As the smoke cleared and the dust settled, all that could be seen was little speckles of dust fighting one-another in the air. Only then did she open her eyes. All that she knew at that second was that something was on her stomach was heavy and that was all she really wanted to know at that second. Her mind was fuzzy, full of dancing images and pictorial descriptions of something she should had remembered. Something vivid, yet so clear it was almost as powerful as the bullet from the gun laying beside her...
Her memory snapped open and she looked down at the something that was preventing her from moving. Not something; someone. That someone was breathing harshly and coughing every few seconds, but also making a sound she wouldn't expect at that second.
He laughed even harder. "What a rush!"
The shaking body clutched her arm tightly to pull himself up, but instead he met the floor and Tiffany groaned as he hit her again. She watched as he grasped his stomach tightly and coughed yet again, this time followed by a gurgling sound as if he couldn't clear his throat. With one more hack he sighed deeply and turned to his friend who was losing all colour in her face rapidly as she stared on at the results of his heroism.
"How are you?" David joked, pulling himself off of his friend, this time falling on the ground beside her.
She remembered the gunman, the way he was moving towards her and the way he had severely beaten her friend for trying to stop him. Tiffany remembered thinking David was dead as the man moved closer, pointing the gun square at her and swearing if she tried to escape, she would end up like David, only worse. She remembered letting out a small sob as he started to touch her and then she let her eye watch David wake up for a split second before she was in a state of pure fear once again. She remembered the gun being waved in her face as she was ordered to remove her top and she only seeing a blurred image now due to her tears.
And then she remembered David jumping on the guy, showing strength she didn't know he had as he punched and kicked unlike the hippie he normally was. She remembered thinking he could never win and forgetting that one of them had the advantage, yet had forgotten about it himself.
David had kicked the man squarely in the stomach then helped Tiffany up, her sobbing as she realised what would have happened if he hadn't. She remembered his words: "Don't you dare touch her again."
The man had grabbed his gun from the floor so quickly David had no time to react. That was except to jump in front of Tiffany and sacrifice his entire life for somebody he barely knew.
Tiffany remembered hearing the gun shot long after she felt the weight of somebody collapsing full-force on her, causing the dust in the room to fly up, then a door slamming on them both, leaving them in almost darkness and without a soul to cry for help to.
David continued to laugh as he watched the blood run down his favourite T-shirt and onto the floor. He didn't seem to understand how serious it was. He turned to her once again. "That was so weird."
Tiffany snapped into action and grabbed his arm. She forced him to the floor and jammed his hands onto the wound while she searched for something clean to cover it with. She didn't say a word as in the end she pulled off her own top to stop the bleeding. David said nothing as she did this; he seemed to be admiring her ability to know what to do, despite her never having saved a life before.
"Why aren't I screaming?" David asked curiously, looking down at the wound he was pushing down on, despite how much it hurt.
"Adrenaline rush," Tiffany mumbled, "keeps you, um, alive."
Finally David looked at his wound with a more serious reaction. He realised this was real and the duty he had performed was a dire one. "You've got to see if it went through. Lift me up to see if I'm bleeding on my back too."
"What?" Tiffany asked.
"Don't ask, I saw it on an episode of ER once!"
Tiffany grabbed David by the shoulders and lifted him gently. She felt his back and felt nothing wet, though she was certain she wouldn't anyway, due to her whole body shaking slightly.
"Well?" There was no impatience in the voice she heard, just curiosity.
"Nothing. You're fine."
"Fine! I have a hole in my stomach!" That was the most honest he was willing to be with himself at that time. He wasn't about to get scared. He had to be brave for Tiffany.
I have to be brave for him. Tiffany thought as she closed her eyes to stop herself from crying. This brave boy was about to die for her and the least she could do was show him some support.
"Do you have a mobile?" David asked.
Tiffany's head was bent but he saw her shake it. Then he saw the tears hit the floor below her and he risked taking one hand off of the wound to place it on hers. His hand, covered in his blood and the knuckles bruised slightly from his sudden act of gallantry was both a comfort and a shock to her. There was somebody who didn't want her to die and actually showed it in the purest sense there could possibly be.
"I'm sorry." She whispered and cried harder.
"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" He asked, genuinely confused why she would feel a need to apologise.
"I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry you thought you had to save me."
"Thought? Tiffy, I didn't want that to happen to you. You don't deserve it; nobody does. Please don't say sorry."
"Why not? Do you realise what you just did? We've only just met and now..." She didn't dare say what was going to happen to him; if not for his sake but for hers.
"And yet he was going to kill you, if not destroy you in other ways. You think I'd let somebody do that to a friend?"
"David, I'm not even a friend! We met a day ago in a pub, both drunk and both miserable! What if we hadn't met? What then?"
"Then I'd really be miserable, because I'd never have had the chance to meet the best person in the world to me." He smiled before coughing once again.
"What, another sad and lonely teenager not sure about herself? Like you don't know enough of them. You're going to die, David, and all because of me!"
She placed her face in her hands as he cried and David watched her sadly, not knowing what to say. He knew he was dying, though he couldn't ever say how he knew it exactly. With this he felt willing to except it more so than her. If he was going to die at least one of them was safe. He then thought about his reaction, realising he was a lot less selfish than he ever had been, just because of her. Somehow he had found a friend in that cynical alcoholic man hater; a new friend that wasn't like any other he had ever had. With that he felt proud of his actions amongst all of his fears he was refusing to admit to himself.
"Tiffy, stop crying. You don't need to worry. I'm ready."
"Ready? How can you be ready?" Tiffany asked, wiping her eyes.
David shrugged slightly. "I'm the son of complete acid-heads who once left me at a festival and was found being crowd surfed to the front of a mosh pit when I was three. I'd say I'm lucky to still be alive."
Tiffany looked at him and saw the smile on his face. She laughed loudly then took his hand. "Thank you."
"For what? Cheering you up?"
"No, for being here, for everything. I wish we could have met sooner."
"Nah, I liked this day; it was special. Besides, I think a rich girl like you wouldn't have liked my hygiene rules." David squeezed her hand and smiled. She needed more comfort than he could ever give him in all the time he had left to live.
"I could have got used to it, if only to stay your friend. Besides, if you think you're smelly, you should see my..."
The eyes she had been starring into closed, and the hand holding her to let her forget their troubles slipped away. She slowly took her hand off of the wound and looked at her blooded hand with amazement. She was mesmerised by the amount of blood a human body could hold, allowing herself to forget what had just happened, if only for a second. Slowly she got up and almost wondered what had happened to her top. She was about to deny herself of ever wearing one, but she couldn't. Slowly she let her mind allow her to realise that she had lost a friend, and a very good one at that.
David; a boy with a drug problem, no real home, no real family, no school and little to no connections to those people would consider 'civilised' died on a Sunday morning at about three am. Barely anybody knew he was gone, and fewer even missed him. Except one person, who would never forget him nor remember him; just like every other who had crossed his path.