He was a scarecrow tossed about by cruel wind, but something about his face was magnetic, drawing Knight’s gaze and preventing him from looking away. He was ethereal, with dewy-looking skin, as if he didn’t entirely belong in this world. The guy wouldn’t even blink as he watched Knight back.
A trickle of blood spilled out of his nostril.
“Shit,” Knight said and approached him, helping him sit on the padded sofa running along the wall. “Are you okay?” he asked even though the attractive stranger clearly was not. He needed to know if there would soon be any puke to deal with. Wouldn’t be much of a surprise after a blow to the head. The guy was willowy as a skeleton dressed in human skin, and that only made Knight angrier. What kind of man attacked someone who so clearly had no capacity to protect himself against brute force? Knight hoped the beating would teach that fuck outside a lesson that would stay with him forever, unlike the punched-in teeth.
“I… am,” the stranger said in a raspy voice, still affected by the strangling. “Is he gone?”
Knight pulled out a pack of tissues and wiped the blood off the tempting lips. From up close the young man’s eyes were brown, but a shade so dark it was close to impossible to discern from black. Now they lacked focus, and their owner was clearly confused about where the ground and where the ceiling were, but Knight pulled closer a fallen stool and sat on it, pushing the cool beer can against the swollen bump on the stranger’s sweaty forehead.
“The Count asked me to come here. Where is he?”
The guy stared at Knight from under the can and his features went slack. “What? It’s me.”
Knight did a double take, completely stunned to now recognize the shape of the Count’s lips. They hadn’t looked remotely as nice with the red lipstick he’d always seen on The Count when he was playing the role of his outrageous persona. But now that Knight knew who he was dealing with, he could see that resemblance was definitely there. He even noticed the half-moon inked under The Count’s eye and hiding under his asymmetrical bangs. The man had the same angular features, with high cheekbones and pronounced brows. Despite the clothes layered on his upper body, his limbs were clearly just as thin as The Count’s.
But where The Count was a silly white-faced clown in a cheap costume, this guy was attractive in his own right and so clearly in need of help it had Knight’s stomach cramping up. He detested people who used their physical strength against those weaker than them.
“Fuck. It really is you.”
The Count put his hand over his face but quickly pulled it away when he realized he was smearing blood all over. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I didn’t know who to call.”
Knight swallowed, and his eyes glided over the worn interior, which would have been considered to be in a severe state of disrepair even before the fighting trashed its contents. The trailer was bitingly cold, and in fact all the thick layers of fabric The Count wore for warmth might have served as padding and protected him from serious injuries. “I was... in the area. You live here?” he asked, grabbing The Count’s hand and making it hold the beer in place so that he could have a better look at the dated trailer.
The Count sighed loudly. “Just for now.”
But Knight expected that was a lie of the same kind as when The Count had lied about his car—the same purple piece of junk that was parked in front of the mobile home. The open fridge offered nothing but one more bottle of beer and half a block of cheese. The bread on the counter was getting moldy on one side. Knight knew exactly what it all meant, because he used to be the kid who went to school without breakfast and had to have his best friend bring his sneakers for him to P.E. to prevent his mom from selling them.
“Are you a compulsive liar, or what?”
The Count groaned and wiped his face with a towel, still holding the can against his forehead. “I didn’t want you to see this, okay? It wouldn’t have mattered if I died, but you came, and… thank you. But it’s so awkward.”
Knight sighed, watching The Count shudder and lean against the table for support. “Who was that idiot?”
The Count took a deep breath put down the can, revealing the red bruise. “My ex. He just got out of jail. I thought he wanted to make up or something, but it turns out he didn’t like how things went between us.”
Knight crooked his head in disbelief and opened the can of beer to soothe his thirst. “Was he always like that?”