Two Hundred and Thirty

It was as if everything had been plunged into slow motion, my movements, his breathing, the thoughts in my head, it was all restricted by a sort of calm panic. I watched him sink onto the sofa, resting his back against the arm and letting his eyes wilt with exhaustion. I tried to think rationally but all I could think about was his face and how, it wasn’t just the physical injury that made me want to cry, he was different.

“I’ll get some ice,” I nodded to myself, finally coming to a rational thought.

I fell to my knees by the freezer, raiding through the draws until I pulled out a pack of frozen carrots, wrapping it in a towel as I walked across to him.

“This’ll bring the swelling down,” I said, trying to hide the fear in my throat as I sunk into the seat beside him.

“You better not put that anywhere near my face.” He slurred. Only now had it come to my attention how drunk he was.

“You’ll thank me later, now hold still.” I juggled with the pack in my now numb hands and gently pressed it against his bruised left cheek.

He winced over dramatically, “Stop it,” He dodged his face away from me, “I don’t want a bag of frozen peas on my face.”

He laughed hysterically, his breaths so drawn out that it was like a wheezing coming from deep in his lungs. With my left hand, I cupped the other side of his face, pulling him closer towards me again, reuniting his cheek with the icepack in my hand.

“They’re carrots.” I replied.

“Oh, that’s alright then.” He said before carrying on his fit of laughter.

“I’m struggling to see the funny side.”

“You wouldn’t,” He sighed, “because you’re not living it… unlike me… obviously,” A snort flew out of him, followed by the string of laughter again.

I let out a huff and stood up to get him a glass of water, letting the pack of carrots keeping his face cool hit his chest with a crunch. In the few minutes I was in the kitchen he had begun wailing a song that I did not recognise, screeching the lyrics to himself at his own amusement.

“Drink.” I spat, handing him the glass of water that shook in his hand the second he grasped it.

He took a huge gulp and when he was done, I lifted the ice pack to his face again where he reached to hold it himself. His skin was hot as his fingers lay on my palm momentarily until I moved away in confidence that he wasn’t going to drop it. The movement was slow, I made sure of that, but with every second his hot skin was on my icy, numb hand, more and more nerves ticked on in my body.

“How was your date?” He grinned, folding one of his arms across his stomach whilst the other held the ice pack to his face.

I crossed my legs infront of me so my feet weren’t touching the floor, “It was nice,”

“Nice,” He chuckled, “you said you had a nice time at the lake too… that could mean anything.”

“Because that’s how it was,” I shrugged, “And how was your evening… eventful?”

“You could say that, yes.” It took him a few seconds before he added; “It wasn’t nice at all.”

I chewed on my lower lip to fight off the smirk that tried so desperately hard to show itself.

“Are you going to tell me what happened or am I just supposed to give you an icepack and send you on your way?” I was almost mimicking him now, my back resting on the opposite arm of the couch to him, the only difference being his scrawny legs stretched out across the floor.

“Firstly,” He began, the dim light from the table lamp beside him being the only thing that lit up the room, “I didn’t mean to come here, I simply came to your door instead of my own.” He shook his finger in the air in confirmation. “And, why should I elaborate on the antics of my evening if you won’t do the same?”

I let out a laugh, more in shock of his cheek than anything else.

“I think you’ll be surprised at how the two tales complement each other.” He grinned again, readjusting the icepack on his face.

“You have no place to be asking about my night, whereas I think I do,” I laughed, “You can’t show up at my door at an ungodly hour with half your face bruised to hell and expect me not to ask questions.”

He shrugged, “Are you going to tell me or not?”

His shit eating grin was making his words slightly amusing and light hearted, but without it and without the intoxication, I would have kicked him out on his ass.

“I met him at the bar, it was… awkward to begin with so I told him that sitting in a bar wasn’t really my idea of fun. So we went and caught the last showing of Psycho and the Art House-“

“Did he do the whole, yawning, stretch act?” He chuckled to himself.

I ignored the niggle in my stomach that ignited when his childlike laughter erupted from his gut.

“No.” I spat.

“Sorry,” He held up his free hand in defense, “Carry on.”

