Page 3 of Nothing To Lose
"Fuck!"
"Jesus, Isaac. Are you okay?"
Fucking ouch.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I stand, rubbing the sore spot on my head. "I just banged my head a bit." When I pull my hand back, blood coats my fingers. Well, that's just great. At least it's my head and not my hands, though. I can take a hit, but I need all of my fingers intact for this project. "I'll call you back in a bit, okay?"
"You're sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just made a mess."
In the bathroom, I wet a wad of paper towels to clean the cut. Some blood has trickled down my temple. It's not a bad cut, but head wounds always bleed a lot. Once I'm satisfied the cut is done bleeding, I turn on the shower head and stick my head under the water, watching the blood and drywall dust swirl down the drain while examining my tile work for imperfections. It seems every time I come in here, I find something that needs touching up, but for my first time tiling a bathroom, I don't think it's too bad. I can see the differences between where I started on the project and where I ended, and how much I improved by the end. Hopefully, no one will spend as much time as I do studying the tiles around the toilets in the bathroom stalls. Well, once I put the stalls in. For now, it's just one big open room with a long counter of sinks, two exposed toilets, two urinals, and three shower heads. Since I'm the only one that comes in here, it's fine the way it is for now. I need to hire a plumber before I install any of the partitions or anything else.
I finish rinsing and grab a towel. As I'm walking back out of the bathroom, rubbing the towel over my wet hair, I hear another bang and what sounds like muffled voices. A quick glance at my phone says it's nearly eleven at night. Who could be in my alley this late? I tuck my phone into my back pocket and pick up a crowbar to scare whoever it is away.
The closer I get to the back door, the more obvious it is that some drunk assholes are fighting. They probably took a wrong turn leavingThe Nook. Brenna mentioned they were serving beer for the open mic tonight, but I've never had any issues with rowdy customers from any of my neighbors before. Then again, I only bought the lease to this place a little over a month ago, and this isn't considered the best part of town. Nowhere that I could afford a building like this would be considered nice. Not that I can really even afford this place. It's practically falling down, and it still took almost all my savings. Since I have basically no credit, I had to agree to pay six months upfront. And unless I magically come into some money by then, I need to be up and running before I'll have the funds to pay for another six months, otherwise I'll be back on the oil rig full time. Picking up a fight here and there won't be enough to pay for this mess.
The sound of glass breaking and a garbled cry for help has me moving faster. I pull the lock and remove the security bar, pushing the door open and letting me out into the poorly lit area between my building and the shopping center. At first, I don't see anything, but when I walk further into the alley, I'm met with a sight I know will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Partially hidden by the dumpster, there's a guy lying face down on the asphalt. His face is obscured by blood and his hair. He's not moving at all, and I can't see who else is there other than a hand pressing the guy's face into the ground.
I yell. I'm not sure what I say. It’s an unintelligible mix of "Hey!", "Stop!", and "What the fuck!?".
Whatever comes out of my mouth is enough to get the assailant's attention, though. There's a brief flash of pale skin, blonde hair, and a dark peacoat running down the alley, disappearing into the darkness. I barely consider going after him, too worried about the guy lying motionless on the ground. I drop to my knees, checking for a pulse when he doesn't respond to my shouts or shaking his shoulders. I look over his body as I pull my phone out and dial for an emergency. His clothes are torn and disheveled, but mostly intact. There's blood on the back of his thigh, and a few feet away, I see the top of a broken bottle, the sharp edges covered in blood.
I rattle off the address to my building and try to answer the dispatcher’s questions, but I feel like I'm in a fog.
No, he's not conscious.
Yes, he appears to be breathing.
I follow her instructions to carefully roll him onto his back and make sure his airways aren't blocked. I'm careful to not jostle him too much. As I turn him over, it's obvious he has a head injury, if the blood matting his hair is any indication.
No, I don't know him.
No, I didn't see where the attacker ran off to.
No, I don't think he's nearby anymore.
Yes, I'm good to stay with the victim until the ambulance arrives.
Absentmindedly, I brush the man's hair back from his face and my stomach drops. Acid rises in the back of my throat.
No. No no no no no.
I don't know him, not really. But I know his name. I recognize his face despite the blood and swelling.
It's my cute café guy.Tyler.
He's unconscious outside my gym, battered and beaten. And I let whoever did this to him get away.
1
TYLER
"Tyler?"
I blink up at the voice saying my name. The woman’s face is blurry and her voice sounds like it's echoing through a tunnel. My eyelids clear the tears that build no matter how hard I try to hold them back, and I refocus on the nurse. I think she said her name is Aisha? Her name tag is turned backwards so I can't confirm, though I probably wouldn't be able to read it, anyway. I can barely open my left eye, and my vision is blurry without my contacts. She's waiting patiently for me to answer her, the same way she has for the past two hours, or however long it's been since I woke up in the emergency room.
