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I hear something, as if he’s talking, but the words are muffled by the stuff on top of him.
Afraid for myself, because it could just be a trick, but even more so for this person, I lean down to check on him.
“Please, help me.” His voice is barely there, but fear and pain are as clear as a sunny day.
Yep, because he just seems as happy as the sun.
What an idiot I am, sometimes.
I try to peel the covers away, starting from the one closer to the leg poking out. The more I unravel, the worse the smell of blood and urine is. I want to cover my nose and mouth, but I need both hands to get to him.
When I finally peel everything away, the first thing that my brain registers is not how filthy his clothes are, but how inadequate they are for the cold weather we have this Christmas.
He’s wearing an undershirt that was once white, but is now the colour of London’s sky during a storm. The garment is ripped in places and under those tears is blood. In some places it’s already dried, but in others, the blood is still fresh.
When I look down, my breath hitches at the sight of his naked lower half. Tears spring to my eyes at the state of his body. Angry red lines cover his cheeks, and I clearly see handprints and red spots where fingers had gripped him so hard they left marks.
I angrily wipe the tears now falling freely from my eyes, because I don’t want the guy to think of them as pity tears. I’m so fucking angry I could go berserk on the bastards that did this to him.
Since I started pulling the covers away, the man hasn’t talked, but as the cold air caresses his skin he starts shivering. I gently place them back on top of him and take my phone out from the inside pocket of my jacket.
I can’t move him as I could cause even more damage.
“I need an ambulance,” I say, when the operator answers the call, and then I provide the address.
“What’s the issue?” she asks, after taking note of where we are.
“There’s a man under a bunch of covers, but I believe he’s been attacked.”
“Is he breathing?”
“He is, and he was calling for help.”
“Can you stay there with him? The ambulance is on its way,” she says, before I can answer her question.
My gaze drops to the man and seeing him like that, broken and in pain, has me forming the only reply any decent human being could give.
“Yes, I’ll stay with him. Please be quick.”
“Don’t touch him, but please keep him warm,” she continues, and I follow her directions.
My nerves get all lit up while I wait for the ambulance to arrive. Depressing thoughts that were so far from my mind while I was shopping for Christmas are now filling my head, and a fear I’ve never felt before is gripping my insides, twisting them like the metal left on the road after a car crash.
Is he going to die? The thought is going around my mind like a catchy Christmas tune.
As soon as it forms in my mind, I push it away, invoking the spirit god of Christmas to keep him alive until the paramedics get here.
I crouch down near his head and whisper, like a mantra, “They’ll be here soon. Stay with me. You’re safe now.”
Without a conscious thought, I use my gloved hand to caress his hair, making sure not to touch him too roughly or where I can clearly see the signs of an injury or blood.
He seems to relax under my touch, and I’m so concentrated on making him feel better I don’t realise when the ambulance arrives.
It’s only when a strong hand pulls me away and nearly drops me on my ass that I come back to reality.
“Give us space, please,” one of the paramedics says.
I move out of the way to let them work on him, but I keep my eyes focused on what they’re doing. My gaze zeroes in on his chest so that I can make sure he’s still breathing, while I pray to every deity I never thought twice about before, to save him and give him a happy and safe life.
