His right hand fumbled frantically on the bed, searching for something to use as a weapon. He wasn't sure why he might need one; it was like a signal from the animal part of his brain. Defend himself. His hand brushed paper and he realized the only things on the bed with him were some stroke mags and an ugly shirt. The door had opened further, dim light thrown on the floor and the end of the bed. Gathering strength, knowing he was going to regret doing this he tensed, eyes frozen open to allow his pupils to adjust as best as possible, taking in the ambient light. He sensed rather than saw a body approaching from his left. His bad arm. It appeared to be carrying something bulky.
The form bent over his head, a whisper escaping from its mouth- "T! T?" He grabbed the arm of the form with his left hand and tightened his grip as hard as he could under its weakened state, wrenched the body down onto the bed and pinned it, causing it to drop what it had been carrying on the floor next to the bed.
A reflexive grunt of pain escaped from his lips in a groan and a hiss, but it was overwhelmed by the yelp of surprise and fear from the form he had trapped on the bed.
The voice had stopped whispering, and was definitely gaining urgency. "T! It's me! It's Alberto, Man. Leggo!"
The wrist he had hold of was smooth and thin but wiry and was doing its best to wriggle out of his grasp, but was thus far unable to do so.
He kept hold of the wrist and rolled off the bed to the right, using his body weight to further hold his visitor facedown on the bed. The voice increased in volume and aggression.
"Goddamnit, T! It's me! It's 'Berto! Lemme up! I can't breathe!"
The wrist in his grip was still pulling but its efforts were noticeably flagging. He eased up just a little. The visitor didn't appear to have a weapon; otherwise he'd already be dead. As his eyes adjusted further he realized the form was that of a skinny male about his height, but half his weight. And he did truly seem to be smothering with his face pinned to the mattress. He let go of the wrist and took a few stumbling steps back, readying himself to fight if attacked. The form on the bed groaned and pushed himself up, shaking his head and running a hand through long lank dark hair, pushing it up off his face.
"Jeez, Man. Way to treat a friend, Bro. Damn, that mattress stinks! I just came by to check on you. I see you're up and about, huh?"
The voice was that of a young man or older teenager, and heavily inflected with a Spanish accent.
He had no idea what to say to this unknown entity.
He called himself a 'friend'.
"Sorry, Kid. You umm…startled me. I was sleeping." His voice sounded odd and he realized he'd had no idea what his own voice sounded like 'til now. Sleep and adrenaline roughened, with a not quite subtle twang but not Spanish. Southern?
"Yeah, I guess so. Damn! You wrestle in college or what?"
Maybe? You got me…
"Something like that. What are you doing here? Why was the door locked?"
"I told you. I came by to check on you. I brought some stuff for you. And I locked the door for your protection. You were in rough shape, Man. They did a number on you. No way you could defend yourself. Besides, this is a rough neighborhood. My abuelo'sstore has been broken into tons of times. Didn't mean to freak you out."
"Stuff, huh? What kind of stuff?"
His eyes narrowed with suspicion and he felt his body tense as he saw the kid begin to turn back towards the door, but the teen must have noted the reaction he got. "I'm just turning on the light, T. Relax, Man," and he reached over to flip the switch next to the door, flooding the room with light.
As the light hit his retinas he threw a hand up as if defending his eyes from attack, and pain lanced through his head. He reeled a bit and found the braided rug rising to meet his ass in a bone-jarring jolt. Wiry tanned hands grabbed him around his good arm and hauled him back to his feet and led him back to the bed where he fell back heavily against the headboard. The initial pain and blinding glare were fading, leaving halos around the few bright metal bits in the otherwise dull room.
"Why do you keep calling me 'T'? That'ss not a name…" His voice had thickened, the accent deepening as his sibilants gained a slur.
"Sorry, Man. It's what my sister calls you. I don't think I know your real name."
"What'ss the 'T' for?"
The kid shot him an odd look. It was clear that this was something he should know.
