Glass [ENG]

9. Monsters

I woke up an hour before the course class.

When the girls gave me a ride to the neighborhood, I reached the apartment and without much thought decided to sleep off the lost night. I set the alarm for a time that allowed me to get out of bed exactly the hour before leaving my flat.

If the course hadn't been paid for in advance, I would have been in bed a lot longer.

Everything from waking up to reaching the door of the classroom took me much longer than usually and brought some difficulties in small, everyday manual tasks. Fortunately, I arrived on time, on the spot already seeing Benjamin, who greeted me with a sincere, childish smile and a surely fading bruise on his face.

When I finally took off my bag-backpack to put it on the bench, while avoiding the use of my hands, the boy noticed my bandages and frowned confused.

"What happened to you?" he asked intrigued, looking at them with lime, vivid glare.

"You look better," I answered, ignoring his question, looking at his face instead.

I wasn't lying. He looked better, and the eye, which had been closed by the swelling before, together with the other was wide open, looking at the world around. I was reminded of Valentia's words about his recent acts. Finally, the image of the boy in front of me gave me some strange kind of relief and peace.

A piece of stability came back to me.

"Did you fight someone again?" Benjamin did not relent, and the question was soaked with childish excitement.

I sat down slowly, thinking with reluctance about clumsily taking out angular objects necessary for the next hour. I let the air out through my nose, slowly opening the bag. I was mad at my limited autonomy. Helplessness.

"Only monsters."

And after a few seconds, tiny hands from nowhere grabbed my bag, turning it in their direction. They began to unpack the exercise book and the notebook, the latter of which they grabbed to put on their own bench. The book was aligned to the bench, and the bag was placed on the ground next to the chair.

I looked at all this with my eyes lost and puzzled like never before.

When the boy straightened up with a smile, and his green-blue spots around his eye caused  t h a t  sting in my chest again, in the full meaning of these words, I said:

"Thank you, Benjamin."

And then, satisfied, the boy sat quietly in his place and the lesson began. At that time, from the angle of my eye, I happened to observe how he wrote notes in my notebook with his childlike handwriting, combining this effortlessly with active participation in the course. Mrs. Harrison couldn't hide her pride. The lesson was beginning to resemble the first.

I still didn't like kids. I still didn't like nosy questions. Still the studying was not my favorite activity, and every form of helplessness made my blood pressure rise.

However, the simplicity of Benjamin Benston was what, against all odds, was a remarkable exception to the usual rule.

At the end of the class, Benjamin gave me my things back, but I stood my ground and painstakingly packed them myself. Even though it took me longer than the others, the boy, for reasons only he knew, waited for me to pack it. I threw on my coat and bag, and it turned out we left the building together.

Benjamin was filled with a kind of feeling that emanated from him to the very exit. I guess he thought I wouldn't notice, because he was looking straight ahead like nothing ever happened, smiling innocently. And when I wanted to say goodbye to him, turning in his direction, he stopped me. I took my time, knowing very well he had something else on his mind.

I turned, raising a brow, as the boy dug the toe of his shoe into the pavement, staring stubbornly into it. After a while, however, he raised his shy gaze.

"Can I see your bandages?"

And honestly, deep down in my heart, I thought it was sweet.

I took a step toward him, slowly extending my hand. The material was slightly greyish in some places. Even after less than a day. It covered skin from the beginning of the hand to the middle of the fingers, four of which, except for the thumb, it held together in some kind of protection against tearing the stitches on accident.

I didn't trust kids, but I didn't think there was a really stupid intent in the head of the kid in front of me. Maybe unexpected, but not stupid. He grasped my hand from below as he watched its inside with youthful, enigmatic deliberation.

"But..." he started off hesitant. There was a note of sadness in his voice. "Did you win with those monsters?"

I didn't say anything for a moment, because I suddenly realized what that moment meant. Why did I give him my hand to watch? Why did I take the risk? Why didn't I back away from most of his questions?

And when his little hands held my bruised one, steady and childishly careful, I didn't think to hold back from the truth.

"I wasn't even close."