Page 9 of Nothing To Lose
Tyler has his arms wrapped around himself and is leaning on the passenger door window when I climb into the driver's seat. He’s only a few inches shorter than I am, but he looks small in the oversized scrubs and my hoodie. It's a far cry from his usual polished look. I'm sure he's looking forward to getting home, taking a shower, and sleeping in his own bed. He shifts uncomfortably, and I realize I'm staring.
"Uh, where am I taking you? Do you live in the dorms?" I heard him mention he's a student at the university on the other side of town.
"I live off campus, actually. But not far from there."
He gives me the address, and I type it into my phone’s GPS before pulling out of the hospital parking lot. Tyler is quiet, in and out of consciousness due to the last dose of pain medication Tim gave him before discharge and the effects of the concussion. The silence is awkward, but only because I’m overthinking everything. There's a decent amount of traffic through the city, so it's a slow ride. Certainly slower than following his ambulance in the middle of the night. Tyler shifts in the seat, looking over at me with glassy eyes, and I try to think of anything to talk about to end the uncomfortable silence.
"Why didn't you have a coat?" I admonish, wincing at my own awkwardness. "Sorry. I just meant… It's February. I can't imagine you weren't cold walking around without a coat."In the middle of the night, in a back alleyway, a block from the restaurant I last saw you at."Wait–" I say, cutting him off before he can answer me. "The guy from the restaurant… Your date?"
Tyler’s mouth turns down in a frown before he looks away, focusing his attention out the window. "What about him?"
"Was it him?"
"What do you mean, was it him?"
Is it just me, or is he deflecting?The truck slows to a stop at a red light, and I face Tyler. Without thinking, I reach for his hand. It’s not the injured one, but he still flinches at my touch, staring at me wide-eyed. Fearful. I pull my hand back but hold his eyes.
"Was your date last night the one who did this to you?"
The car behind me honks, letting me know the light is green, and I turn my attention back to the road. He's silent through the intersection, but I hear him softly answer, "No."
The rest of the ride is quiet. He doesn't answer my question about the coat, and I don't pry any further. It's none of my business, anyway.
When I pull up to his apartment building, I get the sinking feeling this might be the last time I'll see or talk to him. It's ridiculous, I know. He's a stranger. He's not interested.Get a life, Isaac. But after sitting in a plastic chair until my ass went numb watching him sleep, I'm not ready to walk away. Call it my protective instinct, or maybe a hero complex. Whatever it is, I don't want to see him go.
"Can I help you to your place? I can explain your discharge stuff to your roommate, or whoever, if you like. I'm assuming they gave me all the information in case you had trouble remembering."
He shakes his head slowly, looking dazed. His speech is slow. "That's okay. You don't have to do that."
"I really don't mind."
Tyler stares up at the building, his face a blank mask.What I wouldn't give to be able to read minds right now. To know what he's thinking. To know what he's not saying.
His hand is on the door, but he's not moving to push it open. He hasn't even unbuckled his seatbelt. He's just staring at the building. When I look closer at his hands, they're trembling. Is he afraid?
"Tyler–" I have to repeat his name a couple times to get his attention. When I finally do, I'm not ready for the intensity of his watery blue-green eyes. "Tell me what's going on."
He swallows and speaks quietly. "I don't have a roommate." His voice lowers, the words sounding garbled, like he's holding back tears. "And I don't want to be here."
I throw the truck in gear a little too enthusiastically. "No problem," I say, pulling out of the parking lot a little too quickly. "Anywhere in particular you want to go?"
Tyler doesn’t answer. He looks half asleep at this point. I drive aimlessly for a little while before deciding there's only one place I can take him. He needs to rest, but he doesn't want to be at home. My place isn't as nice as his apartment building looks–it’s a shithole, quite honestly, he'll probably run away screaming–but there's a relatively comfortable bed, and it's clean if you can look past the ramshackle state of the walls and flooring.
This is a terrible idea.
He's passed out by the time I pull into the parking spot on the side of my building. So much so that he barely startles when my door slams shut and I come around to his side of the truck to help him out. The pain meds are definitely in full effect. Tyler leans against me, letting me support his weight as I lift him out of the truck and help him into the construction nightmare that is my current living space. He's so out of it, he either doesn't notice or doesn't remark on the mess.
I take him to the bathroom first, helping to steady him but looking away to give him as much privacy as possible.
When he’s done, I all but carry him to the back room, chatting in a low voice the whole time. I don’t know that he’s hearing or processing anything I’m saying, but I’m hoping it’s helping him feel more comfortable.
“This is where I sleep. It’s going to be my office eventually, but it works as a bedroom for now. There's a small studio upstairs that I plan on using as an apartment, but it's in worse shape than down here.” I chuckle nervously. “But yeah, once I get up and running, I'll start renovating up there.”
I help Tyler climb into the bed, glad I at least have a comfortable mattress on a makeshift platform made with cinder blocks and plywood. I was originally sleeping on an old secondhand sofa, but I quickly figured out that my back couldn't handle the springs. The mattress is one of those expanding foam things that came in a box. It was surprisingly cheap for how comfortable it is. Comfortable enough that Tyler sinks into the center of the mattress, tucks his hands under the pillow, pulls his knees up to his chest, and falls fast asleep. I unlace his sneakers, the once white canvas now stained with dirt and blood, and set them beside the bed. After covering him with the comforter, I tiptoe out of the room, leaving the door cracked.
Turning around, I scan the area that will eventually be a break or meeting room, with the perspective of someone else—someone who is probably used to living in a much nicer place, with nicer things.
The floors and walls are intact back here, but unfinished. On one side of the room is a sink and built-in countertop with a mini fridge. I have a small living room setup. The sofa I used to sleep on is against the opposite wall facing my office/bedroom, with an old wooden coffee table in front of it. The surface is a mess of legal pads with measurements and notes, my laptop, and my empty food containers from last night's dinner. Nice. This place is enough of a dump without garbage lying around. I tidy up as best I can, acknowledging that there’s only so much I can do. Hopefully Tyler doesn’t panic and run away when he wakes up in this hovel.
