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He really didn't know how to stop, did he?
He had gone on another night out with some of his friends. The plans had been booked for months, and he wasn't letting one fight gone wrong wreck his year. So he was out again, ignoring the buzzing of his phone, panicked calls and texts from his roommates. He hadn't told the two avians he was going out, and he shouldn't have to! He was an adult, he didn't need to get permission to go out and have fun.
It had been a while since the fight anyway, everything was healed up, even the concussion he had managed to get. Almost 6 or 7 months now, surely there was no risk in him heading out.
He met up with his friends where they had been last time. He was a bit surprised that he wasn't immediately shown the door after the scene he caused last time with the fight, his friends just as surprised. They didn't really give that a second thought once they were in, ordering drinks and getting ready for the night.
Things go fine for a few hours. They're just hanging around, getting drunk, having proper conversations with each other for some of the first time in months.
Then a familiar face shows up.
Joel is taking a sip of his drink when he spots him. His throat tightens, and he chokes on the drink, spitting it out as a friend pats at his back, acting like theyre helping when they truly aren't. He coughs a few times, looking back up at the man who had just walked in before he ducked down, panic filling his veins.
He looks for any other way out of the place, nowhere else but the bathroom. He mumbles a quick excuse before practically rushing towards the bathroom, locking himself in one of the stalls.
He remembers that man's face. He remembers his fist against his face, how the man's rings had left a cut along his cheek.
He's in there for maybe 5 minutes before the man comes in. He hears his voice, a deep booming voice that fills the public bathroom. They sound pissed off, and Joel can hear him banging on the other doors, throwing them open. There are yells of others in the bathroom, and the man shouts back, louder and angrier than any of them could be. The yells of others die down, nobody willing to fight with the man.
Apparently Joel was the only one stupid enough to fight that guy.
Finally the door of his stall is practically ripped off, he starts to stammer out some words before the collar of his shirt is grabbed. His stammered apologies are interrupted by a fist to the fast.
Seems the man had gotten new rings. Sharp ones.
He grabs at the man's hands, trying to rip his fingers off his collar. "Hey dude, can we not, I kinda like this shirt-"
He gets swiftly interrupted by another swing of the fist. And another.
He can feel the rings cutting his face, leaving slices across his cheeks. He can feel blood start to pool from those, blood dripping down his cut up cheeks. There is another punch, and he can't stop a little cry that slips past his lips.
Joel is getting desperate, trying to pull away. He tries to kick at the man's legs, and is quickly slammed into the metal doors of the bathroom stalls. He lets out a little gasp of pain, pain shooting throughout his back.
He's dropped to the ground, and a kick is aimed towards his head. It hits hard, slamming his head back into the metal again. After how badly his head hurt after the first time they went through this, in a fight that had left him with a bit of a concussion, a quick thought drifts through his head about how shitty the recovery time will be before another kick is aimed at his stomach, wind being kicked out of him.
He gasps for air as more kicks are aimed at him. It's not just the man, there is another one, with a crooked grin that shows he's having too much fun with this. The new guy's boots are tipped with metal, and as they hit against his skin, he knows that'll leave quite a few wicked bruises, maybe worse.
He finds himself curling into himself, trying to protect his head. God if he gets another concussion because of this shitty guy, he'll kill someone. He already still had two worried avians lurking over his shoulder, he knew it'd get worse if he gets another.
They won't fucking leave him alone. They keep kicking and hitting and he's sure they're taunting him but he can't hear it over the ringing in his ear and the breaths he's struggling to get in and the pathetic whispered begs for them to stop.
Knowing he is begging them to stop makes him feel sick. He's fucking pathetic, just curled up in the bathroom of a bar, letting them beat him black and blue, doing nothing but begging for them to stop.
He isn't sure when they leave. He isn't sure when the kicks and punches and taunts stop.
Joel is gasping for breath, his nose bleeding down his chin. He's shaking hard, curled up. Even the thought of movement hurts, his body feels so sore and terrible. He just curls up, his begs having turned to loud racking sobs, the blood mixing with the tears, turning him into just a big pathetic mess.
Unlike last time, nobody is there to comfort him. Nobody is there to bring him home.
It takes too long for him to stand. He's pretty sure he's dragged out by some sort of security, dumped on the curb. His head hurts too much to think or pay attention, so he truly isn't sure how he got out here.
He wishes this was like last time, with his roommates trying to bring him home. He doesn't want to be alone right now, not with how much everything hurts.
His phone is still buzzing in his pocket. He doesn't answer it, feeling it buzz in his pocket.
Joel is still shaking. It's getting annoying at this point, the fact he's shaking taking up too much of his current thought process. That and how hard it was to breathe. It felt like his lungs had been shrunk, not able to get enough air in. He's gasping for air, struggling to get enough in for his head to stop feeling so dizzy.
His phone had gone quiet, but its not long before its buzzing again.
Shaky hands finally reach into his pocket, fishing out his phone. Its cracked, but the screen still turns on, only looking slightly wonky. He ignores the messed up screen, and swipes the answer button across, clicking the speaker button.
There were panicked words, hundreds of questions. He doesn't answer any of them, asking his own.
"Can you come pick me up? I'm.. I'm at that bar I got beat up at that one time"
His voice sounds terrible, slurred and wheezy. He doesn't want to get more words out with the address, but he knows they know where he is. They always try and have him avoid there.
He wheezes out a few more words.
"Please. I can't deal with a bus or a cab right now"
The questions had gone quiet, but finally one of them speaks, quiet and caring.
"We'll be there in a second Joel. Are you okay?"
"I don't know"