– I –


You know how people usually start telling stories from the beginning? Yeah, well, I am not one of them. Not because I want to be an original or something. Neither do I like confuse the others nor I have anything against the beginnings. It’s just I don’t want to talk about what happened in the beginning. Because then I’ll end up remembering all the crap that happened and I don’t want that. I am sure I’ll have to explain some things anyway and I will have inevitable flashbacks but it’ll be nothing compared to remembering every single freaking detail and re-living it all over again. So just bear with me.

My name is Connor Blake, I am twenty five, single, and I guess somewhat bitter. I work part-time for one of the debt collecting agencies around here. I am one of those people who have to deal with ridiculous complaints, anger outbursts, and other stuff like that over the phone. I guess I am a perfect person for a job like that because I could care less about someone else’s problems. I also don’t get intimidated or pissed off easily.

I don’t even have to work, to be honest. My parents died four years ago and they left me a small fortune. And since I am the only child, the amount of money that was in their accounts will probably last me until the day I die. So no, I don’t have to work. But I have to do at least something so my life doesn’t seem like a completely useless waste of time.

Anyway, tonight was just another Tuesday night and it was raining like no other. It was the end of November so the bad weather was to be expected. I don’t like rain. It always puts me into restless mood. Tonight was no different. I paced around my apartment, chain-smoked for the last hour or so, and I was about to go and see what I have left of my liquor stash when the doorbell rang.

That was unusual. See, the only people who would actually visit me were my mailman, my neighbor, and sometimes the FedEx guy. It was nine thirty in the evening so it was too late for a mailman. My neighbor left to see his daughter in Washington. And the last time I ordered something from internet was several months ago so I knew it wasn’t a FedEx guy.

I drowned my cigarette in a cup of cold coffee and went to the door. I never bother asking stuff like “Who’s there?” I don’t see the point. I’ll find out when I open the door. Plus, if someone really wants to get in, I doubt that my asking “Who’s there?” is going to stop them from doing so. I opened the door and then I just stood there. I don’t think I even blinked. I just stared at him. He gave me the same old slightly crooked smile and ran his fingers through his wet hair. He was dripping water all over.

I don’t know how long we stood there without saying anything but then I’ve heard a distant wail of a police siren. He raised his shoulders slightly and the minute I saw a flash of panic in his eyes, I knew that there was a very good chance those sirens were wailing because of him. I stepped aside and let him in. He stumbled inside and I locked the door. I knew that I didn’t have to say something like “Make yourself comfortable”. He’d do it anyway. So I just headed to the kitchen instead. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and went back to my living room, trying not to succumb to all those damn memories that decided to flood me right now.

He was sitting on the couch and he looked like he was awfully uncomfortable. He held his arm at the weird angle and he tried not to lean on the back of the couch too much.

“You hurt?” I asked indifferently and he just grimaced.

I noticed a bright red spot on the side of his shirt, right underneath his elbow and I sighed. Dammit… I sat my water on the table.

“Take your shirt off”, I said calmly.

“It’ll heal”, he grimaced again. “No need…”

“You are going to bleed all over my couch”, I said tiredly. “Take you goddamn shirt off.”

He looked like he was about to start spitting poison in his usual manner that used to drive me nuts eight years ago.