The President of Space

Rat Pee and Pig Vomit

Joe's POV

    Joe was terrified as he was taken into the police car...what happened to Barack? His beautiful boy was hurt, and it was all his fault. He had tried to impress him by breaking into a house, but really, he was homeless just like Barack. He had been an idiot for thinking this would work. Joe promised that he would catch Barack no matter what, but Barack had fallen onto the cold marble floor rather than his warm arms when he was shot.
    The back of the police car smelled of rat pee and pig vomit. "Is he going to be ok?" Joe asked the driver, but was only ignored. Joe put his head in his hands, but then the blood on his hands just rubbed on his face.
    "What have I done?" he asked as his hands trembled in front of him. His vision blurred with pale peach and the stark red of blood. He needed to get out of here.
    Joe peered over to where the policeman as driving the car, he could easily disarm him. Joe had been taught from the best, his fighting skills would come in handy.  His years of fending for himself taught him well. His father would be proud.
    His muscles trembled as he forced the cuffs from his wrists. In one swipe of his hand, the policeman was unarmed. Joe knocked him out, hitting the gun against his head. Blood splattered on Joe's face, but he felt no remorse; he refused to leave Barack alone in that hospital. Joe hefted the unconscious man into the passenger's seat and grabbed the wheel. Cars were honking at him for not moving, so he sped down the highway. It was a miracle he didn't crash; he hadn't driven a car in fifteen years.
    He pulled up to the hospital. Yes, he remembered the hospital that the policemen and emergency people said they were taking Barack. He didn't bother to park, forcing open the car door, not caring that an unconscious body flopped out of it. Joe sprinted inside the building.
    "Barack," Joe wheezed to the front desk lady. "Is he here? I have to see him."
    She directed him towards Room 35 where Barack would be. Without even saying thanks, Joe ran to the hospital room where the man of his dreams lay. He seemed... so weak, so fragile on that hospital bed. Barack was barely conscious, seeming to slowly blink his eyes every once in awhile. It was a painful sight. Joe grabbed his hand, pulling it close to his heart. He could feel the man's steady pulse, reminding Joe that he's alive and not in danger anymore.
    "Joe," Barack whispered hoarsely. "We have to get out of here."
    "I know," said Joe, looking around the room, his eyes landing on a window. "We can climb out the window. How's your leg?"
    The life seeped back into Barack's eyes, filled with a new hope. "They fixed it," he said. He slowly got out of bed. "I think I can walk."
    "Then let's get out of here."