Rescue

Fountain Square Adventures

My eyes cracked open, and immediately slammed shut again, recoiling at the harsh glare of sunlight streaming in through the window above me. I groaned and screwed up my face, already feeling the dull ache of last night pounding through every pore of my body, particularly in the cranial region, where the increasingly intense headache was blooming from my brain like a flower.

I sat up slowly, wincing. When I was able to blink myself completely awake and really get a good look around the room, I almost wished I could ingest enough alcohol to pass out for the second time in as many hours. The room was a complete disaster; empty and half-empty beverage containers perched on almost every available surface like gargoyles; a few articles of clothing were strewn around the room festively; a lamp lay shattered on the floor; an acrid smell hit my nose that I suspected with dread was vomit.

With a feeling of foreboding I snuck a look to my right, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the other side of the bed was empty. The clothes on the floor had had me scared for a minute. I was never one for drunken hookups, but the party last night had been pretty intense.

It was Jinxx’s idea to have the party in the first place, insisting that we celebrate my recent advancement in the career that I loathed. Clearly he just wanted an excuse to get wasted, but I always found it difficult to resist his imploring eyes when he really wanted something. This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up to a trashed house with strangers still passed out in various locations, and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

With difficulty I swung my legs over the side of the bed and heaved myself to my feet; I felt a bit of a head rush, but only for a second, and I didn’t even stumble. Maybe I hadn’t gotten as drunk as I’d feared. I stretched, feeling the bones pop satisfactorily, and headed for the bathroom adjoining my bedroom.

My hopes were confirmed when I looked in the mirror. Sure, I was a little pale; my hair was untidy, but not nearly as hopeless as it would have been before I’d gotten it cut; there were shallow bags under my eyes, and the runny eyeliner wasn’t helping the effect, but overall I really wasn’t looking too bad.

Still, I didn’t exactly earn a pat on the back. There was still the house to clean up.

After cleaning myself up a little I headed back into the bedroom and shrugged into a black tank top and jeans, not bothering with my usual edgy attire and array of shiny accessories, and then, with the dread returning and building painfully in my chest, I pushed the door open and faced the rest of the house.

There were two random people lying unconscious on the couch in my living room, and I sighed and began to clean around them. I didn’t feel like rousing people from their dreams only to face a brutal hangover, probably much worse than what I was experiencing, so I let them slumber on as I began the daunting task of picking up empty beer bottles and cans and stuffing them into the recycling bin in the corner. What? I care about the environment.

I found my roommate Ashley sprawled across the floor of his bedroom, like he just couldn’t make it the last two feet to his bed, just beginning to wake up; he gave me an irritable look before his eyes widened and he pushed himself off of the ground and fled the room. I heard vague retching sounds coming from the direction of the hallway bathroom, and I wrinkled my nose.

After that I left the room and began to head back to the living room and kitchen area to fix myself something to eat and, ever the gracious host, maybe offer a few hung over guests some toast. I peeked into the bathroom to make sure that Ash hadn’t choked to death on his own vomit; he flipped me off when he saw me. When I was passing the last door in the hallway, the third bedroom that Jake often crashes in, I stopped in my tracks and frowned.

There was an odd sound coming from inside the bedroom, behind the closed door. I stared at it for a second and almost knocked, before I remembered that this was my and Ashley’s house so I would barge into whatever room I pleased, thank you very much.

I pushed it open and saw a figure sitting up in bed, his lower half still under the covers, his upper half bare and tattooed. He had one hand tangled in his hair, clutching the dark brown strands and probably nursing a killer headache just like the rest of us, and there were tears streaking down his face. I’d never seen him before in my life.

When he saw me, standing there a little shocked, he quickly straightened up and tried to regain his composure; he failed miserably, and even if he wasn’t in the middle of a crying fit, it would be a challenge to retain any dignity whilst waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.

Perturbed by this stranger’s unhappiness, I closed the door behind me with a click and came forward to sit next to him on the bed. He looked like he was barely holding it together.

“What’s the matter?” I asked bluntly, my deep voice croaky after a night of partying. I cleared my throat.

He shook his head and didn’t meet my eyes, staring down at his lap and the bedcovers knotted in his hands. Upon closer inspection I could see several fresh, dark bruises blossoming on his shoulders and chest. His lip was cracked and bleeding. My eyebrows knotted together in concern.

“What’s your name?”

With effort, he swallowed a sob and wiped one cheek with the back of his hand. “David Schmitt.” His voice sounded like he had a bad cold.

“I’m Andy.” I paused for a moment and then, trying to keep the worry out of my voice, “Are you all right?”

He shrugged and nodded, reaching up again to scratch his hair. I watched him for a moment, examining his tattoos half-unthinkingly while I chewed the inside of my lip in contemplation, and then I stood up from the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

I disappeared from the room and made for the bathroom, which fortunately Ashley had vacated. I grabbed what I needed from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, and then proceeded into the kitchen.

