Eli15
Eli
I didn't mean to end up on Rowan's street.
After I left him at the school, I told myself I'd wander for a bit and kill a little time.
He'd asked for a couple of hours. That wasn't much.
I thought about stopping somewhere for a small lunch or maybe just window shopping in town.
But I didn't. My feet kept moving. I had no real plan, so I just let the streets pull me along.
I wasn't far from his flat by the time I noticed where I was wandering. And it hadn't even been a full hour. He wouldn't be home yet. Still, it didn't make sense to walk elsewhere at this point. I could just wait for him in the hall.
I tried to ignore the knot in my stomach as I climbed to the first floor. My hands wouldn't stay in my pockets, and I realised my jaw was clenched. I was restless. Tense. And the longer I stood at the top of the stairs, the more uneasy I got.
I kept thinking about how Rowan flinched when I reached for him. How quickly he slapped my hand away. How he stared at me like he was daring me to say something. I hadn't gotten a good look at whatever was peeking out of his turtleneck, but if the marks on his wrists were any indication...
A flash of anger shot through me. If Marcus had laid his hands on Rowan, I wouldn't be civil the next time I saw him.
I wandered down the hall to Rowan's flat and paused. Even though I knew he wasn't around, I rapped my knuckles against the wood, loud enough to be heard but not too forceful. "Rowan? You here?"
Silence.
I knocked again, louder this time. "Rowan, it's me. Open up."
Still no response. He was still at the school.
I was about to sit down to wait, but the door across from his flat flew open so fast that it made me jump. Mrs Cavanagh, Rowan's elderly neighbour, stood in the open doorway. Her face was etched with concern, her grip on the frame surprisingly tight for a woman her age.
Her posture seemed off, too. Alert. Rattled. Her whole demeanour caught me completely off guard. "Elias, is Rowan alright?"
I didn't know how to answer that. "I mean... I guess. Why? Did something happen?"
Her brow furrowed as she glanced past me toward his door. "I'm not sure. I heard a God-awful racket a little while ago. Sounded like crashing or breaking. When I peeked into the hall, I saw that boyfriend of his storm out of here looking ready to kill someone."
The way she worded it made my anxiety spike. If Marcus had been here, then Rowan was home. And if Rowan was home, he should've answered the door.
I turned back and slammed my fist against the wood so hard it shook in the frame. "Rowan! Open the door!"
Nothing.
Without thinking, I grabbed the handle and gave it a twist. The door popped right open.
I froze. Rowan never left it unlocked. Ever.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I fought back the sudden rush of adrenaline. I nudged the door open wider, my voice lower now. Cautious. "Rowan?"
I took a few steps forward to look inside. At first glance, everything looked normal. His bag sat on the sofa, and his shoes lay neatly by the door. Nothing looked broken or out of place. But it was too quiet.
I moved further inside, forcing myself to breathe steadily. As I reached the sitting room, I paused to glance around. I nearly missed the specks of blood on the carpet. Rowan's glasses lay broken on the kitchen tile, one lens cracked and the frame snapped clean at the nose bridge.
A sick feeling coiled in my stomach.
Mrs Cavanagh said something behind me, but I didn't catch the words. My phone was already in my hand to dial his number. My gut knew something was wrong, but I really hoped he would pick up and tell me he was okay.
I tensed when I heard a muffled vibration nearby. My gaze snapped back to the sitting room, and I followed the sound to the sofa. Rowan's phone sat wedged between the cushions, like it had been tossed haphazardly and gotten stuck.
A sharp dread sank in. He wouldn't leave without his phone. And he couldn't see without his glasses.
"Rowan!" I called again, louder this time. My heartbeat hammered in my ears as I moved toward the hallway and checked each room.
Still no sign of him. He had to be here somewhere.
When I reached his bedroom, I twisted the knob and pushed on the door – but it didn't give and I hit it with my shoulder. Thinking it was stuck, I tried again. This time, it was clear it was locked.
Why the hell was it locked?
I slammed my fist against the door. "Rowan! Answer me!" I pressed my ear to the wood. No footsteps. No rustling. No voice calling back. Just complete silence.
For a second, I stood frozen with my hand on the doorknob, my breath tight in my throat. I could break it down. If I rammed it hard enough, it should give. The hinges weren't exactly reinforced. If Rowan was inside and he was hurt –
Wait. His keys.
