Page 8 of Protecting Christina

He mumbled something incoherent under his breath. His eyes were glassy and red and I was under no delusion that he understood what I’d said. But I was hoping, somehow, under the fog of his drunkenness, the words would seep through.

When we reached the entrance, I had to drag his ass up the front steps to the sidewalk. Tina waited with the car running.

The man dry heaved beside me, and I reacted quickly. Turning his body away from me and toward a trash can, I waited as he threw up the contents of the night.

It reeked of something foul and I had to swallow down my own nausea.

“I’m so sorry,” Tina apologized, rushing toward me. But I shook my head.

“Just wait there. He’s not done.”

I held him up as he continued to empty his stomach into the dirty garbage.

When nothing more came out and he was only retching air, I used his shirt to wipe his mouth.

He could barely move. When Tina opened the backseat of the car, I practically pushed him inside, then lifted his legs onto the car floor.

Slamming the door behind him, I turned to Tina. “He should sleep the rest of the night.”

She nodded. Probably as familiar as I was with the routine. “Thanks.”

I wanted to say more, but she had refused my help, so I would take this as a win and keep it short. “You’re welcome.”

Saying nothing more, she opened the driver’s door and started the car. I waited on the sidewalk with my arms crossed until she turned the corner. When she was gone, I headed toward my car.

With a sigh, I started the ignition, then rubbed my face with my hands.

I’d just put the car in reverse when my phone rang. It was two in the morning. Not many people called this number at this hour, except for my friends.

“Are you up?” Gabrielle’s low voice came through the Bluetooth.

“Yes.”

“Can you help me tonight?”

She always asked, despite me never having once turned her down.

“Yes.”

“Thank you. I’ll send you the address.”

She hung up the phone. Our conversations were usually this short. She was busy, and I didn’t waste her time asking questions. I knew what she needed me to do, and I was happy to do it.

My phone pinged with a new text message. Glancing at the address, I realized it wasn’t too far from where I was now. It shouldn’t take me more than ten minutes to get there. That was good because I knew how important timing was in these situations.

Despite the late hour, the streets weren’t empty. They weren’t as busy as Times Square, but more people were walking about than one would expect in a residential neighborhood.

When I pulled up at the address, the lights were on and I could hear shouting and a baby crying from my car. The sound of this stranger’s voice awoke the beast inside of me, one I tried hard to control in situations like these. But it wasn’t easy.

I drew in a deep breath, then turned off my car and raced up the porch steps. Banging on the door, I announced myself. “Open the door, or I’ll break it down.”

The baby continued to cry, but the shouting stopped for a second.

“Who the fuck is that?” The man’s voice penetrated through the thin wooden door. Peeking through the cut-out window, I saw a woman wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt holding a sniffling, red-faced baby, probably about eight months old.

The woman didn’t answer the question.

So, I answered instead. “I’m not the police, but you need to open this door before I break it down.”

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