"Watch your step," the driver said as he helped Craig out of the taxi. Craig swayed but found his balance before the driver let go of him.
Carrying Craig's bag, the driver followed him to the back door of the pub, as Craig hobbled along on his crutches.
"Let me do that," the driver said, taking Craig's keys from him as he struggled to open the door in the dark.
"Thanks," Craig replied quietly, avoiding the man's eyes. He hated the look the driver had given him the entire way there and the tone in his voice told Craig that the driver felt sorry for him. He didn't want anyone's pity. As far as he was concerned everything that had happened to him was his own fault. He would survive, he always did. He didn't need anyone's sympathy, it just made him angry.
Craig's progress up the stairs was hampered by the pain in his recently dislocated shoulder, and the casts on his left wrist and ankle. It was nearly 10 on a Friday night and Craig could hear the hustle and bustle of the pub just beyond the stairs, but he wasn't ready to face anyone. He just hoped the flat would be empty and he could slip into bed unnoticed. He was still trying to come up with a good excuse for the state he was in and why he hadn't called to let them know what happened, but thus far he was coming up empty.
He finally reached the small flat above the pub where he had lived before leaving the previous September to go to university in Dublin, and was pleased to see no-one was home. He could still remember how happy and excited he had been the last time he'd left the small flat. He had been ready to head to Dublin and start a new life with John Paul, but his fears and uncertainties had ruined his chance at happiness. That had been just over eight months ago; eight months and ten days to be exact. It was a day Craig would never forget.
"You gonna be alright?" came the query from his taxi driver, shaking Craig from the memories he had been content to live in.
"Yeah, thanks," Craig replied "keep the change." He said as he pushed some notes into the driver's hand.
Leaving his bag on the sofa, where the driver had dropped it, he stumbled to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed, glad of the rest and the quiet that surrounded him. He still had no idea what he was going to tell people, but that was tomorrow's problem. For tonight, he just wanted to sleep.