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NOTE: Told from Jonny's POV.
It was the seventh week of our European tour. We were wiped, and we finally had two nights to ourselves, to do nothing with our time. It was great.
At first, we didn't know where to go. We were in some city in north England - I don't remember the name - and Guy had brilliantly suggested we find a bar and get piss drunk to celebrate the finished first half of our tour. Foolishly, Will and I agreed. Chris never quite agreed, but went along with it. It was his nature.
I wish we had stayed home.
The bar was bland, nondescript, and mostly empty. A few grungy-looking regulars were playing a noisy game of billiards in the far end of the room, nearer to the bar. The four of us sat in a darkened corner, away from the sullen men and cheaply dressed women. The few patrons sober enough to see clearly gave us odd looks from time to time - well-dressed, clean cut, rather handsome young men in a place like this? Must have been unusual. We certainly felt out of place. Chris fidgeted nonstop. Guy and Will cast wary glances around every so often. I just inched my creaky chair closer to Chris and ignored our surroundings. Well, at least the beer was cheaper than usual.
We toasted ourselves, then took part in an old tradition that we had practiced since... well, nearly since the day we met. Chris popped open a cold bottle and took a long drink, then handed it to me. I took a swig from it, then passed it to Guy, who followed my suit, and Will was last. He finally gave the bottle back to Chris, who finished what was left. When he slapped the empty beer bottle back on the table, some of the tension in the air disappeared, and we laughed and talked together easily. Everyone else ignored us, which was perfectly fine.
We had been there not twenty minutes maybe when a few of the burly guys playing billiards put down their cues and swaggered over to our table, making intimidating, macho faces at us. I jabbed Chris in the side, and he glanced up at them. He didn't look put off in the least. Instead, he smiled cheerily. I nearly slapped my forehead. I mean, really; could you get any more naïve?
One of them spoke up. He seemed to be the de facto leader of this motley crew. He had a rough, gravelly voice and a brutish accent. "I've never seen you wankers before."
"We're just passing through," I said quickly. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Guy was bristling, ready for a fight. Will looked wary and a little scared. And though Chris was still smiling like a bloody idiot, I could see his hands had tightened around his beer bottle. He was ready too.
"Just passing through?" The leader glanced at his comrades with a disbelieving smirk. I inwardly cringed.
"Yeah, we came here for a drink, and then we're leaving." I smiled passively. They didn't buy it, I could tell. Just our bloody luck.
"I'd have to say you're not welcome here, cocksuckers," one of them barked, stepping up behind the leader and tipping his head so he looked intimidating.
"Think you can scare us out?" Chris asked acidly.
"Oh, no..." the leader smirked. "I plan to make this a hands-on thing."
Before Chris could react, two meaty hands had grabbed his collar and hauled him out of his seat so fast his chair toppled backwards. Guy and Will were on their feet in a second, and I jumped up too but accidentally spilled beer all over my lap. Cussing while a few of the brutes laughed, I winced as the cold liquid seeped through my jeans. When I heard the sound of a fist resounding solidly with Chris's face, though, I panicked. I did the first thing that came to mind. I hurled the now-empty beer bottle at the little huddle of thugs.
It broke against the leader's head and immediately he dropped Chris. The lanky boy slumped to the floor, groaning and cupping his reddened cheek. Guy jumped for me to get me out of the way, but the others were already coming at me, and I felt a boot connect with my ribs and I toppled backwards into the stool I had been sitting on. The pain took my breath away and blurred my vision.
Guy was screaming curses and had lunged blindly at one of them - the one with an ugly leather jacket and neatly combed mullet. Surprisingly, Guy took him down, but others were upon him in an instant. I counted dizzily as I sat up - seven of them, four of us. Guy was the fiercest, Will the strongest, and Chris the bravest. Me? I was nothing. I huddled fearfully next to the splintered stool, wishing I were anywhere else but this place.
I saw Chris rise unsteadily and tried to cry out to him, but the tallest lug pinned him against the wall roughly and drove a fist into his stomach. Chris' face tightened in pain and he doubled over.
I could see what was going on. The thugs had a formation. They had a routine. They were going after Chris, forming a semicircle around him. One of them had the shattered bottleneck in his hand, the other had a pool cue, and even though my eyes were bleary, I could see another had a switchblade.
Will hauled Guy up and brushed him off. I knew I was the only one who could do anything. I clambered to my feet quickly and grabbed one of the broken legs of the chair and held it tightly in my fist. I could taste my fear in the back of my throat, but I would rather die myself than watch Chris get beaten. Or killed. I swallowed my apprehension and went for the man with the switchblade, swinging the leg like a bat and nicking him in the back of the head. He staggered and turned to glare at me, and Chris called my name in a passionate, painful voice. My fear disappeared, and I swung as hard as I could at the man's face. This time he did go down, but so did I - with the weight of four other neanderthals. Chris screamed my name again and I struggled to escape, but they wouldn't move. They weren't beating me, they were pinning me. They were holding me down.
They were making me watch.
The leader, bruised and bloody and flaring with rage, had the broken bottle in his fist. Chris' arms were trapped behind him by another faceless, greasy thug, and he was struggling fearfully. His blue eyes were wide and trained on the jagged edge of the bottle.
He grabbed Chris by the neck and lifted him slightly off the ground, then he growled something that I couldn't hear. Chris went pale.
Then he screamed as the leader slashed the bottle across his chest, ripping his shirt and spilling blood. I struggled, crying Chris's name helplessly until I couldn't even breathe, kicking for all I was worth. My mind was a blank and my vision was red.
Another brute drove the pool cue so hard into Chris's ribs that it snapped in half. I had no doubt that a few of his ribs were in the same state as the cue. All the color had gone from his face and his eyes were glittering with tears in the dim, honeyed light of the bare lamps.
I don't know what happened after that. I must have passed out. When I came to, I was lying on a stretcher in the bleak, white hallway of a hospital. Guy and Will were standing beside me, bandages on their arms and gauze over their wounds. Guy's fingers were taped. Will had a makeshift cast on one arm. They both looked miserable.
I cast a glance around for Chris. I couldn't see him. Cops were everywhere around us. Nurses in scrubs were rushing back and forth. A few stopped to ask how I was, but I just shook my head and asked for Chris, and they hurried on.
"Chris is in the ICU, mate," Guy said quietly. His voice was hoarse. His eyes were red.
"ICU?" My heart dropped.
Will started to say something, but he had to stop and take a breath before he could continue. He was choking on his words. "They dunno if he's gonna live," he murmured haltingly.
They didn't know if he was going to live.
I repeated this in my mind a few times, but I couldn't feel anything. It was like I had been stripped bare. All my grief had been spent. I had been spent. I was empty.
They didn't know if he was going to live.