so,” she replies as she blinks twice, trying to regain all of her senses. Why does she trust a man that has suddenly appeared above her? She never trusts men. Why should this man be any different?

Ryan’s hands slip underneath her arms and he slowly pulls her up to her feet. She puts almost all of her weight onto the leg that was not struck by the blow.

“Is it broken?” he asks looking down at her bare leg, shining in the moonlight.

“My leg?” she asks back, looking down at it herself, noticing an unsightly scrape from the pavement on her upper thigh and a little blood dripping down around the back of her leg.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies as she tries to put some weight onto the leg. She immediately shifts all of her weight back over to the uninjured leg and says, “Fuck this, I can’t dance tonight.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital?” he inquires, still concerned that her leg may be broken.

“I think I’ll be okay,” she says, shrugging off the stranger. Her distrust for males is starting to return with the return of the rest of her senses. She limps forward a couple of steps, trying to force herself away from this man, but instead all she can manage is a helpless cry.

“You should really go to the emergency room,” he says calmly, patiently. “I can drive you, my car is just around the corner.”

“My car is right here,” she says as she points to the blue Honda that she is standing next to.

“Do you drive a manual or automatic?” he asks.

“Manual,” she replies as she wonders where the hell the bouncers are and why she does not just suck up the pain she is feeling in her leg and hobble her way to safety.

“I can’t drive manual,” he says with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

“I really shouldn’t…” she says as her eyes turn frantically towards the closed back door of the club.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says softly. She turns to him and looks him straight in the eyes as if she was challenging him. He does not flinch, he hardly even blinks. She knows better than to trust a man that she has just met outside of the club, but then again, he does not seem to have anything on him that would harm her. Maybe if she keeps her finger on the top of her bottle of pepper spray she will feel a sense of security.

“Fine,” she breathes, practically disbelieving what she is saying.

She allows him to put his arm around her waist as he helps her walk around the corner. She allows herself to put her arm around his shoulder so she can keep the weight off of her dull, aching leg. She does not think that it is broken. She broke her leg once in the past and it was a lot more painful than this is.

He slips her into the passenger’s seat of his Volkswagen that is probably – she guesses – ten years old. She is well aware that the blood on the back of her leg from the fall is staining the seat and she does not care. She keeps hoping that she will see a bouncer running out of the club to her rescue.

“The club staff must not be too concerned,” she thinks as Ryan starts the car and speeds away from the scene, following the roads to the nearest hospital.

“So you’re a stripper?” he asks as they round a corner, speeding through a stop sign.

“No,” she replies.

“Then…what do you do?” he asks as he glances at her sideways, looking at her outfit that barely covers the parts of her body that need to be covered in public.

“I’m an entertainer,” she replies coolly as he nearly speeds through a red light. He snorts at the remark and bites down on the knuckle of his index finger.

“So that’s what you’re calling it these days?” he asks.

“No, I am an entertainer,” she replies. “I stick by what I originally said.”

“Entertainer then,” he says with a nod. “What do you entertain? How do you entertain?”

“I dance,” she says as she looks out the window. “I sing if my boss wants me to. And I entertain anyone that wants to see me.”

“I can’t imagine there is a large population of Scranton that wants to be entertained,” he says, making air quotes with his fingers when he says “entertained”.

“Clearly you’ve never been to one of the many clubs that Scranton and Wilkes-Barre has to offer then,” she says as she chews on one of her fingernails.

Ryan and Karen sit in silence until the hospital is in clear sight up ahead of them.

“So do you make good money doing that kind of work?” Ryan asks as he turns down a street, following a sign that points the way towards the emergency room.

“I can,” Karen replies with a nod. “Just to be on the safe side though, I have two other jobs working in restaurants. I never want to fall behind on my rent.”

“Good philosophy,” Ryan says as he pulls up in front of the entrance to the emergency room.

Karen opens up her door before Ryan has fully stopped the vehicle. She immediately unbuckles her seatbelt and swivels her hips so her legs are outside of the door.

“No, wait,” Ryan says, “I’ll come in with you.”

“Really, that’s…completely unnecessary,” she says as she stands, and immediately falls a little with a small helpless cry at the pain in her leg.

“No, no,” Ryan says as he quickly opens up his own door and jumps around to the other side. “I’ll come in with you.”

She rolls her eyes slightly and nods in defeat. There really is not a whole lot that she can do when she can barely walk on her own and the stranger certainly is not deserving of pepper spray in his eyes – even though he does seem to be a bit pushy when it comes to helping her.

Ryan throws the keys of his car to a valet who has just emerged from the door and he quickly helps Karen upright and walks her inside. He directs her to sit down while he goes to get the paperwork for her. Karen looks around, feeling a little self-conscious with her costume on and a bruised and bloody leg. The bright light of the waiting room is harsh on her eyes and she is glad that there are not many other people present to see her like this.

Ryan returns to her side moments later, clipboard with several sheets of paper in his hands.

“The receptionist wanted to know if you were a prostitute,” Ryan says with a slight smirk on his face.

“Well you can tell the receptionist to mind her own fucking business,” Karen sneers as she looks over Ryan’s head at two women who are staring at the two of them. She flashes one of them her middle finger and they immediately turn away.

“You don’t have to be so rude,” Ryan says calmly as he fills out some of the information at the top of the sheet.

“I’m not being rude,” she says in reply, “I’m standing up for myself.”

“What’s your name?” he asks, pen poised above the papers in his lap.

“I can fill those out myself,” she replies, “my arms aren’t broken.” She grabs the papers from him and starts to fill them out on her own.

“What’s your name?” he asks again. She wonders if he saw the name that she wrote down on the papers or not. She hopes not.

“Karen,” she replies quietly, turning her body a bit to cover the correct information that she is writing on the sheets. “Why? What’s yours?”

“I’m Ryan,” he says as his hand snakes around towards her, his palm open for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Ryan,” she says as she slips her fingers along his open palm, not really shaking his hand, but rather sliding along it.

“I hope you’re not angry at me,” he says as he leans back in his chair.

“Why would I be angry at you?” she asks, turning towards him again, covering up her name on the forms in case he decides to look.

“You just seemed…” he replies, “angry.” He shrugs and looks over towards reception where the two women are staring at them again.

“I’m just not very trusting of others,” she says softly as she continues to write.

“I can imagine why,” he says as he looks down at her leg and back up at her face. “It’s probably nothing.”

“What?”

“The leg.”

“Oh, no,” she says as she shakes her head, “probably not.”