A faint groan catches my attention. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness and settle my gaze on a crumpled figure lying on the dirty ground. My heart leaps in my chest.
I click the ignore button on my cell and turn on its flashlight. I tiptoe closer, my heart pounding a little harder with each step.
Blood is pooled all around him. His face is swollen, his hair matted to his forehead. His wallet and phone are next to him, his keys on the other side. Was this a robbery gone wrong? Why would they have left his stuff? If anything, this looks to be a strangely personal attack.
I glance behind me and bite at my lip. I focus back on him. “Johnny,” I whisper.
His lip twitches and he reels his arm closer to his side, tugging the black fabric up with it.
I gently lift the shirt a few inches further. Bruising covers his ribs, probably from the injury over the weekend. Whoever beat him up must have made it worse tonight.
“Johnny, I’m going to call for help.”
Somehow, he moves, grabbing onto my arm and stopping me from getting my phone. “Please. Don’t.” His voice is barely audible. “Please.”
His touch stings, but not in a bad way. In an electrically surprising way.
If I can’t get backup, I have to do something. I can’t just leave him here.
I don’t owe him anything, especially after the weird way he’s treated me since I arrived, but I couldn’t live with myself if I walked away and left him behind.
He deserves better than that.
And in a way, I’m shocked by the anger that rises within me at whoever did this to him.
I take a steadying breath, careful not to focus too much on the stench of the nearby trash. “Johnny, can you sit up?” I place my hands on his shoulders. “I’m going to help you.”
He groans lightly but doesn’t open his eyes. They both seem to be swollen completely shut anyway.
I lean over and grab his belongings, shoving them into his pockets. “Come on.” I have to strain to lift him off the ground and bring him to his feet.
His weight leans against me, and it’s everything I can do to keep him up.
I throw his arm over my shoulder and reposition to get the best angle. “Let’s get you home.”
We aren’t far at all. But dragging his beaten body makes it one hell of a trek to our complex.
His head hangs low, and to unsuspecting passersby, he probably just appears super drunk. One short older woman gasps and covers her mouth, stopping dead in her tracks.
I force a smile before continuing on and mumble, "He'll be fine."
Johnny coughs and spews blood onto the concrete near the entrance of our building.
“We’re almost there,” I tell him. I punch my code into the access box and maneuver us around the gate. The courtyard is empty, and it makes me semi-glad; at least I won’t be asked questions I don’t know how to answer.
I nearly drop him when his legs buckle, which is fitting considering this is the exact spot he had knocked me down only a few days prior. I won’t be a dick like him, though.
I pause at the stairs. Suddenly they seem to be an impossibly difficult feat. “I’ll need your help on this.” I readjust to get a better grip on him.
“Mmmhm,” he slurs.
One by one, we conquer each step. It takes freaking forever, but I manage to bring his mass to his front door. It feels wrong to go into his place uninvited, but it’s a better option than taking him to my mom’s.
I lean Johnny against the frame and reach into my pocket, only to remember I stuck his keys into his. I fish them out quickly and shove the one that looks like mine into the lock. I turn the handle and nudge the door open.
I glide my hand along the wall where my light switch is located and flip his on. My eyes adjust and I notice the layout is pretty much the same as mine, only it’s decorated differently. My mom’s looks like a staged rental home, and his looks like a total bachelor pad.
A gaming controller sits on top of a pizza box on the dining room table. Two whiskey bottles on the counter. Chinese takeout boxes stacked on top of each other.