"It's short for Tejano. You know… Texas? Where you're from? She said you may not be true Mexicano but you were like an honorary Tejano."
Texas. That was the accent. Chewing on this new smidgen of information he rubbed at his eyes and face, trying to clear the cobwebs from his head.
He knew there was no way he could bluff this kid long. And he was a kid. Taking in the boy's features in the new bright light he noted acne sprinkled on his cheeks and forehead under shoulder length hair as dark as his own. Large brown eyes. The slightest hint of soft mustache on his upper lip. And he was wearing a Green Day t-shirt, dark well-worn jeans, and black Chuck Taylors.
He said his name was Alberto.
Noting the expression of obvious concern on the boy's face he knew he'd have to let him know at least a little about his current condition. Something in the kid's eyes made him want to trust him, and he knew he'd never learn anything playing word games and bluffing his way through the most commonplace information. Like who he was and wherever the hell he was now.
Sighing, he cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter on the bed.
"Sorry, Alberto. My brains are a bit scrambled right now. Truth be told, my memory is Swiss cheese. Maybe you can help me fill in some of the holes, yeah?"
The boy's voice softened. "Yeah. No problem, T. They worked you over real good. I'm not surprised they knocked some marbles loose." The kid gave a rueful smile and looked at him through his overhanging bangs. "Let me grab the stuff I brought…"
As the teen walked around the bed to retrieve the fallen package, he still felt himself tensing on the bed, ready for a weapon. He eased as the kid dumped the contents of the large paper bag on the bed. He reached a hand over and began rifling through the various items. A bottle of aspirin. Bandages. Iodine. A bottle of water. A can of Cherry Pepsi. And three wax paper wrapped packages coated in grease and releasing the smell of cilantro and onions. His stomach lurched at the smell, then began to growl in earnest. Another question… when's the last time I ate?
"Wow. Thanks, Kid. Now, these, I could definitely use," he said, bending over and grabbing the bottle of aspirin with a groan and a wince. He eased back and began to fumble with the sealed top, but his left hand wasn't working so well and he couldn't get it with one hand. He gave up with an explosive sigh of frustration and dropped the bottle back on the bed.
Alberto picked up the bottle and quickly dispatched with the safety seal. Popping it open the boy poured out three, and at the look he got, poured out another and handed them to him with the bottle of water, after opening that for him as well.
He gulped the pills down in one throw, gulping the water down in long pulls 'til he needed to catch his next breath and finally pulled the bottle from his lips.
He eyed the wax paper packages and gave a questioning look to the boy.
"Two burritos and a taco. I brought them from work. They might be a little cold. I had to stop at the farmacia on my way here," he said, gesturing towards the medical supplies he'd brought.
They may have been cold, but they tasted like manna from heaven to him. He washed the first burrito down with the rest of the water, then moved on to the next. He cracked the top of the Cherry Pepsi and relished the cold sharp sparkle of carbonation, and the rush of sugar and caffeine as he gulped that down too. He felt his stomach rebelling against the onslaught of food and liquid after that and pushed aside the taco untouched.
The teen had sat quietly on the side of the bed, mutely observing his feasting, on occasion staring at his hands and working at a ragged cuticle with his teeth. He noticed the kid's eyes subtly straying to the end of the bed, shooting momentary glances at the nudie magazines, then immediately averting his gaze.
He laughed as he realized he'd probably discovered the kid's stash. The teen heard the laugh and looked up at him with startled eyes. "What?"
"They yours?" he asked, pointing his chin at the end of the bed, unable to stifle his smile.
The kid mumbled, "Yeah. My brother buys 'em and gives 'em to me sometimes." The teen's eyes refused to meet his and a light blush covered his tan cheeks under their constellations of pimples.
Sighing, he eased his head back against the wall and prepared the best way to ask the question he'd been carrying on his lips since waking earlier that day.
"So, Alberto. Why don't you tell me what the hell happened to me. Let's start with you telling me where we are exactly."