Peter McFeely

The fluorescent light flickered, blinking on and off irregularly. With head tilted backwards, Michael was alternately blinded by the reflection from the white tiled wall and plunged into a darkness interspersed by green flashes of tube bulbs, like a pixel from a game of pong but with less uniformity to its movements. He pressed the wad to his nose, trying to find the balance between too light to stem the bleeding and too hard to send a shockwave through his eye sockets and down into his teeth. The light clipped back on. Slouched against the wall and staring upwards, the room looked sterile. The stench of urine and stale beer suggested otherwise. Music flooded into the room. He winced and slowly twisted as the self-closing arm attached to the top of the door contracted and gradually muffled the aural intrusion. Holly knelt beside him.

“OK – they’re all gone. I saw one of your friends though – they didn’t get thrown out. Do you want to get up?”
Sat in a puddle of piss and spilt drinks, brain rattling around his skull as the vibrating tiles bounced his head back and forth, every logical indicator was that Michael would want to get up. But, while he held a blood soaked heap of one ply toilet roll in one hand, he had Holly’s in the other. He’d quite like to stay like that. Though he would have loved to lay claim to having thrown a punch, Michael was happy his hands were uninvolved in the one-way exchange of blows, given it didn’t hurt when she squeezed. Like the lead in a dance, she pulled on his hand ever so gently, so much so that neither of their arms moved, but it was enough to indicate to him that it was time to rise. She looked at him expectantly and he nodded. Needing leverage with which to push himself up, he sacrificed the hand applying pressure to his nose. He moaned as pain coursed through his ribs. He felt like he imagined his grandfather would if he were in a car crash. As Holly pulled him to his feet he felt the sweet sticky blood rushing over his lips once more. Instinctively, the wad of paper shot to his face but the fresh smell of ammonia, lifted from the toilet floor, sent him into a coughing fit which only intensified the bleeding. He felt Holly’s hands on his shoulders then his hips as she guided him to the sink and splashed water in his face before adding more balled-up paper and pushing his head back. They stood that way for several minutes. Michael’s synapses battled each other, firing off instructions of searing pain then extreme pleasure then searing pain and extreme pleasure once more. He felt like a computer system on the brink of collapse. Conflicting instructions coursing back and forth, drives overheating until the point one just gives up and shuts down. He was contemplating his nervous system submitting when she snapped his head back to its natural position.
“Seems like you’ve finally stopped bleeding.”
“You must have the magic touch. You certainly seem to know how to deal with this kind of situation.”
Her smile turned sad and Michael realised too late that it obviously wasn’t her first encounter with a busted nose, not if she had any extended exposure to… Dean. Was that his name? Smash his fucking head in Dean! Go on Dean, fucking do him! Yes it was Dean.
Before he could apologise, she moved the conversation on, the happiness returning to her face. “Here” she said, “your friend gave me your hoodie. You’d better put it on” Michael begin to slide it over his head but she pulled at his arm. “Your shirt is covered in blood. You should probably take it off.” He stood silently, panicking that he would have to expose his sagging gut. While he looked skinny, he had the elasticated middle body of a man who ate too much delivery food. Holly on the other hand clearly lived in the gym. Her clothing hugged so tight he could make out every contour of her body. Not for the first time that night he imagined undressing her and came to the same conclusion that he would have more success attempting to peel a sausage. Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Holly said “I won’t look.” “Oh, no, it’s not that… I just really like this shirt.” “Well then take it home and wash it, it’s only blood.” As soon as Holly turned away Michael exchanged his clothing. When his head peaked through the hood, he saw a devilish grin. “I looked. Not bad.” She poked him as she giggled but he recoiled in pain, cursing his brain which also tried to tell him it was the most beautiful poke he’d ever received. “Come on,” she said, “your friends are waiting for you.”

Kevin and Dave were waiting for them when they emerged from the bathroom. “Are you OK mate?” “That guy was a prick.” They spoke quickly though Michael didn’t really process the information, his head pounding as the music dialled up to eleven. He had come out of nowhere they told him. Dean that was. He knocked him straight off his stool. Dean doing the knocking obviously. When they had tried to get involved a few other lads grabbed them. The scummy-looking fella – Dean again – was shouting abuse and kicking wildly. The barman was trying to call the bouncer, then out of nowhere some young guy absolutely emptied the scumbag. It all kicked off – that guy’s friends got involved. Bottles flying and everything. Eventually the bouncers got them all outside. They weren’t interested in Kevin and Dave. But they couldn’t find Michael. They tried calling him but his phone wasn’t working. Then they found it on the floor by the bar. Kevin handed the smashed piece of silicone and glass to him with condolence. They only knew he was OK when Holly came outside and told them he was in the disabled toilet. He nodded along though he looked over their shoulder at the girl who was moving towards them.

“Oh my god, Michael, are you OK?” Kerry threw arms around his neck. She pushed up on her tiptoes pulling him tight and he felt her breasts push into his chest. His crusted nose was buried deep in her lavender-scented hair. “I saw some of what happened – I was coming to see what was taking you three so long with the drinks. I was so, so worried about you. I’m so glad you are OK.” She hugged him again and as she released him from her embrace, dropped her hand down his arm and interlocked their fingers. “What do you want to do? Do you need to go to hospital? Do you want me to take you? Or do you just want me to take you home?” “Or do you need a drink?” Dave ventured. With his old friends gathered round him, Michael saw Holly moving from the edge of the tight circle and beginning to slip away. “Wait,” he pivoted towards her. “Where are you going?” Holly didn’t speak, but her glance towards his hand, locked in Kerry’s was enough. She parted her lips, suddenly shy after years of self-confidence, telling herself to give him her number, whether this other girl was standing there or not. Then she saw again the intertwined fingers. She’d already got the guy a hiding, there was no need to cause trouble with for him with this girl as well. “I just think I should go.” Her quiet words carried over the music which pounded his throbbing skull. His senses were in overdrive again. His mind went blank and for a second he felt he was falling, that he had blacked out and was collapsing on the dance floor. Only for second, until an explosion of light filled his eyes.
“Can I come with you?”
She shrugged and turned, but the fiendish grin said follow me. He motioned after the incredible teardrop buttocks forgetting he was holding Kerry’s hand. He paused, looked her in the eye and extricated his fingers. “Good to see you Kerry. Let’s catch up again sometime soon.”
He extricated his fingers from Kerry’s grip and rubbed his hand which, all of a sudden, had begun to really fucking hurt.

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