Be kind…this is my first Angel/Collins story!
Disclaimer: Not mine of course…Jonathan Larson…love to him
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Collin's POV
My head aches with memories of the beating in mind. I can still feel them kicking me raw, leaving me unable to move without pain. I can barely hear, feel or see anything. The only thing I hear is a rhythmic beating. It's pretty, light and musical. It keeps me from falling unconscious, slipping into a black hole. Moans slowly escape my mouth, and I throw my arm out to the side of the wall to keep myself from falling.
The beating stops, and then starts again. It stops for a final time, and I hear a voice. I can't make out what they are saying, until I see a face emerge from the darkness. He has short black hair with pouty lips and a slim face. He's carrying a tub of some sort, along with a pair of drumsticks. Now I know where the pounding was coming from.
"Oh my God, you okay honey?" He asks, setting down his stuff next to me and pulling something from his pocket.
"I'm afraid so." I'm able to moan, wiping blood off of my mouth.
"Did they get anything…or…?"
"I didn't have any money but they took my stuff." He offers me a handkerchief, but I turn it away. I have to be careful. My blood is poison.
"I'm Angel." His eyes are full of truth and love, but the flame seems low. Like it's going out.
"Angel. Friends call me Collins. Tom, Tom Collins." I start to slip down the wall again, when his hands grasp my shoulder to keep me upright. We get up to walk down the alley, as I admire the smile beaming occasionally on his lips.
"It's for people with AIDS. People like me." Then I know it's right. He knows what I'm going through.
"Me too." I see a bright smirk curve across his mouth, and it feels comfortable to be with him. He has a very light, feminine voice that helps to soothe me. When we reach the end of the alley he directs me towards his apartment.
"This way, hun. How ya doing?" He rubs my arm carefully, looking for me to twinge in pain at any time.
"I'm fine. Thank you. You're an…" I smile, realizing I was about to call him an angel. He is an angel, a guardian angel.
"Angel? Well I couldn't just leave you there. It wouldn't be very nice on Christmas. Or any other day of the year for that matter."
"Those guys were nice enough to rob and beat me on Christmas." I see blood on my sleeve, and notice that my nose is still bleeding.
"Well they just don't have any spirit. We will get you cleaned up and you'll forget all about them."
"Yea?"
"Yea." I can see a mark on his neck, but choose not to acknowledge it for the time being. Angel. How sweet. My Angel. If it weren't for Angel I doubt Mark and Roger would have ever found me lying in the alley at nine o clock at night. I owe Angel my life. That's the least I can do.
"Where do you live?" He asks, pulling me softly across the street to a tattered apartment building.
"Umm…I just came back actually. I'm supposed to be staying with my friends. I was on the way up to their place when…"
"Oh. Who are your friends? Maybe I know them." A key is gathered from the pocket of his pocket, a piece of red fuzz still attached to it. He unlocks a door and pushes me lightly through it, into the warmth.
"Umm…Mark and Roger. Kinda poor. A rocker and a filmmaker." A look of wonderment comes over him, and then a smile.
"Do they live near Mimi?"
"Who?"
"Mimi Marquez. She is a sweetie. Needs a new man though. Maybe one of them can help her out…"
"I doubt it. Roger hasn't left the house in a while and Mark is dating a friend."
"Ahh…well let's get you cleaned up now." He uses a gentle touch to wipe away the blood on my brow, and I cringe when I see how much I've lost. His fingers graze over the injured area, and I feel his breath tenderly on my skin. Our eyes connect, and I feel his happiness, despite everything. There is still spirit in his soul, even though the fire burns slowly and dimly. There is more spirit than has ever been present for me. His smile holds more joy than entire families at Christmas. In one look, I see a future of love, life, and hope.