There were a few stragglers still lingering on the premises, digging through the refrigerator or perched on stools by the kitchen counter or lounging on the couch like they owned the place. A few of them unashamedly said hi to me or told me it was an awesome party as I filled a Ziploc bag with ice from the freezer, and I gave them cursory glances of acknowledgement. Ashley was sitting in the corner of the living room with a can of soda, wearing a sweatshirt and looking miserable.

When I returned to the spare bedroom, David Schmitt was buttoning a pair of black jeans and wincing after every movement. I noticed how awkwardly he moved, how each motion was an effort for him, how bending over to get his shirt off the ground was enough to bring fresh tears of pain to his eyes.

When he looked up and saw me standing in the door, he rubbed an arm across his face and moaned, “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t reply, but walked further into the room, approaching him cautiously. I slowed down when he took a step back nervously, his eyes shifting over my features.

“It’s all right. Just lemme . . .”

I held up the wet washcloth in my hand like a peace offering and took another few steps forward until we were face to face. He was shorter than me; I had to lean over a little bit to get a good look at him. He flinched when I lifted my hand to his face, and the curious truth that he actually thought I was going to hit him flashed through my mind, so I tried to be as gentle as possible when I dabbed the damp cloth to his bleeding lip.

He trembled as I cleaned the injury, so I placed the tips of my fingers to his jaw to keep him still. His eyes were large and brown and distrustful but I kept at it, wanting to take care of him, wanting him to stop crying, making it my priority to help him even though I’d just met him five minutes ago.

After the blood was gone and the split looked relatively clean, I threw the washcloth aside and showed him the tube of Neosporin. “Don’t lick your lips after this,” I told him. He nodded a little, looking slightly more comfortable than I had seen him yet, and allowed me to spread some of the antibiotic ointment on his lip with a Q-Tip.

When I deemed my work finished, I stepped back and admired him before me.

He was staring at me warily, still seeming a teensy bit tense even though I had yet to be anything but perfectly gentlemanly towards him. His hair was greasy and an absolute mess, his clothes were wrinkled, and there were dark circles ringed under his large eyes—but, admittedly, I still found him wonderfully cute.

I allowed my face to crack into a smile. “That better?”

“Yeah, it is.” He sounded surprised, and reached up to touch the area around the wound. He met my eyes. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” I meant it, too. I jerked my head towards the door. “Come on. How about some breakfast?”

He looked even cuter when he let his mouth form into a slight smile, and he nodded, “Okay,” and followed me through the house into the kitchen.

I never found out the name of the particular man who had done this to him. I can’t say whether David remembered it anyway, or ever knew it at all in the first place, but this same thing happened enough times in the months afterward that the exact identities ceased to matter; half the time he couldn’t recall more than a few fuzzy details of the person, let alone a specific name.

