Bond By Night And Blood

Julie's pov I hurried towards the store, feeling the cold seep into my skin. It was one of those dark, endless nights where the moon was absent, and the only light came from the neon sign above the store. Pushing the door open, I called out to Sam, the cashier I was supposed to switch with. "Hey Sam, I'm here," I called from the doorway. She emerged from the storage room. "Hey Julie, I'm finished here. I should get going; Jon is making lasagna for our anniversary," she explained, walking towards me. Sam was a raver girl married to a chef at a high-end restaurant. They were the sweetest couple, and Sam was genuinely kind. They had been married for five years and had chosen not to have children. They celebrated every anniversary, from their first kiss to their first fart. She grabbed her coat. "See you later, Julie," she giggled, walking out of the store. I walked to the other side of the counter and sat down. It was going to be a long night. I sat at the counter, trying to finish my part of the group project assigned by my professor. I was a Business major who worked night shifts to make ends meet. I already had a stack of student loans piling up, and I needed to pay for things like textbooks. So, I stayed in this lousy store that paid minimum wage, working while others slept. I became engrossed in my coursework when the bell for the store rang. I looked up to see a handsome man dressed in a long, flowy black overcoat with silver engravings and patterns. He wore black pants and what appeared to be a black turtleneck shirt under the coat. He had pointy ears that stuck out from his long hair. He approached the counter, and I couldn't help but gasp at his face. He was beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. His face was structured like that of a Greek god, and his eyes were the palest grey with black dustings. He looked ethereal. I stared at his perfectly sculpted face, unable to find the right words. "Hi," I muttered, my breath caught in my chest. "Do you know where I can find batteries, Julie?" he asked, staring intensely into my eyes. He had an accent I couldn't place, but it was charming. He looked like he had stepped out of the night. He had the darkest, regal aura. "Over in the fourth aisle, near the work tools," I explained, still staring at him. "Thank you," he replied, beginning to walk away. That was when I noticed his limp. I saw that he was holding his side, and I noticed what seemed like blood dripping from the wound. My inner voice told me to ignore it and pretend I hadn't seen anything, but I couldn't. So, I rushed to him and turned the closed sign. When I reached him, he was sitting on the floor, still holding his side. "What's wrong, Julie?" he asked, his hand still on his side. "I don't know what cosplayers do these days, but dude, you shouldn't put yourself in risky situations," I said, kneeling beside him and gently removing his hand from the wound. It was bloody and messy. "We need to get you to a hospital," I said, assessing the severity of the wound. It looked like a gunshot wound, but also like a stab wound. It needed to be treated by a medical professional. "No need for that, Julie," he said, beginning to remove his shirt. As he stripped, I couldn't help but pause and stare open-mouthed for a moment. He had the perfect, smooth, defined body of someone who trained, but it wasn't overpowering. I scolded myself internally and focused on his wound. He dug his finger into the wound as if searching for a bullet. I stared at him in shock as he pulled out what appeared to be a bullet from his stomach. He glared at the bullet as if recognizing who it was from. He started to stand up, but I pushed him back down. "Wait here, you can't leave with an open wound; it could get infected," I said, running to the first aid section to gather supplies to close the wound. I returned with gauze, bandages, and cotton wool. Kneeling in front of him, I began to dress the wound. I sealed it up and then looked him in the eye. "How do you feel?" I asked. "Better, thank you," he replied, wearing a shocked and impressed expression. "I still think you should go to a hospital or at least call the police," I advised. "There are things the police can't fix," he explained, and I nodded, understanding what he meant. Growing up with a drug-addicted mother in the slums had taught me that sometimes the police only made things worse. "Well, I think you should avoid getting involved with whoever did this to you, even if you are. I think you should leave. They won't stop until you're dead. I know many people who were killed by gangs. I would advise you to leave town. Go somewhere where no one knows you and start over," "I don't think there's any getting away from this" he smiled wistfully. My mother was involved in drug sales and was killed by a drug lord for stealing the merchandise. The only good thing she ever did for me was keep me away from it. She was addicted to drugs, but she never let me near them. She always conducted her business away from our home. I had a clean slate. She made sure I stayed away from her life, and I was grateful for that but she'd also taught me a safety protocol incase I ever was in danger. "I could help you. Move somewhere far and safe," I offered. He smiled at me and nodded. "Thank you, Julie," he smiled, standing up. "I am indebted to you. I'll be watching over you," he said, leaning in to place a kiss on my forehead . He then walked out of the store. I watched as he disappeared into the darkness of the night. I stared into the darkness for a while, thinking about him, before returning behind the counter to continue my writing. I wished there was a way to help him. I didn't even know his name. I spent the rest of my shift thinking about the mysterious cosplayer who had entered the store