“Oh my goodness, Patterson!”
Pat sighed inwardly. Of course Sarah would notice. She was the first person he saw every single day; a pretty little blonde perched behind the reception desk of the Social Sciences & Politics faculty. The expression of shock and concern simply didn’t suit her attractive face.
“Morning, Sarah.”
“What happened to your eye?!”
“Some stupid bugger tried to mug me after I got off the train last night.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. Pat lived in one of the most affluent suburbs of Melbourne. The crime rate there was essentially non-existent. But god, what else could it have been? He didn’t go to bars, so it couldn’t have been some drunken pub brawl. In fact, she found the entire notion of Patterson O’Reilly getting into a fight at all to be utterly incomprehensible. Not only was he slender – a pushover – but he was gentle. Softly spoken, with kind eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
“Jesus Pat... You okay?”
The lecturer stopped by her desk, and mouth upturned into a little grin.
“Of course I am.”
But there was something missing in his usually warm Irish drawl. The twenty-something year old tried top look past the purple bruises along the lecturer’s left cheekbone and to his eyes, but he was purposely avoiding her gaze this morning. He idly patted the bench, before jutting his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.
“Have a good day, Sarah.”
-----
The men’s room was empty, and Pat took the moment to stand in front of the mirror and lift up one side of his shirt.
His torso, relatively skinny, was a mess of brown, purple and grey bruising. And as the day had progressed the colours had only darkened. Pat sighed.
The door swung open and Pat hurriedly pulled his shirt back down – but he was too late.
“Jesus Christ man, what the hell happened to you?!”
The associate lecturer swaggered forward, grabbing Pat’s shirt and wrenching it upwards – eyes widening further when he saw the extent of the damage. Bruising all across his stomach like a fist had used it as a punching bag; and there were long strips of horizontal bruising across his back – like he’d been repeatedly struck with something resembling a pipe. He looked up from the mess that was Pat’s torso to his face; which had turned away in shame. Pink spread across his cheeks – highlighting the black eye.
“God Pat, this... Is bad. This isn’t just a mugging.”
Pat sighed, nudging away his associate’s hands and pulling his shirt back down; hiding the wounds from sight.
“What the hell happened to you last night?”
The architectural professor hesitated, frowning at the floor and subconsciously pushing his thin-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of his nose. A hand self-consciously ran through his mess of raven hair.
And then he looked up, agony highlighting those grey eyes.
“I was interrogated.”
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Comments
But nice piece of writing. Love how everyone just goes 'OMG', reference to JC then oogle @ the sight of him. <3
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&> Deisy . . . logging; Stephanie --/\/otated-- einahpetS . . . ysieD <3 out .
The way you describe bruising is impressive
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Wolf Movie
It's not really one of my favourite pieces of writing :[ I feel the language could be better.
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Wolf Movie
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