It was ten to two in the morning, I had just about closed down Zeke’s.
I could hear the bartender and waitress laughing, punch-drunk, as they cracked
jokes and slung garbage bags into the clanking dumpster out back. Cold air stole
in from the metal door they’d propped open. I should have been exhausted after a
long week at work, but wasn’t. I was drumming my fingers on the bar and
thinking about where to go next. I pushed back from the bar, checked I’d left
more than enough tip. I called a good-night to the staff out back but didn’t
stay to see whether they’d heard me.
Out front, I pulled up my coat collar, tipped my head up to breathe
the frosty air deeply. It rushed in against the nerves jangling inside me,
seemed to only coax them higher. I set out fast. It was three miles home from
here, down Charleton until I hit the main drag of Fairway, but I needed the
walk, or I was going to get myself into a fight for no reason at the nearest
opportunity.
With who? I laughed at myself softly. Even on a Friday night, the city
was quiet, stuck to early hours; Zeke’s was one of the only bars that stayed
open past midnight.
Charleton was old, winding its way down a steep hillside, cluttered
with decrepit small businesses built off of spidery alleyways. I strode past
them in a rush, one of the expected scant handful of people still out.
Streetlights glinted off of smeary storefront windows and the occasionally
patches of cobblestoned sidewalk. I went faster and faster, smelling snatches
of wood-smoke and garbage curling through the frosty air.
Soon I was only one or two turns away from the bottom of the hill. I
would have rushed right by the last alleyway if I hadn’t heard a clatter, the
rustling of shifting bodies, and a distinct gasp, which might have been a
choked-off cry.
I checked my headlong progress, pivoted slowly. I took one, two steps
into the alley. The sounds of a scuffle were distinct now. Slowly my jittery
senses fixed on the dark shapes at the back of the alleyway.
There were three or four men, crouching or bent over. And there was a
wheelchair, sitting askew, and there was a slight figure sliding out of it. One
of the bent figures had an arm around its neck, one hand on its mouth.
What the fuck.
I am not always conscious of my size. I was conscious of it now as I
strode up the alleyway - my height, my breadth, the distance that each stride
ate up. I should have said “I’m calling the cops,” and let them run - they
could have had a knife, a gun, but I didn’t. I wanted this.
My dad used to tell me “an angry boy makes an angry man,” but all
things considered, I took it as a compliment. Not being able to get angry,
before, had hurt me more.
They scattered as I approached, mostly. One took off right away, but
two just backed off, and one stayed with his arms around the man in the wheelchair.
It didn’t take much to scare off the two; I just had to take a few more steps
inward, raise my fists, give them a swift but deliberate look-over. They took
off, too, though I slugged one in the shoulder and kicked the other in the back
of the knee as they passed, so he fell badly, crying out. I hope he skinned his
hands, jammed a wrist.
“Hey, man, it was just a joke, this guy is my friend here - “ said the
remaining man, finally lifting his hands off of the man in the wheelchair, who
was sliding to the ground as I watched.
I wanted to spit. I rushed in, cutting in around the wheelchair, and grabbed
the last man by the wrists, bulled against him until he slammed into the alley’s
back wall. I flung him hard against the alley wall again, so his teeth rattled,
looked him over rapidly. I could hit you in the face a bunch of times with my
fist, I wanted to tell him. Instead I transferred both of his wrists into the
grasp of one of my hands, digging a thumbnail into the tendons at the base of
one wrist to dissuade him from trying anything. Then I reached roughly into his
pockets until I had found his wallet.
I slapped him in the face with that - a few times, and then a few more.
Then, “Get out,” I said. “You’ll be hearing from the police. And your friends
shouldn’t hope I’ve forgotten their faces.”
He put his hands up, edged around me slowly, and then pounded off
across the pavement. His breath was ragged, close to sobbing, but the sound was
soon lost.
“Jesus Christ,” said the man who was now awkwardly leaning his back
against the edge of the seat of his wheelchair. “Thank you.”
I stood for a second longer, listening to the lingering sound of
running footsteps. I flexed my hands. Blood was thundering in my ears.
After another moment, I turned to face him fully. “Before you ask,” he
said, “my arm’s just like this. They didn’t hurt me.”
My vision seemed to settle, broaden out from the burning focus that
the confrontation had provoked. For the first time, I really looked at the man
with the wheelchair.
