Blackwater. Conn Iggulden
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that drunk hit me was the exact opposite. I felt it had been really hard, but somehow it didn’t hurt at all. I looked around in confusion, thinking I had been bumped by someone passing by. The little bastard was standing directly behind me, his eyes shining in the strobe lights. It was Carol who shouted over the noise of the music that he’d tried to butt his head into mine.
He was completely blank with drink, and as he grinned at me I suddenly couldn’t bear it. I shoved him in the chest with both hands and he fell flat at the feet of a dozen strangers. I remember thinking that if he got up I’d have to jump down from the stage and lose myself in the crowd. I don’t fight people in clubs. I refuse to be ashamed of the fact that I don’t enjoy the rush of panic adrenalin the way others seem to.
My heart was beating so fast that I felt lightheaded and ill. Acid came into my mouth and I swallowed hard, wincing. Carol came to stand at my shoulder and the pair of us looked down at him. He still looked harmless as he lay sprawled and his grin never faltered. Even then, even though he’d gone for me already, I didn’t think he was dangerous.
My brother had managed to miss all the excitement with a trip to the bar. By the time he returned, Carol and I had moved quietly to one side of the little stage, with a solid wall to our backs. I’ve said I didn’t think he was a threat, that little man, but I didn’t want to dance with my back to him, either. My brother didn’t know anything about it, of course. He passed out the drinks and carried on dancing and whooping with the crowd. God, we were young then. He’d taken off his shirt as well, even prouder of his wiry frame than I was of mine.
I saw my attacker coming out of the darkness. My brother was dancing where I had been dancing and he was dressed almost exactly the same. The man smashed a bottle over the base of his skull and the two of them hurtled off the stage to the dance floor, parting the crowd as they fell.
I froze for a moment, and I’m not proud of that. It felt like the music had stopped, but of course it hadn’t. Carol screamed and then I moved, jumping down and grabbing hold of two slippery bodies, locked together. My brother had been taken completely by surprise, but as I heaved at them he was grunting and fighting like a madman. I could see the whites of their eyes and bared teeth. The pair of them were straining at each other’s flesh with desperate strength. I couldn’t break my brother’s grip. My hands slipped on the skin, and to my horror I realized there was a hell of a lot of blood coming from somewhere. There was broken glass everywhere and beer and blood on my hands. I reached down again, and at that moment the dry ice machine kicked in. Thick fog filled the dance floor and we all went blind.
I strained to take a breath, terrified that I was going to be punched or cut while I couldn’t see. I still had a hold of slippery skin, and somewhere below me they continued to gouge at each other in a frenzy, causing as much pain and damage as possible.
I heard the bouncers coming at last and there were pointing hands and shouting people everywhere. I felt strong arms pull me away. God knows where Carol had gone to at that point. I didn’t blame her for getting clear of it. I blamed the evil little drunk that the bouncers threw out of a back entrance.
My brother was lifted to his feet looking like a wild man. He was dazed and covered in trails of blood right down his bare chest. The bouncers took him to their own bathroom somewhere in the back of the club, and I went with him to wash the muck off my hands. It really is amazing how blood can gum up your fingers. Even a small amount can go further than you think.
We were alone in that echoing bathroom and I felt like an actor behind the stage. The music had continued right through what happened and we could still hear the thumping rhythms, though they were far away. All right, I hadn’t been involved, but I’d been afraid and I was bloody. I felt like I’d survived a battle. Away from the crowds and the danger my spirits rose quickly enough, even when I saw the gash in his neck from the bottle. It seeped sluggishly, producing a dark, heavy trail that would not be staunched.
He looked at it in the mirror and I saw how pale he’d gone.
‘We should get you to hospital, for stitches,’ I told him. He was still stunned and I didn’t want him to ask why he’d been attacked by a maniac for no reason. I knew it should have been me and I felt enough relief and guilt to be lightheaded.
When he turned to me, I could see he was raging. I handed him a wad of toilet paper for his neck.
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