I spun on my heel and bolted back to the sofa, then grabbed his bag and started digging. Notebooks. Pens. A few crumpled papers. His wallet. I tucked that and his phone away in my pockets, just in case.
Finally, I heard the clink of metal and yanked the keyring free. Five keys, maybe six. No labels.
Mrs Cavanagh watched all of this from the doorway. "What's going on? Is he alright?"
I didn't answer. My focus was tunnelled in on the door.
Back in the hallway, I jammed the first key into the lock. No give. The second didn't even fit. The third one slid in. I twisted, and the lock gave with a soft click.
When I pushed the door open, my heart leapt into my throat.
Rowan lay limp on the floor next to the bed, half on his stomach, half on his side. His face was buried in the carpet, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him. His clothes were rumpled, and his shirt had ridden up enough to expose some angry, dark purple bruising.
"Rowan!" I dropped to my knees beside him and leaned down to try to see his face.
Behind me, I heard Mrs Cavanagh shuffle into the room, and her breath caught. "Oh, my god..."
I gently brushed Rowan's hair out of his face to get a better look. A gash ran across his cheek, the skin split and smeared with dried blood. It had to be from his broken glasses, and as I looked closer, I saw bruises forming around his eye. His lip was split and swollen, too.
Rage and fear swirled together, but I shoved it down. "Rowan?" I said again, firmer this time. "C'mon, mate, wake up."
He didn't respond. Didn't even stir. I reached out to carefully turn him onto his back. But as my hand rested against his chest to guide him, he let out a low, pained sound like the breath had been punched out of him.
Panic clawed up my throat. I'd barely touched him.
When I looked more closely, I saw his breathing was shallow and uneven. His lips had a faint bluish tint, and I almost couldn't even see his chest moving.
Cursing under my breath, I tried to keep my hands steady as I eased him the rest of the way onto his back. I scooted closer so I could hold his head up with my arm and brushed a thumb carefully over his cheek. "Rowan? Can you hear me?"
His eyelids fluttered, but they didn't open. I could feel how cold he was, even through his shirt. I adjusted him as carefully as I could, trying not to jostle him too much, but the slightest movement made him grimace and his chest hitch with an uneven breath.
My mind raced. He was relatively okay an hour ago. What the fuck did Marcus do to him?
Panic fought to break through the surface again. I knew I should call an ambulance, but every second that ticked by felt like too long. I couldn't just sit here and wait for someone to come.
I made a snap decision and hooked one arm under Rowan's shoulders and the other under his knees.
With a steadying breath, I lifted him gently, keeping his head tucked against my shoulder to try to keep him still.
He let out a small whimper, and I forced myself to stay calm, cradling him as securely as I could.
Mrs Cavanagh watched with wide eyes as I turned to face her.
"I'm taking him to A&E. Can you – " I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grunting. The muscles in my arm were already protesting the weight. "Can you get the doors for me?"
She nodded immediately and shuffled ahead to open the door to the outside hallway. I followed as quickly as I could without jarring Rowan too much.
By the time I reached the stairs, Mrs Cavanagh was well ahead of me, already holding the front door. I adjusted my grip on Rowan as I carefully made my way down the steps. Each breath he took was still too shallow, and I could feel a faint tremor running through his body.
As soon as I stepped outside, Mrs Cavanagh hurried around me and scanned the street. "No taxis," she muttered, looking frustrated. "There's usually a few parked down here this time of day."
Of course. On today of all days, there wouldn't be a cab in sight.
I braced Rowan tighter against me, fighting the urge to let my arms give out. Despite the discomfort, I started off down the road. "Fuck it, I'll walk. It's not that far." I could carry him there quicker than they could load up their gear and get here.
She didn't argue. She just called after me, "Take care of him, Elias! Keep me updated!"
I kept my steps as steady as possible, even as I picked up the pace. Rowan was heavier than he looked, and my arms were starting to shake from the effort of holding onto him. My grip kept slipping, so I had to readjust every few steps to keep him from sliding.
I instinctively pulled him closer to try to shield him as a gust of wind cut through the air. His head slumped against my shoulder, and I had to fix my hold again. "Hang in there, Ro. I've got you."
He probably couldn't hear me, but I needed to keep talking. I needed to keep my focus on him and not the gnawing panic clawing at my insides.