He was slight, late twenties, with big dark eyes, longish dark hair,
roughly curling. His legs looked shrunken, crooked. From the awkward way he was
holding them, I wondered if he could move them much. And his right arm was
shrunken, too, held tightly to his chest, the wrist bent at an unnatural angle.
The fingers pointed downward, and were flexing in and out spasmodically. He was
starting to shake, but, absurdly, gave me a reassuring smile, as if I was the
one who needed it.
Even that shaky smile was lovely.
I put a hand over my mouth, pressing down the hot blood still surging
in me. This guy needed me now.
“Okay, I said, rubbing my jaw, “are you sure? How can I help you?”
His name was Asher, he told me as he instructed me how to get him back
into his wheelchair. “I’m Roy,” I said, my face right next to his as I hugged
him under the armpits and carefully lifted. He leaned forward over my shoulder,
a warm weight, his one arm gently pressing against my back. He was so light.
Once he was seated, I stood back to let him arrange himself. I watched
as he grabbed each half of a seatbelt and buckled himself in, all with his left
hand. Whatever he had, it looked like that hand was affected, too; he moved it
slowly, didn’t seem to be able to exert much pressure. Maybe it was just the
shock.
“We should get you somewhere warm,” I said.
He used his hand to adjust how his legs were resting, finally looked
situated. He moved his hand to the little joystick at the end of the armrest.
“I think,” he said, “I’ll be okay once I get home. They barely had a chance to
start anything before you arrived and broke up the party. But would you…” He
took a deep breath, and I could tell he was hesitating to ask me for more help,
even though he was still shaking. “Would you mind walking me to the bus stop?
Otherwise I can call someone.”
“I’ll walk you,” I said automatically. Who knew how long it would take
for someone else to get here, if he could even get someone to answer the phone?
He saw in my face that I meant it, and smiled again, just slightly, but it was
enough to send a shiver of feeling through me.
I firmly set my mind on the practical again. “Are you warm enough?”
“Oh, yeah – “ he gestured at his short down coat, scarf, and boots,
which was much more than I was wearing.
I nodded, and turned to the mouth of the alleyway. He pressed on his
joystick to bring the small wheelchair into motion, and we set off into the
night.
Excited to see where this goes! Thanks for posting!
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading, Beth!
DeleteGreat start. Looking forward to more
ReplyDeleteThank you - I hope the next installments don't disappoint!
DeleteLovely, descriptive start. Can't wait for more.
ReplyDeleteThank you kindly. I admit I tend to enjoy description more than plot, so we'll see if I can sustain anything close to the level of drama in the opening. :)
DeleteWonderful writing! Welcome. I love your imagery and the feelings it invokes.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Pepper. I really enjoyed getting into Roy's headspace here.
DeleteThank you for sharing. I am always happy to read something new.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Chandelier - I hope you continue to enjoy.
DeleteOhhh, I like it! Am excited to see where this goes. I can relate a lot to Roy, in many aspects. Great writing!
ReplyDeleteThank you so much, Lovis - all of your heroes with CP have been giving me life, so it's extra-meaningful to me to get feedback from you - especially that you identify with Roy.
Delete<3 <3 <3
DeleteInteresting start, what a surprise! Thanks for posting, it is nice to have a M/M Story here.
ReplyDeleteOh, thank you, and I'm glad there are folks who are excited for M/M specifically! Confession: I've started half a dozen hetero stories without them going anywhere - so maybe M/M is the magic motivator for me...
DeleteGreat start - excited to see where the story goes. Thanks for posting!
ReplyDeleteI'm excited that you're excited - thank you!
DeleteI loved this!!! So intriguing. Oddly(?) out of all of it, my favourite bit was "Even that shaky smile was lovely." Great descriptions too. *excitedly clicks the next instalment!*
ReplyDeleteRose, this is the most adorable comment! Thank you so much - "Footsteps" made me crazy - so tender and intense.
DeleteI definitely wanted the readers to fall for Asher as much as much as Roy does, so I'm thrilled that it seems to be working. :D
Oh, I'm falling for Asher just fine, and I see I'm not the only one :D
DeleteI'm really Happy to read your story. You know I'm Vietnamese I have to use Google Translate to understand your story clearly. I hope you will finish the story soon as possible !
ReplyDelete😍 Thank you so much!