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//Simon’s POV//
I reach for my jacket which is hung up by the front door and slip on my shoes. Opening the door, I step out into the freezing December winds, hand reaching inside my pocket to check I have the house key. Walking down the path trailing through the front garden, my hands work their way into my coat pockets, embedding themselves into the soft fabric.
Earlier, I decided I needed to take a walk through London – not the busy spots in the city, though – because I wanted to take a break from editing. And since I had videos set up for the next two days, I felt like now was a good time for a walk, alone, no one else, just by myself.
A glance down to my wristwatch tells me that it is just after 7pm, though I could easily tell by looking at how dark it was. It’s always dark and cold in winter, especially in winter.
A good 20 minutes into my walk, I spot a pub and debate whether I should stop for a drink or not. I have the money and the time, so I think ‘Why not?’ and push the heavy double doors open. Inside it is much warmer and I can instantly feel myself relax despite the strong smelling atmosphere. I walk up to the barman – a man in his early 20s, I guess – and perch on a bar stool.
“Good evening, sir. What can I get you?” He looks at me whilst cleaning an empty beer tankard.
“Um…” I pause, thinking of what I want. “Just a pint of beer please.”
The man nods kindly then bends underneath the counter, retrieving a clean tankard.
-
I now realise how much of a lightweight I am – only 2 and a half (accidental) pints of beer later and I can feel my body begin to feel heavy. My head aches slightly and my vision is beginning to get blurry. In fact, I don’t think stopping here was a good idea.
“Oi, scumbag, say that again, I dare you!” Someone shouts from behind me.
“You are such a queer, don’t fucking hit on my girl.”
“Fucking defend her then, she’s a girl she can’t defend herself.”
This is not helping my head; it feels like it’s getting worse. I try to ignore the commotion behind me, but something rams into the stool I’m sitting on and I fall. My hands instinctively move to slow my fall, and luckily they do. I push myself up but I suddenly can’t think straight.
“Watch where you’re going, man!” I say, voice barely audible above the noise.
“Oh, who do you think you are, fagboy?” A large white male, right arm plastered in tattoos stands in front of me, muscular arms crossed before his chest.
My voice is lost as I fumble for words to say, and being drunk does not help.
“You fucking… just piss off, yeah, no one gets hurt.”
“Those aren’t rules I abide by,” The man takes a step towards me and grabs me by the hem of my jacket. He drags me with ease over to the middle where there is more space and he slaps my cheek hard. I yelp, hand raising to the cheek and fall to the dusty floor. My head knocks against the solid surface and I see stars, my headache intensifying. I begin to see double and I can’t tell up from down at this point as the same man (I think?) pulls me up and drags me out of the door.
No one even tries to stop him – why would they, he’s a nutter – and he unsteadily sways to a nearby alleyway. I feel myself being shaken around until my back collides with a rough surface. This knocks the wind out of me and I struggle to breathe for a few seconds. A fist hits my cheek again painfully, and again, and again. Strangely enough, by the 5th punch I hardly feel any pain at all. The man abruptly stops punching me and holds me higher up the wall by my throat.
“Don’t fucking mess with me, you skinny prat.” He spits. My body suddenly falls then roughly collides with the floor and I feel myself landing on my wrist. I yelp in pain and try to sit up. I notice that the man has vanished as if by magic.
For a while, I sit there, a thin trail of blood leading from my nose, god knows how many bruises and my now swelling wrist in my lap. The headache’s gone now, but it is replaced by an even stronger throbbing pain.
I can’t just sit here forever.
I fumble around in my pockets for my phone and pray it’s not broken; luckily it is in good condition, just scratch across the screen. My hand is hard to stop shaking, but I somehow find Josh’s number. I press the call button and he instantly picks up.
“Hey, man, what’s up? Why are you calling me at this time?”
“Josh, I need help.” I whelp.
“With what? What’s happened- are you drunk?”
