“Just get here,” I cut him off, then pass out.
* * *
“What in the holy fucking hell?”I hear Fender from a far-off distance. “Damon?” He shakes me lightly, and I groan in pain. “Damon, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I complain. “Lay off the fucking shaking.”
“Who the fuck did this to you, man?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just check me out,” I moan miserably.
“Dude, you need a hospital.” Fender sounds freaked.
“No hospitals.”
“Fuck, c’mon.” Fender rolls me onto my back and places his hands all over my torso.
“Motherfucker!” I bark when he touches a tender area.
“You are jacked up. A cracked rib for sure, busted lip, two black eyes,” he delivers the diagnosis.
“So, you’re telling me I’m still pretty?” I smile, tasting the blood seeping from lip.
“Pretty fucking mangled.”
“Yeah, it definitely doesn’t feel good.”
“Can you open your eyes for me?” he asks.
I crack open my lids as far as the pain will allow. “Follow my finger.” He shines a pen light in my eyes, examining me further.
I do as he asks, my head pounding from the extra concentration needed.
“It doesn’t look like you have a concussion,” he confirms.
“Score,” I joke.
“Idiot,” Fender mutters critically.
“What? A guy’s gotta keep his sense of humor.”
“Whatever, bonehead.” Fender clearly doesn’t agree. “We need to get you up and out of these bloody clothes. Jesus, you’re a goddamn mess.” He helps me to stand, and my entire body screams in agony. Luckily, my apartment is the size of a pea, so it only takes a few steps to get to the bathroom.
Fender sits me on the toilet and turns on the shower. Then he helps me peel my bloody clothes from my battered body. This is a far cry from last night, when it was Liv undressing me. I’d sell my soul to Satan himself to turn back time and go back to yesterday.
“Think you can stand on your own?” he asks as he helps me into the shower.
“Yeah, I think.” As soon as the warm water touches my skin, it’s a sweet and suffering sensation. The tepid temperature of the water soothes my aching muscles, but the pressure of the showerhead aggravates all my injuries.
I clean myself up quickly and abandon the shower.
I use the towel Fender left for me to dry off, and when the steam evaporates, I get my first good look at myself. Fender wasn’t kidding when he said I was fucking mangled. My entire face is swollen. Both my eyes are little slits, and there is a huge gash in my lip.
Damon La Rue is pretty no more.
I wrap the towel around my waist and drag myself out into the living room. Fender is waiting with two big ice packs, which in reality are frozen bags of broccoli.
“You didn’t have any steak. But I think this will do for now. Go lie down.”
