------
She's in there? my friend asks in the same tone I used before.
Ya, we need to get her out. A guy's attacking her. She's in the bathroom.
Let's go then.
He reaches for the doorknob with his left hand and raises his right hand, in front of his chest. He's holding his keys in his right hand, each key arranged between his fingers in order to, I imagine, to give a painful stabbing punch. Brass knuckled have nothing on these. I don't copy him, but prepare myself to rush in the room. God, I hope the door is unlocked, I think to myself.
He counts up to three, to signal when he'll try and throw the door open. His head bobs with each number.
1
2
3
At this point, I'm stop thinking. Everything that follows is just automatic. Looking back on it, I remember the actions but I feel like my mind was just riding auto-pilot to my body.
My friend's hand turns the doorknob. It's not locked. He swings the door open and rushes in. I'm right behind him.
A medium-height, middle aged, heavy-set, naked man is standing with his back to us, facing a closed door. My friend is running directly at the guy, head low and right-hand up. The man's upper body and head slowly turn around to realize that the motel's door is open and we're inside the room. He didn't expect us to walk in and he certainly didn't expect my friend to be on him so quickly.
The fucker never had a chance. My friend swings his key-hand into the back of the man's turning head. He then punches with his left hand and then interchanges a few hits with each hand. I come around for a punch and hit the man in the back. By that time, he's already falling away from what I assume is the bathroom door. He's on his knees and then onto his stomach. We start kicking him in the sides. He's screaming in pain. I can understand some of what he's saying, but it's muffled by his arms wrapped around his head for protection.
He's telling us to stop, or at least words close to that. We keep kicking.
I back away from the man, and turn to the bathroom door.
TAYLA! IT'S THOMAS! WE'RE HERE. OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR. WE'RE GETTING YOU OUT.
My friend keeps kicking the guy, although his pace is slow now. He knows the guy isn't going to move, let alone try anything. There are blood marks from the key-punches. I think the man's nose is also broken from the kicks.
IS THAT YOU THOMAS!?
It's Tayla's screaming voice, covered over my sobbing and crying.
YES! WE'RE HERE! OPEN THE DOOR! HURRY UP!
I head the door handle rattling and then turning. The door open to a crack. I can see Tayla's crying face. Her nose is bleeding. The door swings completely open. I grab Tayla's naked body into a hug and then quickly pick her up. My friend looks at me and Tayla and then at the man's motionless body on the ground.
LET'S GO!, I yell.
TAKE ME AWAY FROM HERE!, Tayla yells.
I run out the room, with Tayla in my arms and my friend behind me. We run to the turning point of motel, where the front meets the back. I stop, not sure what to do.
Still crying, Tayla's screams
LETS GET OUT OF HERE! JUST GO!
It takes me a few moments to understand her words, since she's screaming in my chest.
Again, I freeze. I don't know where to go. What about the Police? Who do I tell? What about the guy back there?
My friend, right next to me, has his shirt off and drapes it over Tayla's body.
His voice is calm and precise. It's the type of voice you believe instantly.
We're heading to my place, he says.
He runs in front of us and I follow him without pausing anymore.
We run for a few blocks. I can't remember how many but it's not far at all. We pass one or two people, but I only notice them enough not to run into them. I could care fucking less about anyone other than Tayla, my friend and myself right now.
My friend turns up some steps to his apartment and swings the door open. I run in. He points us to his bedroom, I walk in and I put Tayla onto the bed. My friend walks in after us. I lie down next to Tayla and ask her if she's hurt. She tells me that the guy tried to pin her against the wall and then started punching her. She says her body hurts, but she things she's ok.
While lying next to Tayla, I'm still holding her and she's still holding me. I don't dare let go.
At this point, time feels like it's passing normally. I don't know how long actually passed from the phone call to when my friend and I ran into the room to when we arrived back at the apartment, but now everything is slowed down.
I don't know where I found the energy to do that, but I only feel the pain in my legs and arms now, from running and carrying Tayla. I don't want to move for as long is possible.
Tayla, my friend and myself spend the next 2 hours in his room. She explains to us exactly what happened, from the point where he stopped being a "trick" and started hurting her, to when she punched him in the balls, ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I tell her exactly what I did from her phone call to when I yelled for her, on the other side of the bathroom door. My friend tells us his reaction to my call. He pretends that he doesn't realize or care about Tayla being a prostitute.
We check her body for any serious wounds. Apart from purple bruising on her face, neck, arms and chest, she seems alright. A doctor would confirm this the next day.
My friend tells us he thinks we both probably broke a few of the guy's bones. My friend also washes the blood off his keys, right hand and shoe. Part of me doesn't care, but another part of me wants to go back to the motel to see the damage.
Tayla keeps sobbing and shaking for at least an hour. She looks at us both and tells us she didn't actually call the police. I hold in my words for another day, only barely though.
Eventually, my friend gives us a lift in his car back to my apartment. I owe him big. I let him know that. He lets me know that he knows that.
Tayla sleeps in my bed that night. I don't dare stop holding her all night long.
No comments:
Post a Comment