The Word of the Forsaken (BoyXBoy)

Chapter Four

I locate the kit and bring it over to the coffee table, popping it open to see if there's anything useful. Ruslan is already sitting on the couch with the mask back over his face. I don't know why he put it back down, but something in my gut makes me assume it's when we came back into sight of the security cameras.

"Why did those guys know you?" I ask, peeling the rag away from my nose, now sticky with my blood. My voice sounds nasally from the swelling in my face.

Ruslan observes me through the eyeholes of his mask, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees. "They don't. They know this," He says, reaching to flick one of the ears of his mask.

I stand up to retrieve the mirror from the wall, hissing when I see my reflection. My cheeks are scraped raw from being shoved against the brick and my nose is swollen from being punched in the face. I take the mirror back to the table with me and set it in my lap so I can clean the wounds on my face. "So what, you're in a gang or something?" I ask nonchalantly, taking an alcohol pad from the kit and ripping it open with fumbling hands.

"Yes, you could say that," He says, watching as I swear loudly at the sting of the antiseptic against my palm. "Do you want some help?"

I inhale the sharp tang of alcohol as I fight the pain, giving him a distrustful look. "I still don't know why you helped me."

Ruslan sighs and leans forward, picking up the whiskey from the table and unscrewing the lid. He slides his mask aside just enough to press the bottle to his lips and take a swig of the free booze, which I guess he paid enough for earlier when he was a customer. He wipes his lips on the sleeve of his soaking wet sleeve. "As I said, they were on my turf. I overheard James' threat to you at the bar so I waited for you to get off to catch them in the act. I'm sorry you pissed them off so badly. They were a couple of idiots with too much pride."

I regard him with a tired look, surprised to hear so many words coming from his mouth at once. "Can you not sit on the couch, please? We're both soaking wet."

He sighs again dramatically but slides from the couch onto the floor beside me. He takes the alcohol pad from me and trades me for the bottle of liquor, apparently unconcerned by another person's blood. "You're doing a miserable job. Let me do it," His voice is demanding as he wastes no time mopping it across the raw skin of my palm with expertise, leaving no room for me to complain.

I swear at the pain, tipping the bottle back and swallowing a mouthful, eager to do anything to numb the throbbing of my whole body. Once it subsides enough, I tip my head to watch Ruslan dig through the box for ointment and gauze. "So why did you stay to help me?"

Ruslan glances up at me for a moment before continuing his application of the ointment on my palm, his touch surprisingly gentle against my angry skin. His wet hair still clings to his skin behind the mask, longer than I originally thought. I feel so small sitting beside him but try not to let it intimidate me. "Consider it my good deed of the century. I still can't believe you didn't even try to fight back."

I sigh, leaning my head back to look at the ceiling before taking another swig of whiskey. "Money is just paper. It's not worth losing your life over."

"Yet, you won't throw that ruined bike in the garbage," He scoffs, wrapping my hand with the gauze. "That makes total sense." His words drip with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes, grateful to feel the alcohol beginning to take effect. "I was raised to cherish my belongings," The thought of my broken phone in the other room reminds me that I'll have to buy a new one tomorrow, which means all the money I made tonight was for nothing.

Ruslan finishes my right hand and holds his handout for the left one, making me switch the bottle over. He plucks it easily from the bandaged hand and takes a drink, his eyes holding mine as if trying to find out what I'm thinking. I should probably be more afraid of him right now, but I'm just too exhausted to care who he is. He saved me, so that must mean something about his character.

He holds it back out for me to take so he can continue working. "You seem awfully calm," He says after a moment, dabbing my scrapes with a fresh wipe. His hand is so big that it makes mine look like it belongs to a child in comparison.

"Do I have a reason to be afraid?" I counter, shifting my weight off of my knees. They're definitely bruised, but that's the least of my worries. My whole body is going to hurt even worse tomorrow. I still have to find a way to explain this to my grandma. I guess I'll just tell her I got robbed, which is mostly the truth.

Ruslan considers my words carefully as he slathers the ointment onto my left hand. I don't want to know why he's so good at attending to wounds, because I think I could already guess the answer. "Most people would say yes."

"Why?" I ask, feeling bold thanks to the liquor in my system. "Who are you?"

He pinches the gauze down to the back of my hand with his fingers and wraps it around a few times before tucking the tail end neatly into the palm to stay in place. "No one. Who are you, Jun?"

I frown, pressing the bottle to my lips again. He certainly is evasive. "I'm no one either. Are you a criminal?"

Ruslan picks a new alcohol pad from the box and tears it open, pressing it against my cheeks. He keeps my face still with one hand under my chin, so I close my eyes against the sting. Just when it starts to fade, he does the other side. "Yes. If you're not a cop, then don't worry about it."

I consider his words carefully before opening my eyes, startling at how close his face is. "Do I look like a cop?"

He smirks beneath his mask as he smears some ointment on my cheek. "No. Like I said earlier, you look like a kid. Not a threat at all."

I shrug, racing the rim of the bottle aimlessly. "I guess you're right. Not like it matters though, it's not like we'll see each other again after this," I hate the twinge of hope in my voice that I can possibly leave this night in the past.

Ruslan's eyes flicker up to mine as he lets my face go, tossing the used supplies onto the floor with the dirty rag. He makes a noise in his throat that's neither agreeing nor disagreeing with my statement and reaches for the bottle, prying it gently from my aching hands. He takes several gulps that make me admire his alcohol tolerance before he sets it down on the table, making to stand up. "You should catch an Uber home tonight."

I sigh, thinking about the ten dollars I have left in my bank account. I doubt there will be many in the area this late at night either, though I don't exactly know what time it is anymore. I got off work at 2 am, but there's no telling how much time has passed since my phone is broken. I push myself to my feet and say, "If you're a criminal, shouldn't you, like, not touch things?"

Looking up at him again, it strikes me just how intimidating Ruslan is. He shrugs as he heads for the door of the lounge, taking up the entire doorway with his shoulders. "Doesn't matter if I'm not in any databases. I have to go. Stay off the streets."

"I hope we'll meet again," I whisper, watching him open the door of the exit. Despite there being no possible way he could hear me from across the bar, he pauses, turning his head slightly. The light from the street outside illuminates the profile of his mask.

"You'd be the only one."