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I put him on a saline drip and then cleaned, stitched and bandaged everything I could find.
I couldn’t do any scans, but judging from the colors of his bruises, there’s definitely hairline fractures on most of his ribs, arms, legs and everything on either side and between.
Whoever did this to him was sending a message. It’s about as bad as you can possibly beat someone without breaking or killing them.
He had a fever all night, which I remedied with paracetamol and a cold compress on his head—I had to sit here like a nurse to change it every thirty minutes!
He’s on a lot of drugs, but they’re all over the counter things and he’s built like a brick-shit-house, so it’s nothing he can’t handle.
There was a bad cut on his head, but without proper facilities and the fact that he was showing signs of a concussion, I didn’t want to close it because that might have increased the pressure on his brain.
So instead, I let the trickle of blood flowing and keep a close eye on it.
It’s a myth that people shouldn’t sleep with a concussion. It just makes it harder to diagnose and monitor.
He didn’t want to go to a hospital and Dom told me that if I could help it, I shouldn’t take him to one either. So that left me with only one option, a practice commonly known as—Street medicine.
So far, so good.
He’s not dead.
There wasA LOTof crusty blood on him.
I’mamazedhe’s so muscular when the only thing I’ve ever seen him do isdrink!Even so, he needs a sponge bath…andI’mnot giving it to him!
Thankfully, he’s not a total loser and there is food in his kitchen and he has a smart TV in his room so I can stream documentaries while he sleeps.
His breathing has been fine during the night, same with his heart rate…and he doesn’t snore!Thank God!
Nick had called and offered to come over and keep me company, but I couldn’t have him trying to have sex with me while I was fighting to keep someone alive—I know how he is!He has a one-track mind.
It was sweet of him though, so I told him that there was no reasonbothof us had to have our nights ruined.
Bret called too…and strangely, hedidn’toffer to come over. It makes me wonder if he knew who did this to Chase.
In all the rush of getting to Chase, I didn’t prepare for an overnight stay, I didn’t think I would have to, so I didn’t pack anything for myself. But now it’s morning and I’m up…I’m wondering what to do.
After I check Chase’s temperature and vitals, I go freshen up in the bathroom—using my finger in lieu of a toothbrush—then I see about some coffee.
While my oily, black, morning booster is dripping, I snoop through his kitchen for something better than the leftover Chinese food I gambled my life on last night.
There’s plenty of booze, but not much else—looks like the Chinese food was a fluke.
I have a few sips of coffee, then go check on Chase again—satisfied that he’s having his eighteenth dream about being a complete dick to people who’ve done absolutely nothing to him—I grab my keys to go on a grocery run.
I won’t be gone long because Chase’s place is in town.
At the store I buy things that have more nutritional value than whiskey—eggs, veggies, fruit, bread, yogurt, milk, cereal…that kind of stuff.
For Chase’s convalescence, I take a variety of canned soups. There’re also some microwave dinners I’m sure a douche like him will probably want to use, so I get a bunch of those.
Back at the house, in order to stock his cupboards, fridge and freezer, I have to throw out the two-dozen empty bottles of booze and…so I can do something mean and helpful at the same time…I box the undrunk dozen and put them in my car.
For breakfast, I put some cornflakes in a bowl with milk and drop in a handful of blueberries.
I take it with me to the bedroom to resume my vigil while I watch cartoons, cross legged on the chair—everyone likes cartoons!
I glance at Chase every now and then to see how he’s doing. After about an hour, when I turn his way, I find that his eyes are open and he’s watching me.
