He's quiet. I rush in the rain and I know he is following me closely; I'm reminded every time his sodden black converse meet with the ground. He is dragging his feet, as usual . We don't speak until we reach the offices.
"Get in" I instruct, unlocking the car and we both quickly take shelter inside. I glance at him briefly as he franticly puts his seatbelt on. The rain water has washed away a lot of the blood but he still looks like he has been in the wars. The irony of us being here is that's it where we first met, where I first started hating him and now we are both willingly in a car together. It doesn't feel real.
He still doesn't talk to me while I start the car, he seems deep in thought, maybe he's thinking about the fight. I can't stop myself from thinking about it either, it was an awful thing to witness.
"You need to call the police" I tell him, breaking the silence in the small car as I pull away and drive.
"Are you joking?!" He explodes. He turns to look at me but I don't take my eyes off of the road, I regret even saying it now because it is only going to spark an argument.
"I'm not joking, Louis. You need to call them." I sigh.
"What a great idea! I'll get arrested for this!" His breathing is becoming uneven again.
"It wasn't your fault, it was that man, and he started it. I saw." I push but this just displeases him further. His expression is angry again and I didn't mean to get him like that. I'm just stating a fact, he needs to report this. It wasn't his fault.
"Yeah, well try telling the police that. They know me, and they don't fucking like me."
"It doesn't matter, they have to listen. I'm a witness." I continue daringly, keeping my eyes glued to the road.
"No." He snaps and pulls his phone out of his pocket angrily.
"Take me home." He demands, his tone harsh and sharp as ever. He is silent for a few seconds. I sigh again, I'm not going to argue, I really have no energy or will to after all that I witnessed back in that dark alleyway.
"Please." He adds. He actually just said please to me. I don't want to take him home. He can't go him in this state, there's no way. I can smell alcohol on him and he needs cleaning up and its not like he is going to take it upon himself to do that any time soon. I picture him storming into his house and just throwing himself on the sofa, not paying any attention to his injuries. What if he goes back out to continue the fight? I can't let that happen.
"I'm not going to take you home."
"Why?!" He begins to rage again.
"Because I'm not going to let you go home like this. You're coming to mine and I'm going to get you cleaned up. No arguments."
He groans and slumps back in the chair, I can't let him go like that and it makes me very glad that he doesn't argue with me further.
The journey is strange because neither of us say much at all. Whether he is angry with me or not, I don't know. Maybe he is just thinking about everything that happened. I try to concentrate on something else but it is nearly impossible. I can't possibly, after everything that happened, everything that I saw. Images of the strangers fist colliding with Louis' face fill my head and it's awful, I have to stop thinking of it.
We arrive at my house and he reluctantly gets out of the car and follows me inside.
"Go and sit down, I'll be in in a minute" I inform him, pointing in the direction of the living room. He uses each foot to pull the back of his shoes off and then kicks them into the hallway. He doesn't say anything at all but heads in to the living room without arguing.
