One Plus Two Equals... - 23

"What the hell happened to you?"

Duane's mouth tightened as he replied, "I got mugged. It's not as bad as it looks." He was standing at the front door to his condo, shirtless, wondering why the hell he'd buzzed Julyan in. Insanity, or I'm more out of it than I thought.

Julyan scowled when Duane didn't move. "I'm coming in. You need someone to take care of those wounds. I gather you didn't talk to the cops or go to the ER."

When he still didn't move, Julyan ducked under the arm Duane was using to block his way.

Duane spun around, his face a picture of rage. Then, after taking a deep breath, his expression softened minimally. "Why don't you come in?" he sneered.

"Why don't you sit down…over there," Julyan pointed to a low-backed chair beside the sofa, "and let me take a look. And I mean now, before you fall down," he added when Duane swayed a bit. Without asking he put an arm around Duane's waist, steering him to the chair.

Duane collapsed into it, grimacing when pain radiated out from the wounds. They were beginning to heal but much too slowly. He was very glad he'd had the strength to shift from Auden to himself, and into his own slacks which fit, not Auden’s which would have been much too long for him, That would really have had Julyan wondering. He could imagine what Julyan would have thought if he'd been Auden when he answered the door, or dressed in Auden’s clothes.

"Where do you keep your first-aid kit?"

"What first-aid kit?"

"You have to be kidding. Everyone has one, at least bandages and some sort of antiseptic ointment."

Duane bowed his head, resting it in his hands. "Not this everyone," he growled.

"All right then, I guess we go with soap and water and some clean towels. Don't move." Julyan vanished into the bathroom, returning moments later with everything but water. That he got from the kitchen, bringing it out in the biggest pan he could find. "You might need this." He handed Duane a washcloth.

Duane looked up, frowning. "For what?"

"To bite down on, I saw it in a movie. That way when you scream, you don't."

One eyebrow shot up. "In a movie, huh?"

"Yes." Julyan wet another cloth and soaped it up. Then he put a towel on the seat of the chair beside Duane, knelt, and tried as gently as possible to wash the wound in his side.

"Holy shit," Duane growled, his mouth tightening, teeth clenched together.

"Sorry," Julyan muttered. "But I don't want you getting infected. Who knows where their knife was before they stabbed you."

Duane wanted to tell him that wouldn't happen, if only to stop the pain from Julyan's ministrations. On the other hand, he thought, perhaps what he was doing would wash out whatever had been on the blades that was retarding his healing. With that in mind he endured the pain as Julyan finished with his side and went to work on his shoulder. At least his thigh had healed; just a faint line remained where the glass has slashed him.