The rest of the drive home is spent in pure silence, mindlessly in a daze of tonight's occurrences. I get off on the Beacon Ave exit, pull onto the street of my apartment complex and park in my designated spot. I loosen my grip on the steering wheel, now just realizing that I've white knuckled it all the way home.
The surprise ding of my phone makes me jump. I pat my jacket pockets feeling it in the right one, it's Charlotte,
Char: I heard! Sounds like we have a new hero in town
Hero? I'm sure Daredevil would beg to differ on that.
Me: So he's alive?
Char: he's in surgery right now, def not out of the woods
Me: figured that much, lmk on updates
Char: will do
I slip my phone back into my right pocket, grab my purse, and head inside ensuring to cover up as much of my dirtied clothes as possible in case someone sees the mess I am given it's nearly six in the morning now.
I run up the outdoor staircase that leads to my apartment door, I swiftly unlock the dark brown door, and swing it closed when I get inside.
Immediately I take hold of a garbage bag from underneath the kitchen sink and trek it with me to the bathroom. Turning the lights on, I make a mental note to change the middle lightbulb that hangs above the mirror because the flicker will surely send me into a seizure one of these days. Gripping my hands against each side of the cold white marble of the vanity I assess myself in the mirror.
I scrunch my light brown eyebrows together as I stare at my reflection. Dried brownish-red blood is splotched across my face. A small spot is stained on the corner of my lip which deepens the wrinkle between my brows.
"Oh god ew," I whisper to my reflection.
Removing my hands from the vanity I grip the golden colored handles of the faucet allowing the water to warm for a minute before splashing water all over my face, wetness coats the strands of my hair causing my blonde hair to deepen in color. Iron-tinted water droplets invade the surface of the countertop as I rid my face of someone else's blood. I lift my head facing the mirror again to ensure my face is free of whatever doesn't belong. My light blue eyes meet themselves in the mirror as I let go of yet another breath I've been harboring.
"Jess," I let out on the exhale and shaking my head from left to right.
Charlotte thinks I'm a hero, Jake thinks I'm a hero. A hero? No, more like a villain is how I'm feeling.
I close my eyes as my mind flashes back to the image that is seared in my memories from only a couple of hours ago. The stranger lying there alone and left for dead by his pack of what I'm assuming are his friends. What were they thinking?! There was no way in any circumstance that they didn't see the motorcycle lying on the side of the road, they passed him for Christ sake! The blood, oh gosh the blood was absolutely everywhere, gashes, road rash, asphalt lodged in skin, and that bone, my god that bone sticking out of his thigh was what did me in. Nausea sweeps over me again, moisture glazes my eyes, the blue irises appearing much lighter in contrast with the red blood vessels that have appeared out of thin air.
Why do I feel so guilty for saving that assholes life? Beautiful asshole actually. When I removed the black helmet from his head I couldn't deny the hitch that caught in my throat. Although a bloodied mess and with closed eyes he was still very attractive. The deep brown of his hair, touching the tips of his ears, and the top messy with the slightest of waves. His golden skin, evident of time well spent in the sun glowed even in the darkness of the night. Various black studs and thin hoops littered his ears in areas I didn't even know existed but my god they were hot, no doubt they've all been removed by now for surgery. A couple of tattoos sprinkled his neck but due to the dyer situation, making out what the ink actually was I couldn't register. His lips were perfectly shaped, I wonder to myself what color they really are when they're not a purply blue shade due to lack of oxygen. Don't even get me started on his perfectly toned body, not overly muscular yet not remotely scrawny by any means, which brings me back to that pang of guilt I'm currently experiencing. He appeared to be in his mid to late twenties, obviously took care of his body by the tone of his arms alone. His whole healthy life ahead of him, and now what? Yeah maybe in a year he'll be just fine but I've seen this before, he'll be bedridden for some time, probably need a wheelchair, physical therapy, not to mention a plastic surgeon, he'll lose muscle mass, he'll battle depression, it'll just an uphill battle from here on out.
Most think saving lives is a glorious thing, sure sometimes it is, and sometimes..sometimes it's not. On numerous occasions, we're demanded to perform CPR on eighty/ninety-year-old patients from family members who rightfully so don't want to let grandma go but at the same time, performing CPR is brutal. The force alone can break bones, just like the rib I broke tonight, it can bruise internal organs, puncture a lung, and so on and so forth. To be perfectly frank, Granny probably wouldn't mind just passing peacefully but we hold on to so much hope for our loved ones that we don't always think of the outcomes that they have to endure going forward.
After discarding my blood-stained scrubs in a trash bag and showering for three times longer than I normally would I toss and turn restlessly, tangling my legs in the sheets as motorcycle man plays heavy on my mind until I can no longer bear another thought and sleep sweeps me away.