And each time it happened, each time he threw himself away to the nearest available person at the party and woke up with only bruises and vague memories as souvenirs, I grew less and less willing to let him out of my sight.


~~~

“Goddammit!”

I hit the “end call” icon on the touchscreen with such force it made a thumping sound audible to all the car’s passengers—which consisted of myself and Ashley.

“Did he answer?” asked Ash, glancing at me from the driver’s seat, taking his eyes off of the road for a split-second; I could see the concern emanating from his deep brown eyes, but I was too pissed off and panicky to cut him any slack.

I glared at him. “I don’t know, Ash. What do you think?”

Ashley didn’t rise to the challenge, remaining calm like always. He focused back on the road ahead, the tarmac shiny from earlier rains, reflecting the orange glow of passing streetlamps. It was the middle of the night and were on a four-lane highway, bordered on one side by a line of trees that obscured the view of the landscape of buildings and hills that I knew lay just on the other side. The entire scene was lit steadily by the bright, exciting panorama of the downtown lights ahead. I gave them a hard look, my steely blue eyes narrowing dangerously, my jaw clenching and unclenching tensely.

“Doesn’t Kyle have any idea where he might be?” Ashley broke the silence, his ever-soothing Missouri accent flooding the car for a moment.

I snorted. “Kyle doesn’t know shit. Or he just doesn’t care.” I felt my face twist into a snarl as I thought of the tall blonde man, always showing up to parties already wasted, David in tow. No wonder my small tattooed friend had formed such bad habits—he’d probably just picked them up from the horrible influences around him.

Ashley put on his left turn signal and we began to make our descent into downtown Cincinnati. “Now would probably be a good time to call Kyle,” he said uneasily, glancing at the buildings to either side of us once we’d gotten through the mishmash of highways all tangled up, overlapping one another. An unfriendly-looking group of three men were blatantly glaring into our car. “Or CC. Or Jinxx. Or someone.”

“Jinxx is probably passed out at whatever party they were at,” I answered. “He sounded like he was about done for when he called me.”

I had been enjoying a quiet, relaxing evening at home, reading some Charles Dickens as it were, when I’d received the drunken call from my friend.

I got up off the couch to retrieve my phone from where it lay on the kitchen counter. “Hello?”

“Dude, this—this party’s crazy, man.”

I sighed. “That’s amazing, Jinxx.” I hoped he could hear the sarcasm biting through my words like acid, but in his state I doubted it.

“But, dude, seriously,” Jinxx had slurred, barely understandable through the phone. “I think you need to get down here, man.”

“I am not driving downtown at two in the morning. You’ll have to find someone else to give you a ride home.” My eyes were at this point wandering longingly back to my cozy spot on the couch, where my book lay open, facedown, spine strained, printed words resting against the leather cushions.

There was a huge crash on the other end of the line, and then a round of raucous cheering. I held the phone to my ear patiently, tapping my fingers on the counter, until Jinxx returned to the conversation a few seconds later. “Nah, man, it’s-it’s not for me, Andy. You need to come down here and get your buddy.”

“My buddy?” I frowned.

“Yeah. That scrawny kid—David Schmitt. You need to—I—I don’t even know where he went, man. He ran out, like, five minutes ago.”

“What?!”

A flash of panic jolted through my body and I straightened up immediately, my eyes glazing over with worry; just the mere mention of David’s name was enough to consume all of my attention. David was there? Why hadn’t Jinxx told me? If I’d known that David was attending that stupid party Jinxx was talking about, I would have gone after all.

The thing is, I hated parties. I had never liked them, but recently I had begun to abhor them. I was okay with having fun, of course—I myself could drink like a camel, if it was just me and a few friends hanging out. But once you involved loud, thumping music and loads of strangers and unidentifiable drugs strewn all over the table, the entire situation got a little uncomfortable.

However, that didn’t stop me from showing up at every event where I knew David Schmitt was going to be.

It was really more for his own good than mine, though I had to admit that there was some deep instinct rooted in me that enjoyed watching over him. I never stopped him from drinking, of course, and really I don’t know if I’d have been able to even if I tried; the man really did love his booze. But I did keep an eye on him—no, two eyes, as often as I could get away with, to make sure he didn’t drown in the pool or burn himself on the grill outside or get up on the roof again. Sometimes I idled outside of the bathroom while he was sick, waiting for those few minutes of silence from within in which I would knock on the door and ask if he was okay, and if there was no reply I would enter and find him passed out on the tile floor. Most of these parties ended up with me carrying his worn-out, unconscious, alcohol-infused body either to a friend’s car or a location I deemed safe, like a secluded bedroom where I could cover him with a blanket and guard him from my spot on the edge of the bed.

Of course, I couldn’t be there all the time, and even when I was there, there was no socially acceptable way for me to stop him from going off with whatever man he wanted—which tortured me, because there was hardly a time when the results of this event weren’t patterned in hues of black and blue on David’s skin.

This was what I hated the most, and what I was there to prevent from happening. It was also why Ashley and I were now barreling down I-471, though I wasn’t sure how much of the situation my roommate really grasped. As soon as he’d seen me grabbing my keys, my mind already miles away, he’d known that something was up and insisted that he come with me to help me find my friend. Something told me that he knew—or inferred, rather—the magnitude of the problem. David could be anywhere by now, and he was far from a responsible drunk. It made me curl and uncurl my fingers anxiously on my knees to think of the sort of situation he could have already gotten himself into, or worse, the sort of people he might have met up with.

“Don’t worry, Andy,” my perceptive friend comforted firmly from the driver’s seat, staring ahead and craning to read road signs as we passed them. “We’ll find him.”

I didn’t reply—I was afraid of lashing out again, even though Ashley had nothing to do with any of this and was in fact doing far more than was required of him in order to help me out. Later, when this was all over and I had calmed down, I would thank my lucky stars for such a wonderful friend.
For now, however, the entirety of my brain was solely focused on the task as hand; I had to fight down the panic that was constantly threatening to rise to the surface.

“Do you have any idea where we ought to go?” questioned Ash, turning left onto a random street.

“No idea. Jinxx just told me it was downtown. Here, I’ll call him again.”

I picked up my phone again from its nook in the cup holder, unlocked it, and found Jinxx in my contacts. Unable to keep my fingers completely steady, I pressed the “call” icon and listened warily for five rings, and swore under my breath when it went to voicemail.

“Hang on, I’ll try David again.”

Again, no answer, though my stupid hopes jumped excitedly when I heard his sweet, nasal voice give its answering machine message.

I was about to lock my phone again and begin mentally creating a gridlock of the city, hypothesizing where the party hotspots would be and then mapping out the most dangerous points in the surrounding areas which David would most likely gravitate towards, when the phone vibrated and an “incoming call” box with Kyle’s name in it popped up on the screen.

I hit the “answer” icon and actually slammed my phone into my ear, so hard it almost gave me a headache.

“Kyle!” I spat, my deep voice barking impressively. “What the fuck is happening?”

I was met with a bout of hysterical laugher at the other end of the line, distant-sounding, like the blonde man was holding the phone away a few feet away from his mouth to muffle the sound of his insane mirth, if only a little.

I didn’t have time for this. “Kyle!

“Dude . . . dude . . . It’s the funniest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. You gotta get to Fountain Square, man,” choked Kyle through the phone, still giggling like a maniac.

“Is David there?” I demanded, perking up in my seat, my heart leaping in my chest.

“Fuck yeah, dude,” responded Kyle. “He’s . . . oh my god, Andy, he’s all the way up there.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“He’s on the fucking fountain, dude! He climbed up there like a—like a spider monkey, or some shit, I don’t know. Just get down here, okay? Okay, Andy?”

I slammed my finger down on the “end call” icon and then winced and shook my hand in the air, having hurt myself with my own phone for the second time in as many minutes. “Get us to Fountain Square, Ash,” I ordered, sucking on my fingertip to make the throb go away.

Without a word he put on his turn signal and sped off towards the center of the city.

My heart pounding, I tried to remain calm and process this new information, taking a massive effort not let my immense concern for my friend override my rationality; I knew if I thought too much about it, I would psych myself out and begin to panic and hyperventilate and yell at Ashley to drive faster even though downtown was a challenge even at three in the morning. But I swear to god, if David had gotten hurt because I wasn’t around to stop him—

No. I had to remain Andrew Biersack, the logical, persevering, concerned friend and protector to David, because clearly he had lost himself some hours ago to the bottle and could not find his way back. At least, not on his own.

