Laura went on stage three times during the night, she was paid for it, and very well paid.
The security guards didn't allow customers to approach, she ignored the messages, refused invitations for drinks...
She didn't drink, she didn't interact with the nightclub's patrons. She didn't have time for that kind of distraction. She was there to work and nothing more.
At 3:00 in the morning, she took off her heavy makeup and gathered her belongings, leaving through the back door.
At exactly 3:30 in the morning, a "Night Owl" bus passed by, crossing the city and dropping her off five blocks from her apartment. This way, she saved money on transportation, without asking for taxis or app drivers.
She covered her face with the hood of her sweatshirt, both to protect herself from the cold and to hide her face, and left quickly through the back, as she did every night, especially on Friday nights, as she left in the early hours.
Her steps were hurried on the dirty ground of the alley. The air was cold, dense, and the first drops of drizzle began to touch her face.
She quickened her pace towards the bus stop, she couldn't miss the ride, it was almost 3:30 in the morning.
The city streets, empty and gloomy, seemed to hold too many secrets at that hour.
But that dawn, the silence was broken.
The muffled sound, almost a moan, cut through the darkness. Laura stopped, frowned, looking around. The sound came from the direction of the trash cans behind the building, next to the nightclub.
Instinctively, she should have ignored it.
"How many times had she told herself that she couldn't get into trouble? That she only needed to work, go home, take care of her daughter, and survive?"
But the sound repeated itself. Louder, human, and painful.
Against her better judgment, she approached. As she leaned over the garbage bags and stacked crates, she saw the figure.
A man lying on the ground, blood running down his torn black pants, his face partially covered by the shadow of the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing.
Laura took a step back, her heart racing.
"Shit..." she muttered, looking around, indecisive.
The man groaned again, trying to lift his head. The bullet had hit his leg, the blood wasn't gushing, but it formed a dark stain that spread with dangerous slowness.
"Hey... help." he said, his voice hoarse and slurred.
Laura hesitated. She knew it could be a trap. A risk, but she also knew what it was like to be on the verge of collapse, waiting for someone to reach out. She cursed under her breath, looking to the sides, then at the fallen man.
"I'm going to call the police... They know what to do. I'm going to ask them for help." She didn't have a cell phone, she sold it a long time ago to buy medicine for her daughter.
"No." The commanding voice made her stop. "Get me out of here. No hospital... no police..."
Laura thought for a moment, and ended up making the decision that would change her life forever.
"You're going to give me a loss that I can't even afford..." She grumbled, kneeling down to help him. "Can you get up?"
He nodded his head. Even hurt, he seemed determined and strong. Laura put her arm under his shoulder and with difficulty, helped him to get up. He limped, but walked.
Each step was an effort, and the two almost fell twice before reaching the taxi stand. Laura knew she couldn't wait for the bus. She knew she was breaking all the rules she had imposed on herself. But she also knew she wouldn't be able to sleep if she left him there.
On the way to the building, neither of them spoke. The man clenched his teeth, his face sweaty with pain, but he remained lucid. Laura paid for the taxi with the money she had set aside for the ingredients for the week's sweets. They climbed the stairs of the building in silence. It was too early for anyone to be awake, she was grateful for that.
Once in the apartment, she pointed to the sofa.
"Lie down there. I'll get the first aid 'kit'... I don't have much." She said as she lined the furniture with a bath towel.
He just felt it. While she separated the alcohol, gauze, and more clean towels, he tore the pants at the thigh. The blood had started to dry, but it was still serious.
When Laura returned, he didn't ask for help, he just reached out for the bottle of alcohol.
"You can let me handle this myself." He said in a firm voice, like someone used to commanding.
"Are you sure?" Laura frowned.
"Absolutely. Don't call the police." He looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Give me the cell phone."
"Are you crazy?"
"Your cell phone. I don't want any surprises." His voice was hoarse and had a strange accent.
"I don't have a cell phone. Look around you. Do you think I would give preference to a cell phone?"
He looked at her firmly, perhaps trying to know how far she was telling the truth.
"And one more thing, 'strange sir', I'm going to my room. Take care of yourself... when I come out, I don't want to see you here."
"I'm not going to cause you problems. I just need a few hours."
Laura watched him in silence as he took a small dagger from his pocket. He disinfected the blade with alcohol, as well as the wound. He used one of the clean towels as a bite block and, without hesitation, set about removing the bullet from his own leg with the dexterity of someone who knew what he was doing.
He didn't groan, he didn't tremble. He just gritted his teeth. He used the alcohol without hesitation and then pressed the gauze over the wound, bandaging it firmly. It was evident that this was not the first time he had dealt with this.
When he finished, he leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment. Laura approached with a thin blanket and left it over his body, he didn't open his eyes...
She even forgot about her hunger.
She went to her room, locked the door, but not satisfied, she pulled the dresser and placed it as a "barricade" on the door.
Even so, she couldn't sleep peacefully. In her head, only the question came whether she acted correctly...
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