“No.” I slur then laugh loudly. My heart stops as I run my tongue over my bottom teeth finding one gap. I hiss in pain but that only makes it worse; the sensitive spot tingling uncomfortably.
“Simon, are you okay?” Josh questions, seemingly worried about me. After no response, he repeats my name and I just hum, keeping my mouth shut. “Where are you?”
“Cross Keys.” The throbbing sensation continues.
“Stay where you are, I’m coming now.” He hangs up quickly and now I can only wait. My eyelids sink slowly over my eyes, blocking out every light source around me.
-
//Josh’s POV//
Simon sounded like he was in pain and drunk, which as a combination is very bad. What has this boy gotten himself into?
I scramble down the flight of stairs, heading straight out of the door, not forgetting my phone and keys though. I retrieve my car and turn on the ignition, then drive out of the driveway and onto the road that runs from our house.
I spend the journey thinking about all of the things Simon could have done, but my thoughts are quickly interrupted as I arrive by Cross Keys.
I park my car to the side of the public house and push open the doors. It’s unsettlingly quiet in here, and I don’t spot Simon so I leave and scour around the pub.
I turn a corner and-
Fucking Hell, Simon.
Simon is sat, eyes closed against a brick wall. Upon closer inspection, I note the nosebleed and his wrist – his wrist is swelling heavily and after gently touching it, it feels warmer than the rest of his hand.
“Ah, fuck.” Simon’s eyes shoot open, body tensing and his uninjured hand protecting the injured one.
“Hello, Simon.” I say, unsure of any next moves. He looks at me with tired, bloodshot eyes.
“Hey Joshie.” His breath weakly smells of alcohol and I grimace at the smell.
“Can you walk, or…?”
“Yep! I’m absolutely fine-“ He attempts to stand but starts swaying towards me. He falls into my chest and I protectively throw my arms around his slim figure.
“Wow, you’re clearly not fine are you?” I half-heartedly joke, shifting our position so that his uninjured arm is wrapped around my shoulders. He whimpers slightly and I know we can’t travel back to the car like this. “Right…” I sigh deeply and place my hands behind his back and under his knees then scoop him up in an attempt to carry him.
“Oi! I said I’m fine!” Despite his protesting, I walk towards where my car is parked.
Once at the car, I place him down gently and open the passenger door, signalling for him to climb in. He does so and I shut the door, careful not to trap his wrist. I walk around to the driver’s side and slide in then turn the car ignition on.
“So, what happened to you?” I say, trying to start conversation.
“Some dickhead punched me.”
“And?” I say, knowing there’s more.
“And he made me fall onto- onto my wrist.” Simon slurs, his eyes looking in my direction. “Hey, Josh?”
“Mm?”
“You’re a good friend.” I smile at the compliment and reply with,
“No problem, bro.”
We arrive home and after getting out myself, I help Simon out of the car. I sort of side-carry him to the front door and unlock it. We walk through and Simon goes for the island. He sits upon the surface and dangles his feet over the edge.
Now that he’s in better light, I can see the real damage; although it’s not much different to before, I can see in more detail.
The blond smiles a toothy grin and I notice a tooth missing.
“Fucking Hell, Simon!” I step closer to Simon and open his mouth.
“What are you doing?” He tries to say as I look into his mouth.
“Your tooth is gone.” I retract into my normal standing stance. “You need to get that checked out quickly, man.”
“I don’t have the tooth, Josh.” I pause and sigh heavily.
“It doesn’t matter, Simon. At least you’re safe now.” I say, sitting on the counter beside him. “Oh wait,” I hop off and open the freezer door, retrieving a bag of frozen peas. “Hold this to your wrist, it’ll help.”
He holds it in place and hisses at the coldness.
This boy is going to kill me some day, I swear.
“Alright?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ll stay awake until your dentist’s open, yeah?” He moans in annoyance like a 4 year old not getting exactly what he wanted in a sweet shop.
“Fine.”