~~~

It was a five-minute walk from the parking garage to the Square, but Ashley and I took it at a jog and made it there in about half that time.

I immediately spotted Kyle, stumbling around with a couple of buddies near the fountain. The entire group had their heads tilted back, watching the fountain in obvious entertainment. I sped across the pavement towards them, Ashley at my heels.

Kyle’s intoxicated face lit up when he saw me approaching. “Dude, you made it! Bro, look up there, check it out— It’s David! Ha ha!”

Almost fearfully, I craned my head up and squinted, trying to make out anything unusual in the complex, striking display of statues, water, and lights dancing in the beautiful monument.

My heart almost stopped when my gaze found the small figure crouched on the very top tier of the fountain, pale, tattooed arms wrapped around the statue’s legs to prevent him from falling. Emotions rolled through me one by one at the sight of him up there, clinging to the bronze woman, who stood at the tippy-top of the fountain with her arms outstretched aloofly, clearly unsympathetic towards the man to which she was acting as a lifeline. I felt a shallow flood of relief that at least I finally knew where he was; then a stab of cold fear, knowing that he was one slip away from a serious, even fatal, injury. Finally an unexpected explosion of fury erupted through me, making my clench my hands into fists at my sides.

I strode forward until I was closer to the fountain but not close enough for the bottom tiers to hide him from my view. “David!” I yelled. “What the fuck are you doing up there?”

There was a moment’s pause. Then, his voice barely audible over the splashing of the fountain, “I don’t know.”

“Well, get the fuck down! It’s dangerous up there!”

“I d-don’t think I can . . .”

“DAVID! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!” I threw any remains of levelheadedness down the drain, finally letting the deep fear I felt at the danger of this situation represent itself in the form of powerful anger; my voice boomed through the air like a bass from hell as the uncontrollable emotion burst through the carefully-set restrictions of my self-control.

I gritted my teeth, seething, as the last echoes of my outburst faded into nothingness. Anger bubbled below the surface, ready to pour forth again, as the pause dragged on.

Then, in a small whimper choked with tears—“Why are you yelling at me?”

All traces of anger disintegrated, replaced by pity as I saw David collapse onto the statue, still hugging her and now shaking with sobs.

I chewed my lip as the seconds ticked by, not taking my eyes off of the figure up on the fountain, trying to think this through. I’d never been in a situation like this before; I really did not want to call the fire department to have them haul his ass down from the top of the monument. Really, I did not want to get authority figures involved in any way, shape, or form, because I knew that the cops would not be happy with my friend’s disregard for public property.

I ran my hand through my hair and let it rest on top of my head, and finally called, “Okay, David. I’m sorry I yelled.” No response. I added, “I’m not mad, okay?”

“You’re not?”

“No. But I need you to listen to me, okay? I’m gonna help you down.”

“O-Okay.”

He sounded quite frightened. Not that I could blame him, but it sent a thrill of nervousness through my bones. “All right. I need you to get down onto the next ledge. It’s only a few feet below. Just let go of the statue and step down.”

Even from here I could perceive him shaking his head wildly, his dark hair flapping. “If I let go I’ll fall.”

“No you won’t. It’s only a tiny way down, Dave.”

A few seconds went by, and I could almost see the gears grinding in David’s poor drunken mind. To listen to the nice man down below, the man who had never let him down, the man who had always taken care of him in his time of need, or remain stuck at the top of the fountain in this perilous position for who knows how long.

Eventually, he slowly began to disentangle himself from the bronze woman’s legs. I felt blood seep onto my tongue from the force with which I was biting down on my lip as David scooted backward and cautiously lowered himself down onto the second platform—the narrowest ledge of them all, with only a foot or two of maneuverable leeway. Once he was there he quickly grabbed onto one of the curls of metal adorning the column, and remained in place.

