Page 12 of Bazooka
I could remember some of it. Pete’s. Dotty’s delicious birthday cake. The sneakers that kept hitting my face. The taste of blood in my mouth. I wasn’t in as much pain as yesterday, but I still felt as if a truck had run over me.
“Do you feel any better?” The raspy voice made my heart race for the first time in months.
Was I really at his place?
“Yeah,” I replied, straightening up, only to regret that too. Yup, more pain. “What happened?”
“You didn’t want to go to the hospital, so I brought you here,” Bazooka replied. “John Smith patched you up. The guys from the LD are investigating what happened. More on that later. The most important thing is that you don’t have a fever, and you don’t look like shit anymore.”
I looked around the empty… bedroom?
“Where is your furniture?” I asked him because I couldn’t see any.
“I just got here yesterday. Didn’t have the time.”
Slowly, the events from last night were coming back to me, but in flashes and fragments. Bazooka, sitting on the floor across from me. Bazooka, taking care of me. Bazooka, on the bed with me, holding my hand. Hold up! No way that happened.
“Did you watch over me?” I asked him just to make sure my brain wasn’t fucking with me.
“Mm-hmm.”
Was he teasing me? His hum sounded as if something about my question amused him. Then, my bladder informed me I had more pressing issues. I lowered my feet to the floor and stood up, only to end up back on my ass on the bed. I realized I couldn’t stand on my left foot because my ankle hurt like the devil.
“Whoa,” Bazooka said, walking up to me. “Not so fast. Take your time.”
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
He wrapped his arm around my waist. “Let me help you. No need to force it while I’m here.”
The scent of vanilla in my nostrils made me gulp, and the strong arm on my body shocked me despite being announced. I would swear that even my dick perked up, which was hilarious considering the pain I was in.
When we reached the bathroom, Bazooka unceremoniously pulled my joggers down my hips. And I had no underwear. Was he looking? I glanced at him, but his back was turned to me.
Oh, well, his loss.
“I hope you can do it by yourself,” Bazooka grumbled when I didn’t do anything. “I’m not holding your dick.”
“That’s okay. I don’t allow that on a first date.”
I was cracking jokes, which meant I was feeling better. He didn’t laugh, but he wanted to. I could feel it.
“We will need your statement,” Bazooka said while I peed. “I’ll drop by Pete’s today and talk with the staff. My guys from the LD worked the crime scene, but it rained last night, so I doubt there was much evidence to collect. Who attacked you?”
“Some homophobic pricks. There were four of them. Rugby players.”
“Did they rape you?”
The blunt question made me flinch.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I would know if I had a dick rammed in my ass, Bazooka,” I bit out, pulling up my joggers. “I know what that feels like.”
It was a stupid answer, but I wanted him off my back.
He rubbed his forehead as if I’d just given him a headache and pointed toward the sink. After I washed my hands, he carried me to bed.
