Short Story - Hell Yeah
Short Story 9 – Hell Yeah
The bathroom
door flung open, its handle punching the growing divot on the wall behind it. A
man stumbled in and crashed a beer can on the counter as he grabbed the side of
the sink. His body wavered as he watched the unsteady beer can rock beneath him
in a sea of empties littering the counter. Would it fall over, his hazy mind
wondered?
Once the can managed to find its
balance, he dropped his elbows down to the ledge. Something about this manoeuvre
made his head spin again, so he closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his
forearms. Without looking, he fumbled around the faucet until he managed to
turn the water on. “Ugh,” he grunted.
He knew the spins were temporary, so he held tight for about a minute as
the soothing sound of the running water consoled him.
When he opened his eyes, he noticed
drops of blood on the grimy counter beneath him. Instinctively touching his
nose, he pulled his fingers away and confirmed the source of it. Careful not to
further strain his fragile brain, he delicately raised his head to take a good
look at himself in the mirror.
His nose was probably broken again,
with both crusted and fresh blood dripping from it. There was some sort of red friction
mark on his neck. And although he already knew he had caught a black eye
because he could hardly open it, the mark appeared much more aggressive in the
mirror.
It didn’t occur to him at all why
the fight had happened. But that wouldn’t matter to him, anyway. He was too
focused on cleaning his wounds to dwell on the past.
The water’s sobering effect helped
fight the spins, but dampened his adrenaline enough to remind him of the other
bruises he couldn’t see beneath his jacket. He had dished out some damage,
sure. But he had probably taken more than he had given out.
As he finished washing up, his
phone buzzed in his pocket, drawing his attention away from the mirror. Just
like the beer, he flung it on the counter. One of his buddies had messaged him.
Beneath a text from earlier that said, “you good?”, it now read, “cant believe
you took on that guy lol. you a legend. we back at mine now. roll by”.
With new plans in motion, he
grabbed a used towel and gave his face a final wipe. He snatched his phone from
the counter, wavered again, and gave himself one last look. Removing the dried
blood was an improvement, although those bruises and the mark on his neck might
take a while to fade. His mom, his girl – it seemed like everybody always
pestered him about getting into fights too much. But they just didn’t
understand. He was proud of his battle scars.
His eyes found their way down to
his phone, then back to his battered head in the mirror. They narrowed as a subtle,
yet proud grin crept its way onto his face. “Hell yeah,” he murmured before
grabbing his beer and lurching out the bathroom door.
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