“Good, David. Really good,” I praised, trying to sound optimistic even though I knew this was far from over. “Now, you’re gonna have to get down to the next level, all right?”

This was going to be the hardest challenge—the height different between the first and second tiers was staggering, nearly three or four times David’s height, and I knew that the only way that my friend had a hope of making it down without outside help would be to use the statues that lined the middle column as footholds. Even from here I could see his doubt as leaned down to examine the next obstacle in his path.

“I can’t, Andy,” he whined miserably, voice high-pitched with tears and fright.

“Yeah you can, baby.” Baby? “Just listen to me, all right? Listen to my voice. I won’t let you fall, I promise.”

There was yet another lengthy pause, the only sound being the fountain’s ceaseless pouring and the distant honks of car horns. I never tore my gaze away from him, not once, just stood patiently on the ground near the statues and awaited his compliance.

I almost jumped out of my skin when Ashley appeared by my side—I’d completely forgotten that there was anyone else present. “Do you think we should call for help?” he wondered apprehensively, his eyes shifting between David and me.

I shook my head wordlessly, as worried as Ash was about my friend’s safety, but committed in my belief that I could get him down myself. He and I could work through this, little by little, inch by inch if need be; we could do it. I was certain.

Finally, in so small a voice it took me a moment to make out what he said, David moaned, “Help me, Andy . . .”

“I will, David.” My mind raced, like I was mentally thumbing through a catalogue of strategies to use in order to get David to safety as quickly and easily as possible. “All right, if you move to the left a bit you’ll be right over a tall statue that you can step down onto . . . Yes, stop right there. Perfect. Now, don’t let go of the fountain, and just carefully ease yourself down until you can touch the top of his head with your toe . . .”

So, over the next ten minutes, with extreme difficulty, an enormous amount of patience, and a gentle yet firm tone, I guided David through his descent to the first tier; it was one of the most anxiety-inducing affairs I’d ever been through in my life, so nail-bitingly tense that I had to constantly check myself to make sure I wasn’t about to have a panic attack. I refused to allow myself to show any outward signs of fear, lest David catch onto my mindset and make a fatal mistake, but inside I was screaming with fear for him. A couple of times on his way down, I saw his foot suddenly slip on the smooth bronze, slick with fountain water, and for a split-second my heart went cold because I knew that that would be the end, I could picture it in my mind, his small figure tumbling through the air and landing with a sickening smack on the bronze. But he always managed to grab onto something, and then it would take a whole new bout of verbal encouragement to get him to keep going.

I never raised my voice above a gentle call, loud enough for him to hear me clearly but not so loud as to scare him and make him think I was mad. I wasn’t mad at him; of course not. Even when a pang of anger did spring up in my mind during this painfully slow process, I was able to grab ahold of it and extinguish it with the knowledge that I was just anxious and fearful.

I felt that I could collapse to my knees in sheer relief when his feet touched the flat, wide slab of bronze that served as the first tier; he let go of his final handhold and stumbled a bit, still looking shaken and afraid, but I was just glad that the major hurdle of this hugely difficult procedure had been overcome. Immensely reassured, I brought my hands up to my chin in a praying gesture, my own way of thanking whatever powers that may or may not be out there for bringing David to where he was now.

“Great job, David,” I commended, beginning to pace back and forth impatiently now that this traumatic experience was near its close, though making sure to remain in the range where my intoxicated friend could see me clearly through the strands of hair clinging to his face with sweat and water. “Only one more level to go, babe.”

“I—” I could hear him sniff from here. “I don’t know, Andy. I f-feel really bad . . . I don’t think I can g-go any further . . .”

Swallowing the mounting, edgy fury building in my chest (It’s just fear. It’s just anxiety. You’re just worried.) I fought to keep my voice steady as I called up to him firmly, “You have to, Dave. Come on, it’s just a little bit more, and then we’ll get you home, okay? Don’t be scared. “I almost murmured these last few words, talking more to myself than anyone else. “Just go to where the floor gets skinny . . . Yeah, there you go, right there. There’s a statue of a little girl down there below you, just climb down her and you’ll be fine, okay? After that it’ll all be over.”

He knelt down on the bronze unsteadily and turned so his back faced his audience of five people, all standing down on the cobblestones below, assuming that Kyle and his friends hadn’t gotten bored and left yet. Slowly, ever slowly like always, David stuck one toe down experimentally until he found a notch in which he could rest his weight. Clinging to the first tier with his fingers, he let down the other leg, using the contours of the bronze child’s body to maneuver himself down underneath, to the base of the bronze monument.

Finally, with a grunt that I could hear from here, he released his grip on the bronze statue and stood on the marble platform, looking dazed and distressed, like he was stranded on an island out in the middle of the ocean rather than a raised area in the center of a shallow pool of water.

I could feel my forehead knotting at the sight of him, so small and helpless and lost, the kind of person that I automatically wanted to reach out for and pull into my arms and never let go of, refusing to let him get hurt ever again. He swayed a little as he stood, squinting out in my direction like he was wondering if I was really there, and then began to make his way towards me. I chewed on my thumbnail, anxious to have him within touching range, longing to be in the car on the way back to his apartment where he could finally rest, as he toed the edge of the marble platform. He put his arms out in the air to steady himself, preparing to take the final step down to safety—

Then, suddenly, with a gasp, a flail, and a splash, he spilled bodily over the edge of the marble and into the water below.

