AllFreeNovel
Share Us
What the fuck happened to him?
I’m never going to ask, though. That’s me! The one that never makes people uncomfortable. The one that does everything behind the scenes. The one that’s always left behind.
I’m aware my behaviour is just to compensate for what others perceive as being wrong with me. Or disgusting. There’s no other way for me to be, other than myself. So, I’m forced to go the extra mile, so I’m not hated or bullied or beaten up. It doesn’t work most of the time, but I’m getting better at not caring.
Memories of a past long forgotten come to mind, and I sharply inhale to stop my stomach from revolting.
I push those memories away, but my brain goes in another direction, one I don’t want to follow either.
A beep behind me pulls me away from that ugly place and brings me back to reality, just to notice the traffic light is green and I need to move. Not that I’d noticed I stopped in the first place.
A heaviness I don’t want fills my body. I wanted someone for Christmas, but I never thought I’d have my past back in the form of the man sitting next to me.
Why is having him so close making it seem like he’s farther away than ever?
How long is it going to take him to leave again?
With that thought, it’s like I’m outside, because my body is as cold as a frozen lake, and my mind as blank as an unwritten page. Unfortunately for me, our story has already been written and the end has been sealed. The words ‘end’ and ‘unwanted’ have been stamped all over my heart, even if it was the last thing I wanted.
I let these thoughts go because they won’t get me anywhere, anyway. They can’t change the past and they can’t make the future.
I let out an internal sigh of relief when my building comes into view, because I no longer have to worry that if I can’t control my thoughts I’ll end up killing us or someone else.
When we arrive at my apartment, I’m covered in sweat—even though it’s winter—from my nerves and his closeness.
Once I park the car, I exit quickly so I can help Gael. When I reach the other side of the car, he’s already halfway out. His teeth are grinding against each other, his jaw’s movements so pronounced I’m worried he’ll pulverise them in seconds. When he’s finally out of the car, his forehead is glistening with sweat and his eyes are wet with unshed tears. As soon as he realises I’ve seen them, he uses his sleeve to wipe them away. Always the strong one, the indomitable one, the one ready to save someone else.
Why didn’t he save himself?
“Can you walk?”
“Yeah.” His voice comes out hoarse, because of what they did to him.
The doctor talked a bit about his injuries the first night, probably thinking I was family. After that, nothing was shared with me, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to get involved. I was glad I saved him, but that was it. Every day I said to myself I was going to stop visiting, and every day after work I was there outside of his room at the hospital.
He accepted it, never saying anything that would welcome me or send me away, until the day he dismissed me. But yesterday I saw his relief, his face relaxing when he saw me there. It was a split second, but I’m sure it was there. In his eyes and on his face.
The only time he’d had something to say was when I offered to take him in.
“There’s a lift,” I say, and his relief is nearly tangible.
The ride to my apartment is a silent one, and we stand as far apart as we can in such a small space. I stand, while Gael rests against the mirror. Once again, he’s looking the other way, as if he doesn’t want to look at himself, or maybe me.
My anger flares, but I push it down, because you can’t beat someone when he’s already down. He went through the trauma of a beating, isn’t feeling well, and he’s with a stranger.
Fuck!
The notion explodes in my head like a bomb.
I’m a fucking stranger to him.
Tears fill my eyes now, but I push them down. I won’t cry. This time it’s me using my sleeves to brush my tears away when they spring up at that thought.
I keep my head down until I hear the ping signalling the door opening and then step out of the lift.
I keep the door open so Gael can take his time, and only once he’s out do I offer him my arm or shoulder, and I’m glad when he decides to take it. He must have been in a lot of pain if he’s willing to touch me.
We slowly walk to my apartment, and with every grunt and squeeze of his hand on my arm, I want to turn back and drive to the hospital. He can’t be okay. Not when his legs shake more and more with every step.
