11 | in which she saves his ass

Just be with me,

We'll figure the details out,

Later.

.\.|./.

Crystal Monroe

|in which she saves his ass|

After spending the entire day sitting blankly in class and then dropping by random places and asking for a job -- which I didn't get obviously -- I return to my lonely house, fully prepared to spend the rest of the day eating ice-cream and crying over my lack of ... life or whatever.

So when I hear a loud yelp, a thud, and a pained groan, I don't know what to expect. Looking around, I see a body sprawled on the next doors' porch stairs.

Panic rises within me and, and I'm running before I can stop myself.

The scene is almost scary, the door to the small house hanging open, a single crutch lying feet away, a box of pizza upside down in the dirt -- what a waste, I know -- and a groaning man lying face down at my feet, a bandaged arm and leg in cast sprawled out painfully.

Just the thought of how much it must hurt is enough to make me wince.

"Oh, God, are you --"

As soon as I've put a hand on the man's shoulder and shifted him onto his back, I see just how familiar he actually is.

Maybe he's not God, but a hellish angel sent to punish me.

Because I swear, the look he gives me ...

It is out of this world.

"You again?" I blurt out.

His eyes try to focus on me, grey as the stormy skies. Suddenly, he smiles -- freakishly. "Oh, hey," he gasps before closing his eyes again.

Please tell me he hasn't passed out.

At times like these, being a girl sucks.

Not that I mind trying to help someone, but being a girl interferes with my ability to pick the man up and put him back on his legs. Now, if I were a big, strong man, I would have scooped him up in my arms, carried him bridal style into his house, and laid him in bed.

Wait ... laid doesn't sound right.

What I mean to say is, I would have been a knight in shining armor to save the damsel in distress and earn some bro points.

Too bad I can't do that.

I look down at the grimace on the man's face and wait for him to open his eyes. His dark hair flop lazily over his forehead, falling into his eyes and sneaking their way into his mouth. Why guys like bangs, I have no idea

A groan escapes the man's lips and my heartbeat picks up. What if he's like his sister and thinks I'm trying to kill him? What if he thinks I was stalking him?

If I'd known he was my neighbor, I wouldn't have hit him with my car.

I wouldn't have hit him either way if I had a choice, but what are we gonna do?

His eyelids flutter open and eyes spin around before coming to rest on me. I don't know if the frown on his face is because of pain or because of the confusion. I can almost hear his thoughts.

'Why am I always breaking my bones when you're around?'

Maybe I'm just that pretty? I could suggest in response.

Hah! Jeremy would laugh if I said something even remotely close.

His bank of compliments expired a year after we started dating, and by the time I moved in with him, all he had to tell me was how much he disliked everything about me.

'Can you at least tie your hair up? They're always bothering me. And don't smile that much. Your crooked teeth make you look weird. All these skirts and shorts ... wear something decent, Cris. I don't want people saying my girlfriend's a whore.'

And I had slowly changed everything about myself. Step by step, one thing at a time, I had turned into whatever he wanted.

"Why, hello there ..."

The groan brings me back to the present. I blink multiple times before opening my mouth, my hand still on the man's shoulder.

"Can you get up? " I ask him.

"Do I have to?" he asks, closing his eyes and whimpering.

And suddenly the god-like man looks more like a whining child than anything else.

What a fall from grace.

Literally.

"Yeah, you have to," I repeat. "Come on, I'll help."

"Can you carry me?" he asks without moving.

My eyes go so wide they might just fall out of their sockets.

"No. Now, come on."

I try to take his hand but see that it's all bandaged up. Looking further down, I see his right leg locked in a heavy – and now dirt-caked – cast. It's only when my gaze returns to his face that I see that the left side of his face is still bruised, and the stitches along his eyebrow haven't been removed yet.

Why I feel bad for him is one thing, but the realization that I'm the reason he's in this state, makes me feel worse.

"I'm sorry, let me –"

I slide an arm under his shoulders and help him into a sitting position, causing him to wince and groan. His face drains of all color and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

This is unexpected; he shouldn't be in this much pain, seeing as how doctors always prescribe enough pills to keep it in check.

"Just a little more," I say to him, taking hold of his uninjured left arm in my hand.

I feel his taut muscles under my skin, my heartbeat picking up instantly. I hate how just being close enough to this crazy and handsome stranger makes has such a strange effect on me.

"Earth to mysterious savior! Are you going to help me or what?"