My heart stopped.

“DAVID!”

I took off at a run, pounding up the two steps to the edge of the fountain and then entering the ankle-deep water, which instantly soaked through my jeans and into my boots. I knew it was only a four-foot fall at the most from the top of the platform to the bottom of the fountain; but David was so tiny and he looked so fragile, and goddammit if he had hurt himself after all this effort . . .

I waded messily through the water as quickly as I could towards where I had seen him fall, squinting against the flecks of cold wetness constantly spraying me from the abundant flow of the fountain, raising a hand to brush aside stray hair from my face as the cold breeze drifted from the torrents of water, like it was purposefully trying to mess up my hair. Come on, come on. My stomach leapt as my eyes locked on the small, dark lump sticking out above the pool; it was David, on his hands and knees.

I increased my pace as I approached him and then finally he was right there, and the most potent wave of relief that I had ever experienced washed over my body. At last, he was there, so close I could count the threads hanging off of his torn jeans, could see the individual rays of light bouncing off of his drenched hair. I lunged for him and, wrapping lengthy arm around his midriff, heaved him to his feet easily.

“Are you all right?” I demanded, holding his wet, shaking shoulders at arm’s length and staring deeply into his eyes.

He struggled to focus on me, and when he was finally able to meet my gaze, he nodded.

His dark eyes were glazed over, of course—that would be the alcohol clouding his vision and, obviously, his common sense. But more than that, they were terrified as they met mine, more terrified than the first time I had met him all those months ago at the party. He’d let himself be hurt by another human being then, which was a habit of his, as I was to learn as I got to know him better. But this was different. He was not frightened of a person, per se, but of himself, of the immense danger that he was aware of in some sublevel of consciousness he had gotten himself into. Somewhere in that strained little mind of his, he knew that this couldn’t go on any longer, and that petrified him because he had never known anything else. He was scared and confused and regretful, and it made my heart break to see him that way and the only thing I could think to do to rectify the situation was, in fact, the first thing that came to my mind.

I threw my arms around his body in an embrace, clutching him to me desperately, not caring about the transfer of cold water from his soaking wet body to me. I let his small, slender body fall into me, let him relax into my arms because he knew—he had to know, as its truth rang clear as a bell in my mind—that he was safe there. I felt his body sag against me and I held him up, reaching down to support his tiny waist firmly with one arm whilst keeping the other around his shoulders.

“You idiot,” I half-whispered against his hair. “I was so fucking worried.”

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed into my shoulder, taking slow breaths and letting them out shakily, like he was fighting for control over his own body.

He was trembling violently; I frowned. Although I knew this could be partially attributed to trauma, it was in fact late fall, and he was in nothing but a tank top and jeans.

I stepped back, keeping one hand on his arm to keep him steady, allowing myself to shrug out of my leather jacket and throw it over his shoulders. The wind attacked my bare arms fiercely—I myself had only wearing a T-shirt underneath the jacket—but it hardly registered in my brain as I rubbed and down David’s arms a few times, trying to get the blood flowing.

“’M ready to go home now,” he slurred, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“All right, Dave. Come on, Ash and I will get you home.”

With me supporting him with one arm all the while, we fought our way through the shallow waters of the fountain and finally back onto the cobblestones of the Square. He moaned and leaned against me as we walked, bringing up one hand to hold his stomach.

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Kyle’s voice. “Dude, that was so sick, D!” crowed the blonde man, staggering towards us with his friends in tow. We had reached our little party, Ashley standing a good distance away from the drunken band of partyers, watching them with an expression of vague distaste on his delicate face. I found myself instinctively drawing David away from the others as they converged around us, the smell of beer permeating the air.

I glared daggers at Kyle, but used the utmost restraint to bite back the harsh accusations bubbling up from my chest. In a stiff voice I simply stated, “We’re going to have words later, Kyle.”

“Aw, come on, man, it was hilarious!” he guffawed to the encouragement of the others. I gave the rest of them swift glances filled with loathing; I didn’t know any of them, not by name, but I already despised their lack of compassion, or even sympathy, for their endangered companion. If I hadn’t come to the rescue soon, I was certain that they would have left him helpless up there, and for that they would never be pardoned.

I just shook my head at them, disgusted, and was ready to turn away and begin the journey back to Ash’s car when David pushed away from me suddenly and stumbled a few feet behind us, where he promptly doubled over in a fit of vomiting. I had seen him be sick so many times at this point that I wasn’t even fazed, though I did wish that afterwards he hadn’t wiped his mouth on the sleeve of my jacket.

