THE RISE OF CAIN FAULKNER

one

heartbeat | childish gambino 

It all happened really fast. One second I was walking to my lonely apartment, and the other, I was hiding behind a dumpster, fearing for my life.

"Die, motherfucker!" That was the last thing the man in the leather jacket crudely uttered before he began to shoot at the alleyway in front of him. The moonlight shone on his face, making him look like an archangel as he smirked in victory. He stood still for a few seconds, listening for his targets. When he was positive they were dead, he relaxed and put his gun in the waistband of his pants. Within seconds, there was a loud bang and he looked down in shock.

Then, he fell.

Without thinking, I ran over to where his fallen body was, completely disregarding my own safety. Hell, I didn't even know if the other guys Leather-Jacket-Man shot at were dead. I rolled him over, forcing myself to focus on the wet patch of blood on his grey t-shirt, not his extremely attractive face.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," I murmured as I haphazardly pushed his leather jacket back (it felt softer, more worn, as opposed to what it looked like, coarse and harsh) and pushed his shirt up, revealing his abdomen... where blood was slowly gushing out.

"I can't do this," I hissed to myself. "Oh my God, what do I do?" I moaned in worry as Leather-Jacket-Man stirred in front of me. Eyes widening, I mentally hit my head. Of course, I had my phone.

I picked it out of my pocket; however, just as I was about to press the buttons, Leather-Jacket-Man sharply grabbed my wrist. I let out a loud yelp and he squeezed his cold hold on me.

"Do whatever the fuck you want to," he hoarsely muttered. "Just do not call the fucking hospital." His green eyes demanded as he made an expression of pain and promptly, passed out. The extreme usage of the f word almost made me leave him, but I didn't. Just because this stranger had a dirty mouth, I couldn't leave him to die. I couldn't leave said stranger on the ground, in the middle of the night, so I did the next best thing- I dragged him to my apartment.

Dragging him sounded easier than it actually was, I soon realized. Here I was, my skinny five feet six inches self, dragging around a man who most likely towered over six feet (face it, all attractive men were tall, relatively) and probably weighed over two ton. Okay I was exaggerating, but still, it was a hard feat to accomplish and when I unlocked my apartment door, I gave myself a pat on the back.

I laid him on the couch and went in search of a first aid kit. After finding the first aid kit, I grabbed a wash cloth and made a pit stop to the kitchen to grab a bottle of Jack Daniels. Then, I made my way to Leather-Jacket-Man who, at this point, was moaning in pain. His eyes were clenched and his face was red and sweaty.

When he saw me, he groaned, but when he saw the items in my arms, he gave what sounded like a sigh of relief.

"Do you," he struggled to get the words out. "Know how t-to remove bullets?" I shook my head no, and steadily made my way closer to him. I set the items in my arms on the coffee table in front of him, where they would be of easy reach to me.

"I only know what I've seen in movies," I finally muttered to him. I was going to do it. I was going to remove the bullet (bullets?) I mentally prepared myself. He exhaled, anticipating my answer, but shrugged as I was (probably) his last resort.

"I don't care how long it takes you," his breathing got erratic. "Just get the damn fucker out," he shifted himself so he was partially sitting. "I'll tell you what to do." I nodded and held out the bottle of Jack Daniels to him, which he gratefully took.