Chapter 74: Chapter 74

Chapter 74 Gunshot

I was kicked off the park bench that night by law enforcement because they didn't want the homeless people to live in their beautiful parks meant for children and their doting parents.

I wasn't mad, I completely understood.

Parents want to raise their little ones in a safe environment away from the dangers of the world. And while I myself was no danger to children, other people are and they didn't want me attracting unwanted attention.

But now I have nowhere safe to sleep. I've been saving up quite the sum of money, almost enough to rent a cheap apartment, and I was beyond excited about that.

My days of sleeping on the streets were numbered, and that fact helped push me through the days and kept me positive.

For tonight, I'll just have to get used to the cold wall pressed against my back and the thin blankets wrapped around my body. I made a little nest of blankets and wrapped them around me.

Since winter was quickly approaching, the temperature was dropping into the low 40's at night and low 60's during the day. It wouldn't be long until those 40's turn into low teens, and I hoped by that time I would have an apartment.

Street lamps lit the town's streets and people faded away and hid away in their homes. Night fell and as night fell, I drifted off into a shallow sleep. Everything was quiet and the low hum of the distant high ways rumbled in the night.

This part of town I was unfamiliar with, and it wasn't as clean and decorated as other parts. It seemed more emaciated and was lacking in several areas.

Perhaps that's why I heard a gunshot that night.

Perhaps that's why I heard two gunshots that night.

The loud sound had awoken me from my hazy slumber. At first, I just thought it was just a dream I was having, but when I saw a man running down the barren streets, I knew it wasn't a dream, much to my despair.

It was much too dark to make out any features of the man, but from what I could tell I knew he was injured. His legs shook and he stumbled several times before he crashed onto the ground. He was laying on his back, breathing heavily and holding his chest.

Panic took a hold of me. What was I suppose to do? I didn't have a phone to call the emergency number, and surely, this man was dangerous if he's running around, shooting guns in the street, so it wouldn't be the best idea to go up to him.

I was frozen in my pile of blankets.

I don't want to see a life die right in front of me. I don't know if I could live with myself if I saw a man take his last breath before my eyes without at least trying to do something.

I was going to just leave the man there when his head turned to me. I couldn't see his face but I just knew he was staring at me - or, in my direction, hopefully not at me.

There's no way he's looking at you, it's too dark. He can't see you. I chanted to myself.

I watched as he got to his feet again. He wobbled like a newborn animal and started limping back down the street. I winced when he failed once more and hit the ground again.

His muffled cries of pain hurt me.

Let him suffer. He's probably just another druggie who knows nothing but violence. The world will be better off without him. My mind nagged me.

But watching someone who's in obvious pain, struggling for life hurts me. Too many times I have seen death. Too many times I have watched people die, and I couldn't do anything about it.

And now, when I could save a life - or, at least help save a life, I sit back and do nothing?

I hate myself. I think as I warily get up and approach the man like I would approach a spooked, cornered animal.

I, of course, keep my distance.

"H-hey, do you need help?" I sound so pathetic. But what is one supposed to say in this position? "Oh, hey, I noticed that you're a shady man and you've been chasing down the wrong path your entire life. What's that, you say? You've been shot? That's what you get for doing dangerous, probably illegal shit. Hell waits for you now, Mister."

Upon getting closer, I saw that it was none other than Colton. "Fuck off." He says lowly under his breath. He winced after he said those words, and I could tell he was trying to keep his "tough guy" act intact and pretend he wasn't in much pain.

And he hadn't yet even glanced at me.

I growled with irritation. "Look, I know you're pissed at the world and you hate everyone. But it won't kill you to except help once in awhile. And I'm not going to fuck off because I've been in a similar position as you are."

He scoffs, not believing me. "A similar position."

I approach him and cautiously kneel down next to him. "Yes. A similar position. A position where I had to let my pride down and ask for help. But do you want to know the worst part?" I ask him.

He stares at me blankly.

"That when I needed help, nobody helped me."

His eyebrows furrow together and his eyes turn cold. "How in the fuck does that even relate to me?"

"Because like me, you need help. The only difference between you and I is that I'm willing to ask for help, and you are not." I state calmly.

He rolls his eyes, I just choose to ignore it. His walls are too thick and too high right now, and I don't have time to try to get through to him when he's got a bullet lodged in his body.

His hand is tightly clasped over his chest.