After he was finished I went over to him and rubbed his back soothingly, empathizing to a certain extent the exhaustion and roiling illness that must be penetrating every aspect of his body, and led him to Ashley, who was already edging towards the street leading back to the parking garage, as anxious as I was to get away from these buffoons and finally have this whole ordeal behind us.

~~~

I had Ashley crank up the heat in his car when I had gotten David and I situated in the backseat; while I was fussing over him and buckling him in like he was a child, I couldn’t deny that, even though he was completely wasted and damp with fountain water and stank of alcohol and vomit, he looked mysteriously intriguing. His skin was like glowing porcelain, all illuminated by the light of the white streetlamps, and his hands kept groping for mine while he fought to remain conscious.

“You gotta stay awake now, David,” I ordered softly, my voice croaky from the seemingly endless instructions I’d had to yell over the course of the last hour. “I need you to give me directions to where you live.”

His forehead creased in what could have been confusion or concern. “I live in Clifton, Andy. You know that,” he mumbled, his eyes merely drowsy slits.

“Yes. But where?”

“Riddle . . .” he trailed off, but I knew he was referring to Riddle Road. I nodded to Ash, who put the car in drive. We were off.

The car ride was mostly silent. I gave up on trying to keep David awake, instead just letting him curl up in his seat and doze off into whatever world of dreams his intoxicated mind chose to send him to. His full lips were parted slightly in his sleep, his breathing audible over the car’s hot air on full blast through the vents. I only took my eyes off of him every so often to glance out the window and make sure we were on the right route, though Ashley’s sense of direction had never failed us before, and then my eyes would wander back to David’s slumbering form. He actually looked quite sharp in my leather jacket; we’d have to get one his size sometime . . .

And his hand never left mine, its smooth shape molded to mine as the minutes passed and a thin layer of sweat built up between our skin, but I didn’t care because I could faintly feel his heartbeat pulsing through his palm, and that steady rhythm was almost enough to lull me to sleep.

Clifton was only a few minutes away from downtown, so before I had time I get too sleepy and unfocused we were pulling onto Riddle Road. It was all coming back to me now, those few times that I’d gone with Jinxx to David’s house for some party or another, always hating the presence of frat boys but there wasn’t a lot you could do about it, living practically on campus and all. Yes, David’s parties were awful, the worst that I’d ever been to, but of course I never passed up an opportunity to keep my eye on him when I knew for certain that he would be under the influence of some substance or another for the bulk of the night. I narrowed my eyes at the passing houses as Ash slowed down patiently to let me get my bearings.

“. . . It’s that one.” We stopped in front of a two-story apartment building, which was obviously a house that had been renovated. I shook David’s shoulder lightly but firmly enough to rouse him from his sleep. “It’s that one, right, David?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, frowning and blinking in the light of the streetlamp, his bleary eyes trying to focus on the building he lived in.

I got out of the car and went around to the other side to get David, not trusting him one bit to be able to make it to the house without assistance. While I was slinging his arm over my shoulder and wrapping mine supportively around his middle, Ashley craned around the headrest of the front seat to look at me and said quietly, “I’ll just wait in the car, okay?” I nodded and pulled David out of the car, then gasped when his legs collapsed under him, pulling us both down to the pavement.

“Come on, sweetie, stand up. We’re almost there. Just gotta make it up the driveway and into the house.” Again with the pet names. I didn’t have time to question it, but later I would feel a fuzzy, blissful feeling in my stomach at being able to refer to him as such.

He made a feeble effort to push himself up onto his feet, and I assisted in any way I could, practically hefting all of his weight off the ground myself, but he so out of it at this point that I had to wonder whether he was even fully conscious. His eyes kept fluttering closed and he murmured, “I’m sleepy . . .”

Fine. You win.

After trying one last time to get him to willingly move himself, I abandoned all hope and scooped him up into my arms bridal-style, grunting, feeling my mostly-unused muscles straining from the effort, but not seeing much choice in the matter. I couldn’t physically hear Ashley’s laughter from the car, but I knew it was there, and had to resist the urge to give him the finger as I struggled to carry David up to the building.

Although I knew I would be feeling the effects of this on my spine tomorrow morning, I had to admit that it felt kind of good to have him in my arms, to hold him and be needed by him while he wrapped his arms, sheathed in the sleeves of my leather jacket, around my neck like a child. I couldn’t get my eyes off of his face, half-hidden in the fabric of my shirt as he nuzzled my shoulder. It was cute. Really cute.

Once we had made the perilous journey up to the stoop, I jostled him a little and asked “Is it unlocked?”

He only groaned in response, so I gently dumped him onto the porch and tried the handle myself. Thankfully it was open (though I’m not sure how wise that was considering Clifton’s reputation) so I yanked David up from the ground, where he had curled up like he was on the fluffiest of mattresses, and lugged him inside. It was a fairly easy feat to get access to the apartment itself once I had groped him up and down for his keys, and once inside I remembered enough of the place’s layout to find his bedroom easily enough.

Delicately, like I was handling a priceless piece of art, I lay David on the bed, releasing him from my embrace and, before I let him get too comfortable, stripping him of his sweat- and vomit-infused clothes, leaving him only in his boxers. The apartment was quite chilly; I drew the bedcovers over his already-unconscious form, watching with amusement as he nestled his head into the crook of his arm comfortably and then was still.

