“Looks like he had the hell beat out of him.” The man started an IV. “You didn’t do this, I suppose?”
“Paul’s my friend.”
“It’s been known to happen. Quarrel over a boyfriend, maybe?”
Asshole. “No. We didn’t quarrel, and I didn’t do this to him.”
He shrugged. “We’ll take him to the emergency department.”
They eased him onto a backboard and got him on the stretcher. The skin over his ribs was red and angry-looking. “Paul…” I whispered.
“At least they won’t have to cut his clothes off him,” the woman said.
“I’m coming with you.” I gathered up Paul’s clothes.
“Here.” She handed me a plastic bag, then draped a sheet over Paul’s naked body.
“Thanks.” I barely had time to stuff the jeans, shirt, fanny pack, and sneakers into the bag before they were heading for the stairs.
The ride seemed to take forever. They wouldn’t let me stay in the back with Paul, so I sat beside the driver, tears spilling down my cheeks and dripping off my jaw.