I kept pressure on the leg and felt panic build inside. I left him to find my phone. It was still working, but now had two new cracks in the screen. After dialing nine and then one, I hesitated.

It didn’t occur to me that people had to make decisions about their health based on their bank account. My parents had great coverage and all of us kids took advantage of it, whether we were seeing therapists or getting broken bones fixed.

I certainly didn't want this dude dying on the floor. He was tragically beautiful in a broken doll kind of way and full of angst. He was the kind of person that just made the wrong choice over and over. And hell if I wasn’t drawn to the mess of it all.

I set down the phone and began a vigil. I’d monitor his pulse, his color, and his bleeding. If anything got worse in that regard, I'd call.

Now, after walking into the empty living room, I noted the old, worn stain from that very night on my area rug. I’d scrubbed it more times than I could count, but the stain stayed despite all my attempts.

Just like Endgame. He’d made it through the night. In the morning he quietly thanked me for not calling the cops or an ambulance. It felt like I had helped him do something I shouldn’t. And my gut had been right. Endgame had double-crossed two dealers that night, and the fact he was walking around with a flesh wound was a testament to his luck. He could weasel out of anything it seemed.

He hid in my apartment for a week. And then hiding turned into living. And then living turned into loving. And now he was out, God knows where, pouting because he perceived me as moving on.

He thought Taylor was my next person. My girlfriend. And continuing with the farce of it was another one of those decisions that was making my gut give me the side-eye. I was telling myself I was helping her, but I also wondered if I wasn’t just trying to put an obstacle between Endgame and me so I wouldn’t fall back into my old ways. Into his old games.

I hated that I couldn’t trust myself to stick to my guns around him. The danger mixed with the drama was heady.

Breaking up almost killed us both, but I had to make sure that he and I were done. And having him still living here was not making the situation any easier. Because I was worried. I was worried he wasn’t here. I was picturing what would have happened if Endgame hadn’t made it to my apartment that night. If I hadn’t kept pressure on his leg and monitored him all night? Would he have been in an alley? Would he have made it at all?