Author and Dr. Iplier with "Poke it with a stick"
Prompt: “Poke it with a stick.”
There was often a moment, between the slotting of his key into the lock and the turn, the clean snck of the lock snapping into place, where he paused. Took a deep breath, looked slowly right, then left, then right again. Held that breath until he was sure he was alone. That the sidewalks were empty, that the road was devoid of headlights, that the delicate haloes cast by the streetlamps were, thankfully, empty.
Except-
A half-hearted silhouette came stumbling from the shadows of the alley, hunched in on itself. Blood-spiked black hair, then soaked-through flannel, then the whole Author revealed himself, one spindly hand clamped over the gushing wound in his right shoulder.
Edward unclipped his pen light from his key ring and flashed it at him, making the Author squint. “What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like?” The Author snapped, his mouth a flat line of pain. “I need your help.”
A sigh. Foggy breath escaping into chilly spring night. “I just closed the clinic. And I told you-”
“I know!” The Author ran his free hand through his hair, spiking it up even more. “I know. You said we’re done. I get that. Whatever. But I’m hurt!” He shuffled forward, and Edward took a hasty step back, holding up the pepper spray also attached to his key ring. “Poke it with a stick or something. Anything. Just help me.”
They’d broken up two weeks ago. And he was still doing this.
Edward scoffed. “You can take care of yourself. Go home.”
Then he did it. He actually did it. He turned and left. Left the Author bleeding in the middle of the sidewalk. Ignoring his furious shouts, Edward went to go find his car, never letting go of his pepper spray.