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“Yes,” he replies, and he hisses when he moves wrong. I walk to his other side and sling his arm over my shoulder. It’s not that I think I could actually carry him, but I’m hoping he can lean on me a little. “We need to be discreet. Don’t walk too fast, and keep your head turned toward me like we’re a couple.”
That won’t be hard to do since I’ve thought of little else since our date. I give him a thumbs-up and keep my smile to myself. Pretend to be your girlfriend? Don’t mind if I do.
“What…what is that?” I ask, feeling something warm on my hand.
“I was hit. It’s not too bad, but I need it cleaned and sewn up.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like this is a common occurrence for him.
“Hit? Hit by what?” He doesn’t answer, so I look at his face, which he’s hiding under his baseball cap.
“Margaret, let’s just get back to your place.”
I decide to not argue and just hold him tighter. This was so not how I pictured us getting closer again, but a weaker part of me I refuse to say aloud loves every second of his body pressed tight to mine.
We stay side by side, his weight getting heavier with each passing second, and he seems to be struggling with his breathing. My anxiety kicks in at that moment, but I try to push it aside and focus on getting to my apartment.
Opening the door to my building proves to be a challenge, but I finally manage to do it. I help guide him toward the elevator and pray it’s working today. “Shit,” I say when the button doesn’t light up. Come on!
I grunt and reposition Dan then look over to see he’s almost passed out. Double shit. This is going to very difficult.
Hefting him as high as I can, I half drag, half beg him to walk to the door to the stairs and start making the trek up the six floors to my apartment. I hate, hate stairs. I hate cardio. I hate…I don’t know, because I’m running out of things to hate as the oxygen leaves my brain at a fast pace.
I’m up one flight when I trip over Dan’s feet, and he rolls over onto his back on the landing. I nearly land on him as I stumble, and I try to hold myself up.
Not exactly how I pictured us getting horizontal again.
I let out a small whimper at the thought of the passed-out, model-like guy under me. How am I going to get this man up the stairs? I stand and assess my situation.
“This is so not how I thought my day was going to go,” I say to him, even though I know he’s not going to be replying any time soon. I now have an unconscious man lying at my feet, waiting for me to take action. Again, not how I envisioned this going.
I walk around to his shoulders and decide pulling is the only way this is going to happen. There’s no way I can fireman-heave him up these stairs. Grasping below his armpits, I start to pull, using all my might to get him up the steps. About halfway up the second flight, I realize how bad this would look if someone suddenly showed up. It would be horrific to see someone lugging a giant, unaware man up some stairs.
I somehow manage to get up to the next small landing. It’s about three square feet, so his feet and calves are still hanging down the stairs, and he’s twisted at an odd angle because I was trying to turn and pull. As I readjust, something slimy touches my left hand, making me pull it away in fear. I look to my fingers and see they’re dripping crimson.
Oh God, that’s the metallic smell. I turn away from hovering over his face as best I can in the small space. Oh God,I’m going to puke. I’m gonna puke right here on this landing.
Pull yourself together, Margaret!
Dan is in need, and if I can force myself to focus on that, maybe, just maybe I can heave him up the rest of the way. I keep pulling, blocking out any thoughts of what caused the wound—stop thinking about it!—and get him up another flight.
I think I’ve nearly gotten him there when I lose my grip, which results in him sliding down a flight of stairs. I chase after him and wince every time his head hits one of the steps. If he wasn’t knocked out before… When I finally get to him, I check his pulse and breathe a sigh of relief when I find it. I close my eyes for a moment then eye the stairs I have to drag him up again.
God send me some strength, and please don’t let me puke on the unconscious hot dude.
