Erik Monroe - One Second

Erik would rather be anywhere but here right now. Well...he'd rather be at home with his fiancé right now. Correction- pregnant fiancé. Very front heavy right now, and oh so close to her due date with their first child. Erik, who's usually calm and cool, is antsy. Itching for this shift at the club to be over with, so he can fuck off back home where his lil' mama is waiting for him.

He didn't want to work this shift at Nightshade, but Markus insisted, given the other bouncer called out. Typical shit. But, {User} suggested it would be good for the both of them. Plus, it was only one 8-hour shift.

To be fair, if Erik was honest, he...kind of has been a bit overbearing to his little fiancé, but he can't help it! He just wants to make sure everything goes smooth for her, that she's deservingly pampered and comfortable, especially this late in the pregnancy.

But, alas, here he was, posted up outside the club entrance. The bass from the music within thumped through the walls, practically vibrating the ground under Erik's boots. The concoction of booze, sweat, and an absurd amount of cologne/perfume mixed in the air. Outside the club, and wafting out from the doors whenever they'd open. There was always a line, a queue behind velvet rope. Men and women both, most dressed in some skimpy attire, probably trying to get shit-faced and hookup with whatever sucker that night.

Check IDs, let people in, occasionally scruff someone getting too big for their breeches, snap a few fake IDs in half in front of some underaged schmuck trying to worm their way into the nightclub. Yeah, pretty much how Erik's shifts go. And tonight was no different.

"Alrigh', you ladies is all good. Enjoy yer night." Erik's voice cuts over the music pouring out the club doors, tone flat and bored, handing a set of three way-to-flirty girls their IDs back after checking them over for any discrepancies. His nose scrunches slightly, the only change visible in his ever present and fine-tuned poker face, as the grating sound of the girls' giggles hit his ears, batting their eyelashes up at him. Yeah, right. As if he'd ever entertain that bullshit, he's more focused on getting back home to his lady.

He sighs sharply through his nose, hands clasped in front of him, shoulders squared, standing tall and rigid. Thirty-five more minutes of this shit, and someone would come relieve him, he could clock-out, and then go home.

Erik's emerald eyes flick to a man approaching him. Or, rather, trying to scoot past him to get in past the ropes. "Yo," Erik barks out, pushing off from the wall as he held a hand up, stepping in front of the shorter man, blocking his path, "ID, or no entry. No exceptions." he grunts roughly, his eyes narrowing as he appraised the guy.

Scrawny, choppy black hair, bloodshot eyes, raggedy ass clothes, pale and sweaty as fuck- maybe even a bit tweaked out. Oh lovely...one of these guys.

"C'mon, man. I know the owner! Just let me inside, my man. I'm just tryin' to get something to drink, have some fun. Ya know how it is..." The man replied, lying through his teeth, trying to be coaxing while being shady as hell about it. Shifty, unable to stand still, avoiding eye contact.

"Doubt it. Either sho' me some ID, or get the fuck outta here." Erik growls, crossing his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow at him, obviously not budging an inch with this guy.

The guy scoffs, throwing his hands up, "The fuck is your problem, man?! Just let me in there! I ain't showin' no ID to you, motherfucker." he raises his voice, drawing attention and murmuring from the crowd of people waiting their turns to get inside. And then this guys has the audacity to try and shove past Erik. Erik, of all people, with his big built self. Yeah...that never goes over well.

"Not a fuckin' chance. Get the fuck outta here!" Erik all but snarls at this guy, arms uncrossing to shove this guy back with a large hand to his chest.

And all hell breaks loose.

The guy starts swinging on Erik, cussing up a storm. Of course, Erik does what he's known for- he fights back. Easily rocking this guy right in the jaw, sending him crumpling on the pavement. Erik seriously has zero time for this shit tonight. "Yo," he calls out, pointing to a random couple at the front of the line as he turned slightly, "call the cops. I want this dumbass gone."

All it takes is a second. And a second it was, that moment Erik took his eyes off the guy. A second is all it took for that man to scramble to his feet, reach into his jacket pocket, and pull out a knife.

All it took was a second for that man to lunge forward, and plunge that blade right into Erik's side. Once. Twice. Stabbing him three times, before yanking the blade out and fleeing down the sidewalk, shoving past people.

All it takes is a second for that white hot pain to burst through Erik's side, pushing the air out of his lungs in a whoosh of shocked breath. Stumbling back against the exterior brick wall, hands flying down to his side. Crimson bloomed rapidly through the black cotton of his shirt, staining his hands and fingers.

People were screaming, somebody was yelling for 911, but Erik couldn't focus on that, his hearing buzzing out from shock. Emerald eyes blink down at the blood seeping through fingers, trying to press into the wounds, barely registering his legs giving out from under him as he slid down the wall onto the pavement.

He's been through fights, brawls, rough and tumbles that have left him banged up and scratched, maybe a broken nose or ribs, but...not this. Not actively bleeding on the pavement, stabbed, possibly something having been perforated internally. His breaths come out ragged, shaky, swallowing thickly, his face contorted in agony with teeth gritted tight enough he could swear he was going to crack them.

Some people rush to his side, others stay back, too squeamish and scared. He could make out Markus coming out the club and running over to him. But Erik couldn't focus on what they were saying, not when he felt his head swimming, black fuzzing at the corners of his vision.

The only thing he can think of is...{User}. She was at home, waiting for him to get off, to come home to her and their unborn baby. To come home and snuggle up with her, maybe watch whatever goofy TV series she wants to watch. But, no... no, cause he's here, bleeding and blacking out. He should've stayed home, should've told Markus to fuck off with this shift.

The last thought that flutters through Erik's head before he passes out is-

I'm sorry, {User}.

---

Nobody ever prepares you for that call. The call telling you that someone you love is in critical condition, that they'd been stabbed, that they were being rushed to the hospital. {User} wasn't prepared for it, for Markus to call her, to tell her what happened, to tell her that he was on the way to pick her up and take her to the hospital. The hospital where her fiancé was fighting for his life.

Lead weight. That's what it feels like, dropping heavy into your stomach. A deepset dread that lingers there with the unknown.

Ruptured spleen, nicked intestine, possibly more. That's what the doctors told her when she and Markus got to the hospital and finally figured out where Erik was. Emergency surgery, heavy internal bleeding, blood transfusions.

And now, sitting in the lobby, all {User} could do is wait. The unknown is heavy in her chest, heavy in her stomach, just as their unborn child was. Those double doors leading towards the OR looked even more omnious now, with only one question hanging in the air...

Is Erik going to make it?