"Move your hand, I need to see where the location of the bullet is it." I tell him.

"No." He says with distrusting eyes.

"Colton."

"I don't want you fucking touching me." He growls.

He hates being touched, and it makes me wonder why. The only people I know who didn't like being touched at all were the rape victims when I was being trafficked. Nearly all the victims hated being touched.

I did, too.

It made my skin crawl from past experiences.

Others were the complete opposite and craved touch in an attempt to feel loved. The only problem was that they were seeking love from monsters who wanted nothing more than their bodies.

"I'm not going to hurt you and I won't touch you." Much.

"What are you, some kind of doctor?" He says sarcastically as he slowly moves his hand away from his chest.

It isn't bleeding much, bullet wounds don't normally bleed that much, well, in my experience. There's just a single, large spot of blood that has soaked through his torn white shirt where the bullet entered.

The location is just under his left collarbone, maybe two inches down.

I know a bit of first aid, because as a victim of human trafficking, I had to quickly learn what to do when someone was injured. Bullet wounds were common.

But I only knew the basics, I was no professional.

And by the looks of it, Colton needs to see a doctor. The bullet looks like it could be close to his lung, and that's dangerous.

"Colton, you need to see a doctor." I tell him quietly.

"Yeah, no shit." He replies with absolutely no intention whatsoever to actually go to the hospital.

I narrow my eyes at him. "You can't risk digging this bullet out yourself. It could get infected."

"I can perfectly take care of my wounds myself. Do you really believe this is my first bullet wound? I'm fucking fine and I know what I need to do."

"You've been shot before-"

"Yes. Don't ever ask me about it. Don't ever ask me about my past, either, for that matter." He says quite rudely.

I'm taken back by surprise. I knew he was dangerous but....to hear him actually hint that he was was another thing. I mean, why else wouldn't he want to talk about his past?

"Alright, alright, I get it. I won't ask you anything you don't want me to."

"Better yet, don't ever talk to me." He says, narrowing his hauntingly beautiful eyes at me.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, okay."

I watch as he tried to get up, only then do I realize he also has a bullet wound in his leg.

"You've been shot twice? Colton-"

"Shut up. I'm not going to a shit doctor I can't trust just to get fucking arrested, alright? Leave me alone." He says in irritation.

"Arrested?"

He turns around and glares at me. "What did I say about talking?"

"Uh, not to talk to you."

"Good. Then stick to the plan." He growls before turning his back on me and attempting to walk. I sigh in frustration as he limps away. I can't force him to get treated for his wounds.

I guess the consequences will be on him, then.

I watch as he pathetically limps away. He practically drags his body down the street and it looks painful.

I guess I better follow him and make sure he gets to wherever he needs to safely. I think to myself as I slowly trail after him.

He doesn't live that far from where I was sleeping, and I follow him into an old, small home that's dark, dusty, and rotting from the inside. There's no need to go after him anymore. He's made it home safely. I tell myself.

I'm turning around and am starting leave when lights suddenly flicker on. I wince as the bright lights temporarily blinds me.

"What in Hell's name do you think you are doing in my house?" Colton's gruff voice asks.

I turn around and face him awkwardly. "I-I just wanted to make sure you make it back safety."

He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me blankly, not saying a word. His eyes look dark and the silence makes me feel afraid and doubtful of my actions. What if he's just like any other man?

I close my eyes and take a couple deep breaths. The flashbacks were horrible, and losing myself in front of Colton is something I wish to not do.

"I guess I just....I-I can help you if you need it? I know a little bit about bullet wounds and I figured that maybe....you could use some help?" I offer hesitantly.

He stands there for a moment more, his eyes twinkling as he rubs his jaw with one hand, as if he's deep in thought.

Then he turns his back on me and starts walking away.

I stand there, not knowing what to do, until he halts in his tracks.

"Well, are you coming or not?" He asks through his teeth. He seems pretty pissy to me, but maybe this lonely man wanted some company.

And for whatever reason I followed him.

I silently cursed at myself for being so foolish. You'd think that having a past as dark as mine trust in people would be completely distrusting of strangers. But if Colton wanted to hurt me, I think he would've already.

I've been alone and vulnerable for years now, and he watches me. I know he does. I can feel it.

So, if he really wanted to hurt me, he would've ripped me off of the streets like a brute. He would've stolen me in my sleep and taken me away to fulfill his own wishes upon me.