My gaze snaps to his face and is met with swirling, grey eyes and a smile that looks half pained, half teasing, and all shades of beautiful.

"Sorry," I mumble, trying not to tell him to such it up.

As soon as the man is straightened up enough for me to slide an arm under his armpits and around his back, I do. His right arm comes to rest on my shoulders.

"On three, okay?" I say. "One –"

"Wait. What if I'm too heavy and you fall?" he asks me seriously.

I roll my eyes. There's something I haven't done in a while.

"Don't worry, I got you. On three, okay? One, two –"

"I don't want you to get hurt," he interrupts again.

I ignore him.

"Three," I say before he can stop me, quickly getting to my feet and pulling him along.

The two of us wobble on our feet for a few moments before I balance him, keeping my eye on his injured leg and trying not to nudge it with mine.

"Wow, supergirl," he comments, chuckling breathlessly. His breath tickles my ear, causing me to shiver. I haven't had anyone this close to me in a long time.

I don't answer the man. The truth is that he isn't nearly as heavy as I thought he'd be. Tall, yes. Handsome, yes. Heavy, no.

Okay, maybe scratch the handsome part too.

"Okay, now careful," I instruct. "One step at a time."

He obeys, matching his pace with my cautious one. I step past the fallen pizza box, the nearly empty coke bottle that has spilled out most of its contents through the broken cap, and the metal crutch that didn't do its job.

Taking the man up the stairs is harder than getting him on his feet was, mostly because his leg can't move. The only thing left for me to do is trip him over again and drag him up.

Looking around hastily, I try to figure out another – less hostile -- way. And then it occurs to me.

"Stand here and hold this pole tight. Don't let go."

He frowns at my words, not questioning me. I make him stand by the railing, and once I'm sure his grip is tight enough, I lean down and wrap my hands around his cast.

"Don't let go," I warn, picking up the leg and placing it on the first step.

He gasps, but I don't look at him, knowing that his pained expression is going to make me change my mind about this painful process.

Why am I even doing what I'm doing?

Not trying to answer the question, I help him up the stairs, one step at a time. By the time we reach his door, his jaw is clenched and I'm panting.

I take back my words, he's hella' heavy.

Thankfully, as we enter his house, he's trying to limp his own way to his bed. I don't let go, though, worried I might have to pick him up again if he stumbles over himself.

The minute I sit him on the bed, he lets out the sharp breath he's been holding. Sweat glistens on his forehead, and I put both hands on his shoulders to ease him into a lying position. He doesn't resist, a thousand little lines evident on his face like he's struggling to keep himself from screaming out in pain.

He pants when he's lying down, refusing to open his eyes for a long time.

"Where are your meds?" I ask him, looking around the small room to locate them. The place is nearly empty aside from the bed and nightstand and a small cupboard-cum-rack in one corner.

"What ..." His voice comes out labored.

"Your pills? Painkillers?"

His brow still scrunched up, he shifts his head slightly on the pillows, his good hand gently massaging the broken leg.

"I don't take them," he finally says.

"What?"

My voice is louder than I want it to be, but the surprise is too big. He has multiple broken bones, stitches across his face which will definitely be leaving some nasty scars, and is pretty much incapacitated, and the man won't take painkillers? How is he not crying and screaming like a two-year-old right now?

"Why? Are you insane?" I can't help but ask, staring at the man who looks like he just walked a million miles.

"Can you just get me a glass of water?"

Not having the words to tell him how crazy the entire situation seems to me, I look around and enter his kitchen. I fill a glass from the tap and bring it back to him.

"Here." I hold it out to him.

He reaches out his right hand only to see it's bandaged.

Not wanting to point out the fact that he can't hold anything using that hand, I help him into a leaning position and raise the glass to his lips.

His eyes don't leave my face as he drinks the water in one go.

"Thank you," he says when I lay his head back down. "For everything."

I don't answer, straightening up and feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

"Your pizza is wasted," I tell him to distract his gaze from my face.

He's staring at me and it's creeping me out.

"Fuck ... guess I'll starve to death now." He chuckles.

How can he laugh about death like this?

"I can make you something," I suggest lightly. "And I can make it here so you don't think I poisoned it."

His face grows somber in a blink. "Look, Olivia isn't usually like that, she was just worried about me."

"I know. You don't have to explain things." I wave away his kind-of-apology and turn towards the kitchen. "I'll just make something for you, though."

"Thank you!" he calls after me.

I enter the kitchen, wondering why the hell I'm even here.

.\.|./.

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