“And that was it, he dropped me home and… that was it.” This scene reminded me greatly of when I was living at home with my brothers, atleast one of them would greet me at the front door and quiz me on the happenings of the evening, I’d learnt to leave out any details of physical contact. I just knew that I couldn’t tell John about kissing Marcus, partly because I didn’t want him thinking that I was anything like he was, even though I blatantly wasn’t.

“Suuure,” He said, narrowing his eyes and letting that same grin emerge across his face.

“I believe it’s your turn.” I said, ignoring his previous comment.

“Well, we headed to the after party after the show and Jared and I had had a fair bit to drink and started to have a… heated discussion.” The smirk fell from his face, “Then some douche who thinks he’s Jared’s longest, loyalist pal because Jared played guitar for his sisters’ boyfriends’ band in one song or something, butted in, getting all defensive in an argument that wasn’t his. So, shit escalated with myself and this prick, for reasons now that didn’t even concern the original disagreement… then his buddy comes over and I didn’t even know what’s going on until this happened.” He leaned the icepack away from his face.

He let out a breathy sigh, “If Jared was the one who punched me then I would graciously admit that I deserved it.”

Hearing the actual events of his night gave me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach and a strange ache in my throat. If I was there, I could have dragged him away from the situation… I should have been there, I would have been there if I didn’t go out with Marcus. The room suddenly felt a lot bigger. And there was no point in me asking what the argument between himself and Jared was about because 1. he wouldn't tell me and 2. it wasn't any of my business. The second shouldn't have been an issue considering it wasn't any of his business what happened on my date with Marcus.

“Told you they’d complement each other,” He smiled.

“I can’t see it, personally.”

“Something blossoming right before our eyes,” He gestured to me, “and then something crumbling all the same,” He placed his hand on his chest.

“You don’t half talk some crap when you’ve had a drink, John.” I laughed.

He rolled his lips together, making them a thin line above his stubbly chin. We said nothing for a few seconds and I watched him fiddle with the towel that covered the ice pack.

“It’s the truth,” He nodded.

I noticed his eyelids begin to fall in on themselves. Standing up off the couch, I straightened out my shorts before making my way across the floor to my bedroom.

“Where are you going?! You’re meant to be looking after me,” He yelled, stumbling on his words.

“I’ll be back in a second, be quiet, I have neighbours.” I heard him let out a mumble and a huff before I slipped into my room.

I didn’t bother to turn the light on as I rummaged around in my draws, pulling out a spare comforter. I kicked the draw half shut with my ankle and scooped up one of the pillows from my bed. The thought of John doing near enough the same things for me that night after Eric’s sent a knot into my throat, it’s like we were on this endless cycle of helping each other out as kind neighbours… at the rate it was at, it showed no signs of stopping and oddly, I didn’t want it to.

The room seemed darker than it was before when I came back, John’s unharmed side of his profile seemed to illuminate the rest of the room as the table lamp shone directly over him and the TV giving a blue glow to the coffee table and his legs. I quietly shuffled over towards him, laying the comforter and the pillow on the floor. He was completely out for the count, insinuating that it took every part of him to keep himself awake just a few minutes ago. I sucked in a deep breath in preparation for the task ahead of me, bent down and gripped both of his ankles in my hands, my fingers too short to wrap around the whole width. I hoisted his legs onto the couch where I had previously been sitting and began to untie the laces on his boots, laying them neatly on the floor beside the coffee table when I was done. A fleeting thought entered my mind, other than that I had to be quiet… it was like I was disposing a body.

The ice pack had slipped from his grasp when he fell asleep, lying on his chest. I gently removed it and put in on the table before grabbing the pillow and trying to cram it between his head and the arm of the couch. To no success, I slid the palm of my hand underneath his head, lifting him just enough to replace the space with the pillow. I then lay the comforter over him, flinching when the draft from the movement made him stir slightly in his sleep. After putting the carrots back in the freezer and flicking off the TV and table lamp, I headed to my room where I lay awake for a further three hours, thinking about what I’d do if Marcus called the following day, or what I would do if I woke up and John wasn’t there… thinking about, at that moment, what I wanted more: to go home to England or to wake up and find John still asleep on the couch.

The fact that the two were even competing was a worry.