are you doing?" a familiar voice asked. "He just tried to kill you!"
"He took my bag!" I yelled, trying to thrash out of his arms.
"Is that bag worth your life? Hey! Calm the fuck down!"
Frustrated, but resigned to the fact that the perp was probably long gone, I settled down. R eluctantly, the man released me.
"Are you crazy ?" Kyle yelled.
"I'm not the one who just stabbed me," I snapped, holding up my bleeding hand. "So, no. I'm not the crazy one."
"No, you're the idiot who just tried to chase the guy with the knife that just stabbed you," he said, yanking his tie off. "Give me your hand."
I took a couple of steps back, holding my hand behind my back. "Why should I?" I cha llenged.
"Do you want to bleed to death on the sidewalk?" He asked, scowling deeply.
"Look, I didn't ask for your help." I pointed with my uninjured hand. "And I'm not going to bleed to death, you ass."
"Fine," he said. He looked at me like I was street carcass and said "You're on your own."
I gave a small shrug and said "Fine."
He walked by me without another word. I moved into the light of the nearest lamppost to inspect my hand, praying it wasn't as bad as it felt. I couldn't afford a hospital visit.
I was relieved to see it didn't look too deep, but the cut ran from one side of my palm to the other. The bleeding wasn't slowing down and thanks to the dickless wonder that stole my bag, I had nothing to staunch the flow of blood. Maybe Kyle was right. I was going to bleed to death on the sidewalk. Thieves would pick my pockets and steal my clothes, leaving my body naked and at risk of being eaten by stray cats.
"I don't want to be eaten by stray cats," I murmured to myself.
I looked away from my hand when I heard footsteps. It wasn't safe for me to be standing alone on the street at this time of night. It wasn't even safe for me to be walking, clearly exemplified by the jerk who robbed me, but now I was a sitting duck – a sitting Lily.
"I'm not leaving you bleeding in the street," Kyle said, stepping out of the shadows. "Give me your hand . Now. " He waited patiently with his hand extended.
"You're not wearing gloves," I said, feeling a little worn down by his evil stare.
"I'll wrap it up until I can get you to a hospital," he said, his tone flat and uncaring.
"I don't need a hospital," I said. "I just need it cleaned and bandaged."
“Maybe the police can convince you to go to the hospital,” he growled and I heard him mutter something about being stubborn.
“I’m not going to the police either,” I flared. “What’s the point? They’ll keep me there for hours looking through photos for a guy whose face I couldn’t see. It’s a waste of my time and theirs.”
He sighed louder than necessary. "Fine,” he snapped. “Give me your hand."
Reluctantly, I extended my injured hand. I bit my lip as he expertly tied another hideous tie around it.
“I really should go through your tie collection,” I said. “This is ridiculous.”
He eyed me with indifference before walking away. After a few steps, he turned around and glared at me. “Are you just going to stand there?”
Before I could object, he took my uninjured hand into his in a firm grip and began to lead me down the street. My heart pounded in his presence and under his touch and I could feel it in my injured hand as it throbbed in cadence with my heart. At the next intersection, we swung a right and walked a half a block closer to a group of bars before Kyle hailed a cab. He gave the driver an address in the city, not the New Jersey address I had left him at before.
“I just moved,” he said when I gave him a questioning look. “It’s not far.”
A few minutes later we were deposited in front of a high rise building on the riverfront. A doorman let us into the lobby where Kyle was greeted by name by a smiling concierge. Two guys in security uniforms sitting behind a tall desk nodded at us. Kyle barely acknowledged all three men before ushering me into an
"He took my bag!" I yelled, trying to thrash out of his arms.
"Is that bag worth your life? Hey! Calm the fuck down!"
Frustrated, but resigned to the fact that the perp was probably long gone, I settled down. R eluctantly, the man released me.
"Are you crazy ?" Kyle yelled.
"I'm not the one who just stabbed me," I snapped, holding up my bleeding hand. "So, no. I'm not the crazy one."
"No, you're the idiot who just tried to chase the guy with the knife that just stabbed you," he said, yanking his tie off. "Give me your hand."
I took a couple of steps back, holding my hand behind my back. "Why should I?" I cha llenged.
"Do you want to bleed to death on the sidewalk?" He asked, scowling deeply.
"Look, I didn't ask for your help." I pointed with my uninjured hand. "And I'm not going to bleed to death, you ass."
"Fine," he said. He looked at me like I was street carcass and said "You're on your own."
I gave a small shrug and said "Fine."
He walked by me without another word. I moved into the light of the nearest lamppost to inspect my hand, praying it wasn't as bad as it felt. I couldn't afford a hospital visit.
I was relieved to see it didn't look too deep, but the cut ran from one side of my palm to the other. The bleeding wasn't slowing down and thanks to the dickless wonder that stole my bag, I had nothing to staunch the flow of blood. Maybe Kyle was right. I was going to bleed to death on the sidewalk. Thieves would pick my pockets and steal my clothes, leaving my body naked and at risk of being eaten by stray cats.
"I don't want to be eaten by stray cats," I murmured to myself.
I looked away from my hand when I heard footsteps. It wasn't safe for me to be standing alone on the street at this time of night. It wasn't even safe for me to be walking, clearly exemplified by the jerk who robbed me, but now I was a sitting duck – a sitting Lily.
"I'm not leaving you bleeding in the street," Kyle said, stepping out of the shadows. "Give me your hand . Now. " He waited patiently with his hand extended.
"You're not wearing gloves," I said, feeling a little worn down by his evil stare.
"I'll wrap it up until I can get you to a hospital," he said, his tone flat and uncaring.
"I don't need a hospital," I said. "I just need it cleaned and bandaged."
“Maybe the police can convince you to go to the hospital,” he growled and I heard him mutter something about being stubborn.
“I’m not going to the police either,” I flared. “What’s the point? They’ll keep me there for hours looking through photos for a guy whose face I couldn’t see. It’s a waste of my time and theirs.”
He sighed louder than necessary. "Fine,” he snapped. “Give me your hand."
Reluctantly, I extended my injured hand. I bit my lip as he expertly tied another hideous tie around it.
“I really should go through your tie collection,” I said. “This is ridiculous.”
He eyed me with indifference before walking away. After a few steps, he turned around and glared at me. “Are you just going to stand there?”
Before I could object, he took my uninjured hand into his in a firm grip and began to lead me down the street. My heart pounded in his presence and under his touch and I could feel it in my injured hand as it throbbed in cadence with my heart. At the next intersection, we swung a right and walked a half a block closer to a group of bars before Kyle hailed a cab. He gave the driver an address in the city, not the New Jersey address I had left him at before.
“I just moved,” he said when I gave him a questioning look. “It’s not far.”
A few minutes later we were deposited in front of a high rise building on the riverfront. A doorman let us into the lobby where Kyle was greeted by name by a smiling concierge. Two guys in security uniforms sitting behind a tall desk nodded at us. Kyle barely acknowledged all three men before ushering me into an
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