Even though his eyes were barely open, I could tell he looked at me in disbelief. But he nodded anyway and slowly brought his knees up.
I readied myself, bending my knees and keeping my back straight to not injure myself in the process. Like lifting a large box, always do it safely.
“On three. Ready? One. Two. Three—” I heaved him up and towards me, arms straining even as he took most of his weight in his legs. Until he straightened to his six-foot-something height and his eyes rolled back. His face paled fast and he stumbled forward.
Towards me.
“No— Help,” I squeaked, catching him around the middle as my cheek pressed against his chest.
He caught himself on the dumpster to narrowly avoid flattening me. I huffed in exasperation, blowing my hair away from my face before I edged around to his side, fitting beneath his right arm while I held his waist.
His body felt like marble beneath his black T-shirt, and he smelt like the inside of a new car mixed with cigarettes and something woody. Not that his smell was important right now. I needed to focus on moving him inside and keeping him upright long enough.
We started moving, one step at a time as he pressed his palm to his head and stumbled along beside me. His feet dragged every second step while I spoke little words of encouragement to keep him awake. At one point, I almost lost him in the hedges that bordered the front of the apartment when he lost his balance again.
I would’ve tried small talk, but any sense of starting a conversation had left my head. Actually, everything had left my head, or at least was tucked away to worry about later. I was running on adrenaline and one thought; Get him inside where I might be able to convince him again to go to a hospital.
Maybe he didn’t want to go to the hospital to avoid a record. He was a criminal after all. I shuddered but pushed the thought away as we got into the foyer, reminding myself he was barely conscious. If he tried anything I could just drop him and run.
I was meant to stop in the foyer but continued to the elevator anyway, steering him into the far-right corner so he could lean against the handrails. He managed to stay standing as he rested his head against the wall.
I kept a hand on his chest, overestimating how well my single spaghetti arm could hold him if he toppled forward, and pressed the third-floor button.
As the elevator brought us up, a new panic set in about the possibility of running into someone in the corridor. Specifically, our nosey neighbor, Susan. It was highly unlikely considering what time it was, but that woman had the hearing ability of a bat. Kira and I swore she had her ear pressed to her walls at all times to listen out for any potential gossip.
Susan also knew Mom. They befriended one another the day Kira and I moved in. If she spotted me hauling a barely conscious man back to my apartment, especially one with this many tattoos, I could only imagine the assumptions she would make before calling Mom.
He was technically the first boy I had ever brought home.
The doors opened with a solitary ding, and I peeked my head out to check the corridor was clear. With no one in sight, we made the hasty dash to the apartment. I say hasty, but it was more me shuffling my feet beneath Romeo’s swaying weight while he stumbled along beside me. But we managed to get inside the apartment without alerting Mom’s private investigator across the hall.
"Okay. So far so good,” I breathed, kicking off my boots at the laundry room door.
I felt like I needed to pinch myself as I guided Romeo into the living room. He looked completely out of place compared to the whole aesthetic of the apartment, and I was having a hard time believing this was happening. To me, of all people. The quiet, unassuming, bookworm with a love for macarons, tea, drawing, and satin pajama sets. I wasn’t the kind of girl to even approach someone like this on my own.
In what world would I approach him on my own?
He was gritty and mysterious, while I decorated the couch with matching crocheted cushions. A product of Kyra and me trying our hand at arts and crafts.
I quickly knocked the cushions off the pastel blue couch and let gravity take over. Romeo dropped into the space with a heavy sigh, resting his head on the back of the couch. His throat was exposed, displaying the moth tattooed across the front of it, as he sat with his legs apart and arms limp at his sides.
I would’ve brought him into the bathroom to clean up. It was closer than my attached bathroom, but that space was Kira’s. We agreed when we moved in that whoever didn't take the master bedroom could claim the main bathroom. Plus Kira liked the second bedroom because it had better light for her plants. I wasn't about to get blood all over my friend's bathroom.
I hurried into the kitchen to our little first aid box. My mind had switched to partial autopilot as I took a second to scrub my hands before returning to the couch.
I took a seat on Romeo’s right side and began searching the first aid box for what I needed.
“Why are you doin’ this?”
My head snapped up and I found him watching me from down his nose, his eyes half open and face unchanged.
“I-I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was better than admitting I have a problem with walking away from someone in need. I pulled my attention back to the box and gathered a patch of gauze, some tape, and alcohol wipes.
He breathed out heavily through his nose, letting his eyes fall shut again as I set the first aid box aside.
“This may sting a little,” I said as I pulled out a wipe. Please refrain from flinching so hard you knock me out with your fist.
He responded with a faint nod, brow set in a frown.
