Anger is making me increasingly reckless. And almost entirely oblivious to how the shaking has spread from my legs to my arms and torso.
“Maybe you’ve been plotting something worse.” I prop my hands on my hips, trying to make myself look bigger, and take in a sharp breath when a stabbing pain bursts across my right side. “All I know,” I say through clenched teeth, “is someone shot up my apartment tonight and you were there when it happened. The two can’t be a coincidence. So, I’m gonna ask again and I expect an answer. Who the fuck are you?”
I’m panting by the end of my tirade, my skin clammy all over. A buzzing sound has started in my left ear, making it hard to hear.
The mystery man’s mouth moves. I squint at him, thinkingit might make it easier to understand. “You’re hurt.” He points at my side.
“No. I’m fine.” I shake my head, indicating he should keep his distance even as a burning sensation ignites at the spot he’s indicated to on my side. “If you’re not going to answer my question, leave. Just leave me alone.”
My teeth are chattering now and it’s hard to get my throat to work around the lump lodged there. “Th-this has been one of the worst nights of my life. I’ve lost…”
The last person I considered family. The last house I even remotely thought of as home. My shitty apartment. My only shot at my dream job. My past and my future, all in the span of a few hours.
But I can’t say any of that to this man, this stranger, standing in a dirty dark alley in the middle of a frigid Chicago night.
I simplify. “I’ve lost pretty much everything tonight. I feel like shit. I need to find somewhere to go. And I need you to not follow me, not tackle me to the ground, not attract any rampaging shooters in my general direction. Got it?”
I’m swaying on my feet now. I have to pull my hands from my sides to keep my balance. When I do my right one comes away streaked with red.
My vision is going lopsided as well, but I swear the furrow between mystery man’s brows gets deeper as he sees the blood painted across my palm.
Hold up.Blood?
With one long stride he’s in front of me, pushing back my coat to look at the shirt beneath. “My name. It’s Rem.”
I blink my eyes open, only just realizing they’ve fallen shut. “Huh?”
“You asked who I am.” Somehow, he’s found a light. He shines it on my side and mutters something I can’t understand. Then, wrapping my coat tightly around my chest, he presses a hand to my side as he taps a message on his phone with the other.
“Say it again.”
“What?” The glow from his phone illuminates his face. Even with my wonky eyesight I can see the way his mouth twists down. He’s pissed. Or worried. Or both.
“Your name. I c-can’t remember. Want to know…who got...” I pause, each inhale getting more painful. “W-who got…my apartment…shot.”
“Rem,” he repeats. “Call me Rem.”
Little black dots dance across my eyes. Ah, that’s why I shut them. The dots make me even dizzier. I lean toward him, seeking warmth since every part of me feels so cold. “I had more questions too.”
“Not questions. Assumptions.” He’s growling now, eyes jumping between his phone and where his hand is keeping me upright.
“A-am I wrong?”
“About a few things.”
“T-t-tell me,” I chatter.
“I didn’t steal from you.”
“T-t-to be de-determined.”
“I’m not the reason someone was shooting at you.”
“Lie,” I whisper. Words are hard to find but somehow it feels important that I don’t stop talking.
“I’m not the reason someone was shooting at you,” he repeats, “but I sure as hell was trying to stop you from getting shot. Not well enough apparently. Fuck!”
His curse sounds miles away, muffled by three tons of cotton. My knees seem to have dissolved and I slump forward, gravity almost winning the fight just before the man called Rem hauls me up against his chest. He’s warm, so warm.