I hold him in my arms with his words playing on repeat inside my head. Didn't know where else to go. He thinks I'm a monster and he comes to me?
I gaze down at his beaten face. Broken nose, black eye, blood dripping from his mouth, clothes disheveled and bloody.
"Shit Adrian, what did you get yourself into," I mumble, running a hand though my long black hair. I need to help him.
I lift him up and carry him to my couch. He's so light, what happened to him? I set him down and go find the first aid kit. When I come back his head is tipped backwards, oh shit, the blood might block his air way. I gently move his head and a considerable amount of blood drips onto his shirt. I grab a wad of gauze and gently hold it up to their mouth. Within a minute it's soaked though. I grab some more gauze and shove it into his cheeks. I can't really do much about the blood dripping from his nose, but it doesn't look like it's bleeeding as heavily as his mouth so I could probably just let it go.
Nothing else on his face needs immediate care, so I gently lift his shirt over his head. I stare in horror at his torso. There are a few really big bruises and multiple places where the skin tore. I grab the hydrogen peroxide and start cleaning the spots that haven't scabbed over yet and apply bandages. As I work I realize jut how skinny he is. It's like he hasn't been eating, but I know for a fact that he lives in an extremely privileged household. Why hasn't he been eating? The though that he isn't being treated well bubbles into the back of my head, I try to ignore it because that can't be true, but the fear that it might be stays with me for hours.
I check his hands for any injuries and the first thing I notice is that, for the most part, his knuckles are fine. It doesn't even look like he threw a single punch. As long as I have known him he hasn't been one to hesitate when it comes to fighting. What happened to him?
When I'm done I lay him down on the couch so he can sleep more comfortably. By now it's well past midnight and I am exhausted, so I pass out on top of my bed with out changing or getting under the covers.
I'm woken up by the sound of him vomiting into the toilet. I force myself out of bed to make sure he's ok.
I turn the corner into the hallway just as I hear the toilet flush and he stumbles out of the bathroom.
"Hey Adrian, how are you feeling?" He gazes up at me as a look of horror spreads across his face.
"Why have you brought me here?" He shouts at me, putting up his hands to protect his face. I take a step back.
"You're the one who came knocking at my door in the middle of the night," I retort. How could he not remember that? Oh, wait, he was drugged...
"What are you talking about? I did no such thing." He remains in his defensive stance.
I sigh, he can be so ridiculously stubborn. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"Why does that matter? You know exactly what happened, why don't you tell me?"
"Adrian, you knocked on my door, said you had nowhere else to go, and collapsed into my arms. It looked like you were drugged and assaulted. Now tell me, what, happened," I snap at him. He flinches.
"The last thing I remember is walking, um, home, and I was jumped. I couldn't see their faces, I assumed it was you and some of your goonies. I felt a pinch in my neck and then I woke up on your couch," He slightly lowers his hands, not completely. He doesn't trust me, I don't blame him. I don't trust him either.
"You should know by now that I work alone, and where were you going? I know that the neighborhood you live in has a low crime rate,"
"I said I was going home," He snarled.
