Page 2 of In the Light of the Moon

“Look, I’m not,” I raised both palms, “trying to hassle you. But you look like you could use some help.” My teeth sank into my bottom lip, trying to decide what to do. His eyes stabbed back toward the forest again.

I crept a little closer, but he ignored me. He didn’t seem to have any trouble breathing, but my guess was he hadn’t collapsed beside a dumpster at the back of a failing pizza joint because he could just run or drive away. Had someone beat him up back here while the three of us had been right on the other side of the brick wall?

Now that I was just a half-step away, I could see more blood seeping through the fabric of the dark shirt he wore. It was long-sleeved, but I could also see that it was worse for wear. There were scuffs and tears in the fabric, his hair messy and blood-stained. His jeans looked dirty, and I wondered if he had any wounds on his legs, too.

“Let me just see where you’re hurt and I—” but I’d been moving too fast. I’d felt lulled into him accepting my companyand touch when he let me get closer. But when my left hand reached out to pull some debris away from the injured areas, a grumble made its way to my ears just after he was a flurry of movement. Green eyes and white teeth flashing, my arm was knocked away from him, and so was the rest of my body.

The air whooshed out of my lungs when my back hit the asphalt, and then he was leaning over me. My heart thudded quickly in my chest, and I gasped for breath, to figure out what to do. His hands were planted on either side of my head, but his legs weren’t pinning mine down. A drop of blood from his nose dripped onto my cheek, but I didn’t dare wipe it away.

Up close, I could see that he didn’t look much older than me, and it was like his skin had actually been leeched of color. There were purple bruises forming where someone had undoubtedly hit him, and there were even deep marks that I could see near his collar that looked like… punctures?

I tried to think of something to say, to do, and though he didn’t have my arms pinned either, I worried that moving in any way would set him off again.

“I-I’m sorry. That this happened to you,” I took a shaky breath, “and that I got too close.” My throat actually gulped, and his eery eyes tracked the movement. I parted my lips to say something else, but then he looked at me again, and my lips slammed shut.

He pressed closer for a moment, just a breath, and I belatedly saw that his hair, though frizzy and standing on end, was made of big, soft looking curls.

The man lurched back, and I was left staring at the darkened sky. I sucked in precious air before carefully sitting up, still afraid to make any sudden movements. He was like an injured animal cornered, attacking anything that got too close.

And, with the way he was crouched, settled closer to the dumpster than before, I supposed he was.

I cleared my throat and gathered my feet beneath me. At some point the music inside had cut off, and I knew that Louis or Evan would be coming out here any second to toss their garbage away before locking up. And for some reason, I didn’t want them finding this man.

I wiped at my cheek with the back of my hand and stammered, “I’m going inside to get my things and make sure no one comes back here. Is that… is that okay?” I really hadn’t been expecting some sort of answer. He didn’t seem drunk or high before, but something in his features seemed more settled, now. There was a little more reasoning in them, and though he wouldn’t exactly meet my eyes like he had been, he surprised me by giving a jerky nod.

My lips curled up in a small smile, “Okay, okay, cool. And I can get you some water?” Another nod, and my smile grew. I stood and dusted off my ass and the backs of my thighs, but kept my distance as I took a step toward the door. When his shoulders didn’t rise in unease, I kept going, even giving a lame little wave.

The guys were grabbing their things when I made my way back inside, and Evan had two full bags of trash in his hands. “I’ll grab that for you!” I hurried to get my big, slouchy purse and filled a large to-go cup with ice water. While I waited for the liquid to dispense, I shoved on my old jean jacket and readjusted my bandana once again. I plucked a straw from the restocked drink station before taking the bags from where Evan had left them propped against the wall.

It was a bit awkward gripping the two heavy bags in one fist while I clutched the water cup to me, but I managed not to drop anything. “See you tomorrow,” I shouted as they made their way to the front to leave and lock the door from the outside.

The garbage bags were almost dragging on the ground by the time I made it out the back door again, and I kicked in the heavy can of tomatoes that we used to prop it open. The door swungin with a metallic clack, and I lifted my foot to give a good kick behind me to make sure that it was closed all the way.

First things first, I dropped the garbage near the door and held the cup as if it was a priceless treasure or life-saving medicine. My heart picked up again, this time in fear that the man was gone, but when I rounded the dark green dumpster, he was still there, albeit sitting a bit more casually.

His head snapped up when I came into view, but he seemed to relax when recognition flared in his eyes. I crouched again, trying to remember not to get as close as I normally would when speaking with someone.

“Um, here,” I extended the water toward him, but then I felt silly because there was too much space between us for him to reach it without us getting closer to one another. I set it on the asphalt and stood, “I’m going to throw some garbage into this dumpster here. There may be a loud noise, but that’s all it is, okay?” He looked at the water tentatively then back toward me without meeting my gaze again. He nodded, and I tried to offer another encouraging smile. He ducked his head, fluffy hair bouncing. I wanted to make sure he could get the water himself, but when he reached out with his right hand and promptly hissed in pain before switching to his left, I decided to give him a bit of privacy.

The heavy bags banged the inside of the dumpster as I tossed them in, and I was glad that I warned him about the noise. If I were him, the sound would’ve made me think I was under attack. And that thought made me wonder again what had happened. He seemed a bit more lucid now, but maybe he didn’t know? Had he been mugged?

When I came back, he was taking long pulls from the straw. His right arm was still curled in toward his body, but the left was holding the weight of the water cup easily. One of his legs was cocked up with a knee bent in an almost comfortable pose, andthe other was extended and facing me. I could see that it had a darkened mark on the already dark fabric, and I wondered if that was mud or blood. I was guessing the latter. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t tried to move much more from where he’d probably collapsed in pain.

“Are you sure there isn’t someone I should call for you?” I kept my voice low and open so that he didn’t feel that I was pressuring him. I wasn’t one to jump to calling the police, and ambulances were exorbitantly expensive. That, I knew from experience. What if he didn’t have insurance or was too disoriented to really consent to it? What if it ruined whatever rapport we’d built over this time?

His low, husky voice pulled me out of my worried thoughts immediately, “No. Thank you.”

My ass met the asphalt once again, and I sat crosslegged, leaning towards him and just managing to not come any closer than that. “Are you sure? I can call you a ride or something?” It felt rude to not offer to drive him somewhere, but I did at least have alittlebit of a sense of self preservation.

“No,” he said again, still avoiding my eyes every time I tried to meet his, “and I’m sorry… if I scared you.” He took another nervous sip, and I heard the desperate pulls of the straw as he emptied the cup completely.

My lips pursed, trying to decide what to do now since Vinny’s was closed, and I couldn’t get him any more. The ice would certainly melt and provide some more water eventually, but until then, what?

He must have taken my silence, distracted once again by my own thoughts on how best I could help him, for something else, because he cleared his throat and started drawing his extended leg toward himself. When he set the drink down and planted that now-empty palm on the ground, I realized that he was trying to stand.

“Wait!” I couldn’t help myself and sprang to my feet. My father would have chastised me, called me too trusting, but I offered my hand out for him to use as leverage to stand.

After a pointed moment of hesitation, wherein his panting was audible and I’d stopped breathing altogether, he relented. His hand was rough with calluses but warm, and thankfully, not slick with blood like his other one.

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