Exotic

~ bedside manner ~

Zsa Zsa was propped up against the bin, one hand braced against the cold pavement and one clenching his side stringently. His face was beaten bloody, so viciously that my first instinct after dropping to my knees in front of him was to flinch away. His lip was busted open, his left eye quickly swelling shut and a bloody, open graze up his right cheek, likely from being dragged along the rough cement.

He was quivering, shaking from a combination of the cold – his coat had been torn off and tossed in a heap a few metres from us – and plain, petrified shock. His wig had been ripped off his head, nowhere to be seen, leaving his dark hair sticking up in tufts and an angry red compression line left behind from the hairnet that had gone with it. Mascara ran down his black and blue cheeks.

My first instinct was to swear, scream, or pursue the escaping assaulter. What I thought that would have achieved, I didn't know. But Zsa Zsa needed to take priority; Zsa Zsa, who looked broken, face slowly breaking out of solidified horror to sob. I held open my arms and let him fall forward, burying his face in my bare shoulder. Cold salt tears fell against my collarbones, as he heaved out a shuddering wail.

"Oh my god," I blathered, squeezing him tighter than I should have, based on the way he was favouring his ribs. "Oh my god. What happened? What the hell happened? Are you okay, can you talk?"

Zsa Zsa made a low, aching but affirmative noise. "Not so tight..."

I released him quickly, holding onto his shoulders. He ducked his head out of the light, but I could still see that his cheeks were wet; tears clinging to his false eyelashes. His teeth were bloody, and when he coughed, the residue that splattered against my white skirt was a dark crimson colour. His lungs rattled forcefully.

I struggled to keep my own emotions choked down because Zsa Zsa needed to take focus. "Fuck, Zsa. What happened?"

Fresh tears welled in his eyes. "Peter."

The alley swallowed all sound, making us pretty well imperceptible to passers-by, but I made out every venomous letter, and Zsa Zsa didn't need to say anymore. My blood ran hot and angry. I tensed up, fury blurring my vision. I must have clenched down on Zsa Zsa's shoulders because he grabbed my wrist immediately to stop me.

His lip quivered. "He... said he was going to return my key... I'm such a fucking... fuck."

He hissed in pain, returning a hand to his side. My chest felt like it had been hollowed out. A fine dusting of rain began prickling at my skin, a sensation I barely noticed against the burning vehemence searing from my core. I wanted to throw off my shoes and chase Peter down, however ridiculous and impractical that fantasy was. Zsa Zsa's laboured breathing only spurred me on.

What was I doing? My righteous anger wasn't helping him.

"I'll get Patrick. We need to call..." I fumbled for my phone, realising that the seconds of my call to Aaron were still ticking by. I hung up on his unceremoniously; given the circumstances, he would understand. I started dialling triple zero, but Zsa Zsa caught my wrist again.

"Don't," he pleaded.

"I'm just calling the cops," I assured him.

"Yeah. Don't," he insisted.

I was sure I looked mystified because he shut his eyes tight to avoid my scrutinising gaze.

"I just... need to think."

"What's there to think about?" I didn't mean it to sound so demanding. As tracks of tears began drifting down his cheeks, I instantly felt guilty. "Okay, we'll get you inside first. Fuck, you must be freezing. Can you stand?"