Enjoy chapter 2!
After enjoying a wonderful day taking numerous photos (aha, sarcasm), Rachel and I ran to the nearest café for a cup of herbal tea with cinnamon.
"I wrned vy wung," I said to Rachel, clutching my tongue.
"What?"
I let go of my tongue and said," I burned my tongue. It hurts."
"Put salt on it."
"No thanks," I said," Do you think the photos will make the deadline?"
"They'll have to, or I'll kill them."
"Thank God you're my whole marketing committee," I laughed. Rachel snorted a bit into her tea and I knew she was fighting back a laugh. Rachel and I had been college roommates and one day, out of boredom, we wondered if we could do more with our writing abilities. Rachel didn't know if she could get past the idea of being an author and bookstore owner, and I wanted to do more than write. The one thing we had in common was that we wanted to write for ourselves. So, on that extremely dull day, we came up with the idea of starting our own magazine called Luminaire. Which we did. Now, four years later, our rates grew and the company expanded farther than we had imagined.
I stuck with the advertisements and woman's department writing, and Rachel wrote about crime, stupidity and other realistically horrifying columns. But it didn't hurt our profits. Her columns were so true and straightforward, that even the weak-hearted took interest in her writing.
"How is that book going?" I asked, remembering," Weren't you supposed to publish?"
"I am, but it's not like you can publish it in two days," she said," Calm down."
"I hope I'm in your acknowledgments. I know I did more than half your chores and your laundry while all you did was sat at the computer like a zombie, typing who knows what."
She wouldn't show me her work, no matter how much I begged, little witch.
"I told you I'd give you a free, signed copy so just be happy that I'm feeling so generous. You should lick the soles of my boots for such an honor."
I snorted this time and we both chuckled. Slapping down a twenty on the table, we left the café and walked over to Rachel's black Mercedes.
"Shotgun!" I called for no particular reason, slipping into the passenger seat. Rachel turned the car on with a sigh and drove off.
"You sure are rambunctious," she said as she drove to our apartment.
"Comes with the job. I write the upbeat, cool and modern day columns, you write the crappy, scary columns."
"I'm positive that people read my columns more than yours."
"Dream on, goth girl, dream on," I said, looking out the window. It had gotten dark, and I was just itching to get home. Rachel slowed to a stop and I turned.
"What-shit," traffic, again, and the road looked like crap. Seemed that the famous Nightwing beat a villain, but ended up destroying a good part of the city. Again. People were paying for that, damn it!
"Looks like we'll be here for-" I hissed and cut Rachel off, squinting as I looked out the window, trying to make out the dark figure slumped in the alley.
"What is it?" Rachel asked," Do you see something."
"Or someone," I said, opening the door," I'm gonna go take a look. You catch up, okay?"
"Oh, hell no. Do you remember the last time you-"
"Don't remind me, Rachel, I know, but I highly doubt that he'll hurt me." I left the car, slamming the door behind me, and weaved through the honking cars towards the alley. There, against the wall, Nightwing was sprawled and panting. I hurried over to him and crouched down, looking at his bloodied hand. He didn't seem to register me, but when I touched him, his hand shot out and latched onto my wrist tightly.
"Ouch, ass, I'm just trying to help," I hissed, hitting his hand. He relaxed and coughed, sputtering blood. He had been knifed. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from puking and shook the nausea and dizziness away from my head.
"Okay big boy, can you hold on while I call the police?"
"No. police," he coughed again, his voice husky," No."
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed Rachel's number. She answered on the first ring.
"I hope you found a cat," her dead voice said.
"Um, no. Bigger. As in, really large bird in spandex."
Rachel sighed and said," Okay, okay. Can you get him out of there? I took the exit and am on Machina Street." (AN: Made it up, obviously. I don't know much of Gotham, so I'm gonna have a whole bunch of fake stuff. Although, I'll welcome any information of Gotham, batty or his sidekick-anytime. :P)
"That's two blocks away!"
"Then you better get moving if he's hurt," she said before the dial tone beeped into my ear. I put my phone away, pulled Nightwing's arm over my shoulder and pulled him up with a huff. He was heavy.
"Come on birdie, I'm gonna need help. Could you shuffle your feet a bit?" He groaned so I took it for a no, walking out of the opposite end of the alley and quickly through the street. It felt like hours before I got to Machina Street and when I spotted Rachel's Mercedes, I screamed hallelujah. She helped me into the back seat of her car then drove off.
"We can't go to a hospital, so just drive home," I said, not taking my eyes off him.
"Damn it, Kori, did we have to take him in? This is going to be trouble."
"He saves millions of people's lives, and he was hurt. Even you wouldn't leave him," I said. She sighed again and turned onto our street.
"I'll get the doors, you get him out. Be careful, you don't want to be seen," she hissed, climbing out of her car and hurrying up the steps and into the building. I got out of the car, and dragged Nightwing off the seat and onto the ground. Pulling him up, Rachel came rushing back and took his other side. We grunted up the steps and into our apartment. Throwing him onto the couch, we locked the door and looked down at him.
"What now?" I asked. Rachel growled and tossed me a wet rag. I walked over to him and pressed it to his wound. He growled in pain and stood up, pushing me down. I looked up at him in shock before he registered what was going on.
"What the hell-?"
"You're safe," I said," But you're hurt. Please, I was just-"
He snatched the rag from my hands and pressed it to his wound. Rachel came back with our first aid kit.
"That's not how you do it," I said gently, tugging the end of the rag. He nudged me and bit and said," I don't need your help."
"Fine," I snapped," Then get out of our damn place. But I highly doubt you can frigging move, so you better give me the rag and shut the hell up."
I snatched the rag from his loose fingers and pressed it tightly to his wound. He grunted but didn't say anything afterwards. After cleaning up the surrounding blood, we disinfected the wound-to which he nearly howled in pain-and told him to strip down.
"Hell no," he hissed.
"We're not asking you to take the mask off, just the uniform. How the hell are we supposed to bandage you?" Rachel said," Now take the damn thing off."
He reluctantly took it off, with our help because he was essentially useless and I marveled a bit at his Adonis like body. Perfect, hard muscles lined every inch of his body and I gave him an appreciative look down to his plain black boxers.
"Focus," Rachel hissed. I looked up but he seemed to be wavering, barely conscious, so I blushed and helped bandage him. By the time we were done, he was out cold. Pulling a thick blanket over him, we headed to the kitchen and washed our hands.
"Well, now a super hero is crashed out on the couch, and you look like you're ready to jump him," hissed Rachel," What the hell are we supposed to do? Play nanny to a spoiled brat?"
"I'm not going to jump him," I said defensively, looking down at the rushing water. How many times and hours had I spent under the hot, burning water of the shower, trying to rinse off the pain and disgust on my body?
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," she whispered, nudging my shoulder. I nudged back.
"But, you're right. What the hell were we thinking?"
"Maybe he'll leave tomorrow morning, if he wakes up," Rachel hoped.
Maybe. But, I sort of wished he wouldn't leave. And I don't even know why.
