“Don’t answer it!” I yelled at my friend who was making his way to the door.
“Yeah, it’s probably that psycho girl again.” Another agreed.
We were all attending my best friend’s birthday party. But after the neighbors, who were clearly not sober, tried to aggressively be part of it, we moved everyone inside and locked the doors. I rolled my eyes at the situation. The psycho girl, who I assumed was the one banging on the door, had tried throughout the night to first start a fight with us for no apparent reason. Her roommates were also involved, suspiciously fidgeting and yelling at nothing.
Thud, thud, thud.
Again at the door.
“I’m just going to peep out the window,” called out one of the bigger guys as he made his way to the door. He barely pushed back the blinds before he jumped back, his face covered in horror. He started screaming obscenities and scrambled to open the door. Then everything slowed down. My eyes focused on the bloodied hand prints all the way down the door. Then the boy, one of the aggressive neighbors, was just a limp bloody pulp on the door step. I watched as a heel came down against his nose, shattering it. My eyes shot back up to the assaulter. I knew him.
He finally looked up at us, his face and body covered in the other boy’s blood, then ran. A few of my guy friends ran after him. Luckily, one of my friends is trained as an EMT, so as the rest of us shrieked in horror, he immediately started shouting demands. Someone to call the cops, someone to get him medical supplies, and someone to help the birthday girl who was now having a panic attack.
I watched the EMT force the boy to wake up, and handed him clean towels. He cleared his airways as he started coughing up blood. It was horrible. His cheek had collapsed in and his nose was no longer there. It was something out of a nightmare, and I almost vomited realizing that this kid was dying. On our doorstep. I prayed that the ambulance would get here soon.
“Get the FUCK away from my roommate.” The psycho girl was back.
She started hitting us, screaming at us, and trying to get him up. She grabbed his head and he started choking on his blood again. We pulled her off as she hysterically started swinging again.
“Don’t call an ambulance!” She screamed.
“He’s fucking dying!” Someone screamed back.
“He’s fine! He can’t afford an ambulance!”
“If he doesn’t get a choice. An ambulance and the cops have already been called.”
She froze. That’s when I noticed the scratch marks on her arms and her different sized pupils. She hadn’t just taken a line or a pill, whatever she had taken was hard. She started backing up, hands up.
“We don’t want the cops here, he’s your problem if you want to save him so bad!” Before turning to run. I felt sick again, knowing that she would have rather have left him to die than to help him. Finally the cops arrived and we moved out the way. His blood and flesh was everywhere, and we told them everything we knew, which was very little. My best friend was still inside crying, but there was very little we could do to console her.
Even now, a few weeks later, the image still burns in my brain. The boy is okay, the other assaulter apologized to us, and the psycho girl was evicted. Out of all the doors to choose from to almost kill a boy on, he chose ours. And as traumatic as it was, I am so glad that he did, otherwise there might not have been anyone there to save him. As for the psycho, I hope she learns that what she’s done is terrible. I hope no one ever has to rely on her ever again..
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