The memory of a voice

Chapter 5: Detention

The clashing sound of glass shattering on the floor woke me up with a start. I stared at the ceiling where the quote was written. How... Why was I sleeping on the couch? My muscles were sore and stiff as I sat up straight and rubbed my chin in contemplation. A noise coming from the kitchen ended my confused state. I jumped on my feet and ran to the kitchen. My memories rushed through my brain as my eyes landed on Julian trying to gather glass pieces on the floor. The crashed bike, the wounds I helped clean in the bathroom, his back tattoo... How he even was able to move around with so many injuries remained a mystery to me. He noticed me and caught my intention to enter the room.

"Stop, you're barefooted and there are shards all over the floor!" He exclaimed.

"Right... but you're hurt and shouldn't be doing this right now. I'll get the dustpan and some slippers! Don't move!"

I ran to the hallway cupboard where the cleaning material was stored.

While grabbing the dustpan, I shoved my feet in a pair of slippers and hurried back to the kitchen.

"Just, sit down while I clean up this mess! Injured ones should stay put!"

With a sigh, he resigned and grabbed a stool to sit on with a guilty look. After gathering all the bits, I wiped the floor with a wet towel to make sure everything was gone. All that remained of the coffee pot was the plastic handle... I breathed out a sigh, throwing it away in the trash can.

"I guess we will have to do with instant coffee for now."

I said with a hint of bitterness. For sure, I preferred freshly brewed coffee. But I always kept a stash of cappuccino powder for emergencies. Because, yes, coffee was my drug and I couldn't imagine a morning without one.

I put some powder in two mugs and started to heat up some water, contemplating how to ask him about what happened last night.

The water started to boil before I could break the silence, and I flicked off the stove. The handle of the pan was hot, so I took a gauntlet and poured the water into the mugs... I tasted blood on my lips and realized I had been nibbling on them while pondering.

"You're confused about last night. aren't you?" He asked when I placed the mug in front of him. I snickered at his question.

"Wouldn't anyone be shocked to see someone he knows covered in blood and bruises at his door?"

He hummed knowingly.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." He paused for an instant and whispered. "Thanks for taking care of me..."

I nodded and stared at the white foamy layer in my cup.

"So... what happened last night?" That was one of the many questions that were burning to be asked.

He stayed silent for a few minutes, twisting his mug in his hands.

"I crashed badly... I slipped on the wet road not far from your place. I pushed the bike as far as I could and hoped you would be home. You arrived about 20 minutes later." He sipped from his coffee and looked me in the eyes waiting for my response.

"Hmmm. A crash really?" My voice carried a hint of mockery. The lie was blunt... His wounds didn't match with a simple crash, but I decided to let it be, for now. I doubt he'll be able to come up with an explanation for everything... Maybe if I corner him with enough questions doubting his sincerity, he will at least admit his lies...

"Why come to me instead of calling an ambulance?"

He fidgetted his spoon with hesitation.

"I hate hospitals... I didn't think I had anything broken and I knew you were close by. So I made the irrational decision, waiting for you to get home."