My room was dark. So dark it did not matter if my eyes were closed or not. That particular summer night was hotter than hell. Even with my blankets kicked onto the floor, my window wide open and myself, stripped to my white briefs it was to hot to breathe consistently. I closed my eyes letting my mind wonder. There was a steady hum from the crickets outside, like a tiny orchestra hidden in the dry grass. I rolled over onto my side hearing a tap on my windowsill. I watched a shadowy figure slip into my room curiously.
“Zachary?” I called out to it.
“Yeah, sorry. Did I wake you, River?” he asked turning toward me.
“No,” I reached up to turn on my lamp, squinting as the room brightened suddenly. After a few seconds my eyes adjusted. I rubbed my face lazily. He looked so sad just standing there, like a lost puppy. His bare feet were dark with dirt. His muddy jeans were ripped at both knees. His sweatshirt was stained on the front and ragged at the cuffs. It looked like a circus tent draped over his 5ft. 3inch. 100 pound body. His black hair- knotted and tangled- came almost all the way to his elbows.
I studied his face closely. His left cheek and right eye were swollen, a greenish- gray shade. Soon they would be black and blue. His bottom lip was fat and bloody. He looked down at the floor, ashamed. Without a word I got up from my bed, crossed my room in four short strides and entered my closet. My dresser was in the back. I pulled a white t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants from the top drawer. When I returned he was gone. I left my room and strolled down the hallway. Leaning in the bathroom doorway I watched him, inspecting the damage. He was pulling the sweatshirt off. His right side was welted and purple. He whimpered loudly as he pulled it over his head.
“Zachary,” I announced myself putting the clothes on the sink, “You can wear these.” He turned to me. I could clearly see the burn on his chest where his father had put out one of his Marlboro cigarettes eight years ago when he was seven.
“Okay, thanks. I’m really sorry about this, man.” His voice was so small.
“Don’t be.” I closed the bathroom door and went across the hall for some extra blankets. I heard the shower start and went back to my room where I begun the build him a bed on the floor. I sat back when I was finished and decided he would be in much less pain in an actual bed. So I lay down on the mound of comforters spread out on my floor and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter End Notes:
Chances are I'm not going to finish this story at all. Unless people really like it. But, with the success of "Degraded" I highly doubt it. Sorry.