He did, after all, rescue me from human trafficking.

I'm timid, however. I wish not to provoke him and looking him in the eyes is too uncomfortable. His gaze is simply too strong and powerful.

He leads me into the living room of his home and plops down onto an old cushioned grey chair. I stand there awkwardly watching him as he pops open a beer can.

"Nice....place you have here." I say, trying to start a conversation.

He doesn't say anything, so I continue to talk. "I've noticed that this isn't the same place you brought me to the day you bought me-"

"It's not. I have two places." He cuts me off with no emotion in his voice. I look at the ground, noticing needles and empty alcohol bottles and I shiver. I don't even want to know what he uses those needles for. This man is really hard to talk to. I think to myself.

I dust my hands off. "I suppose I can help you with your wounds, now," I chuckle in an attempt to ease the tense mood, "This isn't exactly my first rodeo involving bullet wounds."

"This isn't my first time, either." He grumbles under his breath as he shrugs off his dark jacket, revealing his muscles and tattoos on his arms. And scars.

The white shirt he wore underneath his jacket was torn and stained with his blood from the bullet wound and I cautiously approached him.

"This shirt needs to come off." I say, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.

"No," He growls defensively as he slaps my hand away from him, "I will cut the hole larger so you can see the wound, but it will not be taken off."

I gulp nervously at his tone of voice. A part of me also wonders why he doesn't want to take his shirt off, but I wasn't going to question it.

I watch with wide eyes as he pulls out a large, jagged knife from his pocket and rips his shirt open just enough so that I can clearly see the wound as well as a little bit of skin around the wound.

I then watch as he starts probing his flesh with the tip of he blade in search of the bullet.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" I screech.

"Removing the damn bullet, what does it fucking look like?" He seethes as he continues to work the blade around in his flesh.

Without thinking, I snatch the dirty knife out of his hand. "That's unsanitary! Do you want it to get infected? This knife needs to be disinfected before you try dig that bullet out."

"It hasn't gotten infected before, I don't see the problem-"

"Because you've gotten lucky! Here, let me help, alright? I'm not a professional but I've had to patch up many bullet wounds in my life. Look, see how it's bleeding a bit? That's a good sign because that means it isn't stopping any blood flow, therefore it is safe to remove."

He grits his teeth together.

"Have you got any whiskey, by chance?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow.

"That's the only thing in the damn house I own." He replies, gesturing to the cabinet above the fridge.

He watches me as I stand on my tippy-toes to reach the cabinet. I feel awkward as I jump up and down in an attempt to reach the high cabinet, and I can't imagine what he's thinking right about now.

Once the bottle is in my hand, I walk over to him and hand it to him.

"Drink, it'll help numb the pain." I tell him.

He narrows his eyes at me and snatches the bottle from my hands. "Trust me, I know." He mutters under his breath before he takes a few swigs of the strong drink.

I watch as he drinks.

But his words are really getting to me.

"Trust me, I know."

Is he always in pain? Mentally and physically, perhaps?

He's such a mystery, and it makes me wonder what he's been through.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and I continue with my task.

Once the blade of his knife is properly clean, I get to work. I try to be gentle with him, and I try not to touch him too much with my hands. He's very skittish when it comes to skin to skin contact, and I don't want to rile him up in any way.

He doesn't wince once as I work his flesh around with the knife, in search of the bullet.

Oddly enough, a comfortable silence settles between us as I work on both bullet wounds he has received. He's propped up his leg on a stool and I carefully tend to the wound on his leg.

"Why do you care....about me, any way?" He asks hesitantly.

"Because not everyone is against you, Colton." I reply softly.

He looks at me as if those words are the craziest words he's ever heard and he scoffs at my them, as if they're some sort of joke. "All humans are against me."

"I'm not."

"That's what they all say. I've heard those words a thousand times before, and you're.....you're.....no different. I can't trust anyone."

I pause my actions briefly and look up at him. He turns his head away and averts his eyes from mine. He almost looks....sad?

"W-why can't you trust anyone?" I ask quietly.

"What did I tell you about asking me about my past?" He shoots daggers at me and his voice is cold once more.

I look down, feeling awkward. "I didn't know that had to do with your past."

"Exactly. And I plan on keeping it that way."

And once again, Colton built his walls back up. And once again, he guards his heart with ice and keeps his eyes frigid.

For he does not want the world to know that he is falling.