I bite my tongue, holding back the urge to answer his obscene joke. I need to remember that it’s a miracle he can even form thoughts after losing so much blood. And men, in any situation, never miss the chance to unleash their testosterone.

“Why do you men, even on the verge of death, not know how to open your mouths for anything but nonsense?” I press my forehead. I know I’m only taking out my bitterness on a wounded man, and I’m aware of how pathetic that seems.

In response, the man squeaks with pain, and yet his lips curve into that same malicious smile.

“I usually open my mouth for other things, girl, but I don’t think I can show you now.”

I don’t bother to do anything but roll my eyes.

“Will you be fine alone?” I ask, even if the answer is obvious. Without immediate medical help, this man has no chance.

Undoing the smile, he clenches his teeth, his body undulating in another wave of pain.

“Yes, I will. Thank you, beautiful lady. No one… never… Thank you.”

That strange gratitude stops me a step away. Letting him die here, abandoning him, isn’t that different. So I go back to his side and crouch down, prodding him to make sure he can hear me. He doesn’t open his eye but grumbles in his abrupt, hoarse language.

“I’ll call a taxi and take you to the hospital. That’s it, was I clear?”

His head rolls against the tempered glass he’s leaning on, and he breathes with even more difficulty.

“No hospital, girl.” He says, terse. “No police.”

I sigh, upset.

“I’m not going to call the police, I just want you to have a chance to survive, right? I’m not in the mood to watch someone die today.”

The man softens against the window, and even without opening his eye, he turns his head toward me. I don’t know if I’m relieved his hearing is still intact or if I’m more worried about his physical condition. I have no answers to any of my questions, and it annoys me.

“How can you explain these injuries without mentioning what you shouldn’t have seen, girl?” Even unintentionally, I have to agree. He laughs with a wheeze. “Don’t worry, I’m fine now.”

This statement, delivered in a funeral murmur, only worries me more.

When people face a problem they can’t handle, they refuse help and dismiss attention by saying they’re fine. Maybe years of burying my face in fiction books taught me how real people hide things inside.

The way I read him forces me to act in a way he might not approve of, but once responsibility lands on me, I can’t help giving everything I have to fix it. It’s my perfectionist obsession, and it defines who I am.

Shooting a fierce look at the blank faces around us and feeling waves of aggression bubble up, I fish my cellphone from my coat pocket and dial my emergency number. Biting my nails, I wait and wait. Cars pass with bright headlights down the dark street, and I’m not answered. I step back toward the lingerie window and try to relax my tense muscles, still not attended.

When I’m about to hang up, the line goes silent, and suddenly a groggy, dragged voice answers.

“The number you called belongs to a woman with PMS and very sleepy, which means that if a meteor isn’t hitting the earth right now, I will look for you and kill you. Leave your message after the beep. Beep.”

I laugh despite myself. “Pen, it’s me.”

Penelope growls softly.

“Yes, Suzy, that’s why caller ID exists. What’s the name of the meteor and how close will it pass?”

I stamp my foot on the ground, grunting. “There’s no meteor! I need your help. It’s kind of a life-or-death situation.”

The line goes quiet again, and I almost think Penelope has fallen asleep when I hear fabric rustle.

“Where are you?” she asks, less asleep, a sigh in her voice.

“I’m near Back Bay Station, something happened…”

While I speak, trying to hide as many details as I can, keys jingle on the other end and Penelope pants out, finally asking:

“Dean, pale face, isn’t he with you?”

I swallow the mix of hatred and sadness at the edge of my voice so it doesn’t show.

“He’s not here, but I need you to help save a stranger’s life.”

Penelope is silent for a torturous moment, while the man on the ground trembles so violently I can feel his suffering without touching him. Convinced the cold night is nothing next to the cold of death, I remove my coat and wrap it around him.

“Why do you always get into weird stuff and call me?” The rhetorical question makes her voice a bit muffled and amused, I can picture her smiling with a weary grin. “I sincerely hope this guy is a tanned, muscular god, or I’ll kill him myself.”

Before hanging up, I sit next to the stranger and run my hand in front of his face to make sure he’s breathing. My fingers gradually warm, and I shake my hand.

“I think if you take any longer, we’ll never know if he was ever handsome,” I whisper, feeling the cold night air carry my words away.