Bile and Turpentine.

"Oh, as if you had no choice? There's a moment, there's always a moment, "I can do this, I can give into this, or I can resist it", and I don't know when your moment was, but I bet you there was one."
-Alice, Closer.

Tarquin sits in the old car, the windows opaque with condensation. The rain washes outside. The white, stark lights of nearby strip malls and service stations glitter in the distance through the water running down the windshield. Tarquin sits. His eye is enlarged; the surrounding skin red and broken. His nose runs and the eye can't stop weeping. Tarquin tries to touch it but finds out he can't. He squeezes his Ventolin inhaler, hands shaking, empty. "...fuck" he throws the Ventolin inhaler at the windscreen, bouncing and reflecting around the tight confines of the old Ford.
How did this happen?

One and a half hours ago

"I'm just not feeling it, you know?" Blonde Haired Girl said looking blankly at Tarq. He had let his hair grow longer for some reason and as a result his head seemed larger with the added hair of relatively unremarkable colour. This was all Tarquin could think about while Blonde Haired Girl sat and stared at him for a reply. "Great." Tarquin mouth farted. Blonde Haired Girl's eyes mixed in an orgy of uncertainty then settled to meet Tarquin's apathy, after all, that was what first attracted him to her. Blonde Haired Girl leaves the silence leaving Tarquin in his.
Sigh.

An hour ago

He walks, the lights of the nearby strips malls and service stations under lighting the approaching dark clouds, there is still the faint hint that the sun has set only moments ago. Rain in the distance, appearing to evaporate before getting close to the ground it's over. Tropical. Tarquin looks to a sound of a man, yelling. A brief sound underneath that sounded familiarly female. Tarquin looks to see if anyone else is around who can care about it so he doesn't have to. No one. He swallows hard and squeezes his Ventolin.
I need more.

45 minutes ago

The two small men seem to encircle her. One wears jeans, one has a beanie sporting an Aussie Rules team. The other has a tight t-shirt, it has something in Latin on it and faux worn print. Blonde Haired Girl stands, her bag on the sweating bitumen. Blonde Haired Girl is pricked up. Blonde Haired Girl stands, pricked up like a cat. "Do you need some help?" The Two Small Men look to the sound.
Oh no.

10 minutes ago

His keys slip through his red hands. The rain is thick and cold. Tarquin awkwardly bends down, falling onto all fours next to the old Ford. The cool of the bitumen against his palms. Tarquin drools and picks up his keys, the taste of iron and wine on his tongue. The old Ford lets Tarquin in and he slumps to the seat, his wet jumper compressing and releasing it's contents on the back of the old velour seat. After watching him being beaten she said thank you. She offered him a ride. She smiled and said she would call him to make sure he's okay. She thanked him again. Tarquin leaves the silence leaving Emily in hers.

20 minutes later

The door of apartment fifteen of two hundred and thirty four Fleet street opens and Tarquin throws his bag; an old tattered brown satchel into the cave. Tarquin sits on the couch that folds out into a futon. Tarquin sleeps. Tarquin feels good. Tarquin is a hero.
Tarquin is a hero.