soft | murdock

3

I stroll home after work, shivering slightly as I cross the street. Good thing the office is only a couple blocks away from my apartment, it's freezing out and really late. All that paperwork really piled up. 

I scurry past an alleyway, before stopping and turning around. I thought I saw something that caught my eye. 

The trash container is open, which is terrible because sometimes raccoons or some other wild animal gets into it and the landlords scold us. I can't afford to get kicked out now, not while I have a really low rate and a really low bank balance. I walk over and close the top.

Well, I would have closed the top if not for a human arm being in the way. It's still warm, which makes shivers pass through my body. The arm seems to belong to a body of a stocky, bulky man. I use all my effort to fish him out of the garbage can, and after five minutes of the most strenuous weight lifting in my life, I get him out of there. 

His body is completely limp but he's got a weak pulse. All-black clothing covers his body, his shirt with multiple cuts and his chest swimming in blood. He also has the most curious mask on. It only covers past his nose, but it also covers his eyes. How strange - wouldn't covering his eyes make him blind?

I carefully peel off the grimy mask and see a face I wish I didn't.

It's Matt. He looks as wonderful as ever, but now I'm responsible for keeping him alive. I sigh and lug his body up to my apartment. It takes a lot of work, but I evade all the neighbors and eventually prop him up on my couch. His blood's seeping onto the couch, but I've needed a new one for a long time. 

He makes a choking noise before snapping back into consciousness. I yelp a little, scared that he woke up so abruptly. He sniffs around a little before groaning.

"Lavender and celery. Skyler, please tell me that isn't you."

"Sorry," I say.

"Aren't you a physical therapist? What do you know about fixing people up?" he says skeptically.

"Look, dummy, biology and physiology are practically the same thing. Except with biology, I'd know more ways to kill you," I say, putting a pair of clean gloves on. 

"I'm gonna take your shirt off. You look like a mess."

"Already? What is this, first day and already at second base?" he says, his eyebrows furrowing a little.

"Just lift your arms," I say, pulling the tattered and bloodied long sleeved shirt over his head. 

His chest is indeed swimming in blood but muscular as all hell. What kind of guy has muscles like these? His muscles are flat and toned, moving with every breath he takes. My heart rate spikes a little bit and I flush. I move my hands against his chest and take note of when and where he winces. 

"Okay, so, I think you have two broken ribs, some type of puncture wound, and a probable concussion, and that's just the stuff I know about," I say after a couple minutes of chest-feeling.

"Ugh," he groans.

"Yup."

"Why'd your heart do that? It's not like you haven't seen muscles before, have you?" Matt asks, smirking slightly but covering it up with a smile. He catches me off guard and I stare at his bruised face for a few moments before replying. 

"Depends. What do you think?" I tease back, actually wanting to know his answer.

"Nah. I think you just get nervous around guys. You probably haven't had good luck with boyfriends in the past," he explains, his eyes distant and focused in the general direction of my face. 

I smile weakly at him and nod slightly, forgetting that he can't see me.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long pause. 

"It's fine," I say quietly, thinking of all my past failed relationships. I sniffle quietly to myself and fumble around with my assortment of mental tools, accidentally pushing one over the edge of the small table. 

Matt strains slightly and catches the scalpel, again, without suffering a scratch. He places it gingerly on the table before I pick up a needle and some sanitary thread. I start at the edge and weave along the length of the wound, Matt moaning softly every once in a while. 

I finish after a couple minutes and grab some gauze to cover up the wound, so it won't bleed too much. Matt's been quiet the entire time. I stand up and get a towel to wipe the blood off of his chest. He's sitting up when I get back and I start rubbing the blood off. He's a good patient - quiet, compliant, and patient. 

"Okay, done," I sigh. "You want your pathetic excuse of a shirt back?"

"Yeah. It'd be weird to see a shirtless blind man downtown at this hour," he says, smiling at me but wincing as he moves his arm. 

"You gotta ease up a little. How long have you been doing this?" I ask, leaning against a chair and rubbing my eyes.

"Couple weeks," he shrugs, pulling the shirt over his head.

"Be careful," I say and he nods as he climbs out of the window and disappears into the abyss that is the city.