After what felt like a week’s worth of stress all crunched into a couple of hours, I was finally able to get a slow, calm breath of air into my lungs. David was safe. He was home now. He was sleeping. Tomorrow he would wake up with a bitch of a hangover and only Kyle, who would not be any better off, to take care of him, but that was miles better than being stuck on top of a fountain downtown. I gritted my teeth as I thought of Kyle and those assholes; I was more than certain that they would have gotten bored sooner or later and left him up there by himself. Who knows what would have happened if Jinxx hadn’t called and warned me that something was up? I would have to treat him to lunch or something sometime as an act of gratefulness.

For now, I supposed I ought to get going; I had work tomorrow, and it was important that I was present and on time now that I had such an important role in the company. I knelt beside the bed to say my goodbyes to the sleeping David, getting on my knees so that my face was level with his. He looked quite peaceful at this point, a relief after the trauma of the night’s events. I reached up and brushed his hair out of his face, smoothing his wavy bangs back so that I could see the full impact of his face. A frown creased my forehead when my long, pale fingers brushed over a scar near his hairline, still dark and sharp against his skin; I wondered what monster of a man had given him that memento.

He didn’t think that I knew about the “recreational activities” that he got into at almost every party he went to, but of course I did. Even though I didn’t personally witness the dreadful events unfolding in the bedroom—nor did I want to, let I be sick from the sight—I was smart enough to put two and two together.

I knew that he had a weak will and an even weaker self-image. No one who did that to themselves on such a regular basis could think too highly of themselves; people who know that they’re good enough to deserve the best don’t give themselves away to whatever scum happens to look twice in their direction. He got drunk to forget the constant misery and self-loathing that clouded his mind every day, and scavenged the bottom of the barrel for love in the form of a crappy, meaningless, rough hookup that he hardly remembered the next day. Those who preyed on him knew all of this, and took advantage of it; they basked in the power that so easily fell into their hands when they were finally alone with him, calling him names and smacking him around and making him feel dirty and ugly. Making him cry.

Again, I had never seen any of this happen with their own eyes, not to David anyway, but I’ve been on the scene for a long time. I knew the type by this point; I saw them lead him away down dark hallways, always the same type, and every time he came back covered with scars—emotional or physical or both, to be examined by the light of day the next morning when he woke up in a strange bedroom. That’s why I tried to stick around until the next morning at parties; I would try to find him as the night’s events wound down to a close, and take care of him as best I could until he was fully himself again, or doze off in a corner and find him when morning came. When I was lucky, it was still early in the evening when he got too drunk to function, and I was able to tuck him in still untouched by grubby, merciless hands as far as that party goes.

Now I wondered whether anything of the sort had happened before the fountain incident; perhaps if it didn’t, he wouldn’t have had cause to do something so stupid in the first place. I knew if I’d been there, I could have unquestionably prevented the entire incident, but there was no use in crying over spilled milk now. He was safe, and that was all that mattered.

As I thought of all this, hating the men who had hurt him but mostly feeling sad that David felt the need to let them do it in the first place, and powerless in that I couldn’t stop it from happening, a strange sensation washed over me and I found myself inching closer and closer to him. Unthinkingly, like it was an automatic gesture, I lay one hand very lightly on the side of his face and placed a tender, hesitant kiss on his lips. I frowned while I did it, confused as to why I was doing it in the first place and surprised that it felt as good as it did. It brought a feeling of deep satisfaction to my chest, but at the same time I found myself longing for more, wanting it to go further.

I drew back after two full seconds and just looked at him, feeling the electricity still tingling on my lips, allowing the contentment with what I had just done settle down comfortably in my stomach, while at the same time feeling endless questions raced through my mind.

What was I doing?

Why did kissing him feel so good?

Why should I have any more of a right to David’s heart than those beasts that were always using him and then throwing him away like a broken toy?

When did all of these feelings towards him become so firm in my heart, like they had always been there? Had they begun when I had first met him, but never showed themselves until this moment?

I chewed my lip as these thoughts circled my brain endlessly like vultures; my eyes never left that calm, sleeping face as I considered it all, wondered what it all meant, where this was going, when I had started going so hot just at the sight of him.

Then a smile spread slowly over my face; a half-smile, a little sad, a little conflicted, but still somehow a symbol of all-around pleasure.

I patted the side of the bed with my palm, stood up, and left David to sleep the night away in peace.

The End.
♠ ♠ ♠
I know, I know, this is way long for a oneshot, but I just couldn't bear to split it up.

This was originally written for a collection of Cincinnati-based Black Veil Brides oneshots, but it got so long and I liked it so much that it just kinda became its own thing. So that's why it takes place in Cincy, even though that makes no sense for any of the characters besides Andy.

Yeah... This is actually my favorite thing that I've written in a while, even though the pairing is so utterly random. But I would much appreciate some feedback, so comments will make my life. Thank you for reading. I love you :)