scarred wings (l.s.)

three

I get up at nine on Monday, feeling happy about not having had any important lectures in the morning.

I get ready and order the usual stuff at the bakery, letting the change fall into the little cup of the boy who’s asleep, covered by the same blue, thin blanket as always.

The rest of the day passes quickly, I don’t have too much to do and meet in the library with Zayn after our last lecture to study some more.

“And you’re sure about that teacher shit?”, Zayn asks, leaning back in his chair, “Sounds really fucking complicated if you ask me. Standing in front of a few dumb and unmotivated students, trying to teach them something.”

“As if studying art would get you anywhere”, I say, rolling my eyes, “I don’t know myself, mate, teacher just seemed like the only decent thing to study, really.”

He laughs and shrugs, turning the page of the book and scribbling something onto the paper. “It’s not like I want to get anywhere with it. Maybe I’ll find a job I need my studies for and if not, I don’t even know. I’m twenty, it doesn’t really matter yet.”

I roll my eyes again and scroll down the website a little, trying to find information I actually need for my essay. “Yeah, you’re probably right, smartass.”

We go on like this for a bit, both reading and interrupting the silence with questions once in a while.

“What the hell is this even supposed to mean?”, I ask, pointing to a word I don’t even know how to pronounce.

“I have no fucking clue”, Zayn says, not even looking properly, “You are the one wanting to teach history so you have to know, love, let me be.”

I scoff. “Shut up and don’t call me love if you don’t mean it, babe.”

“Why, you’d want me to mean it, huh? Call you love and hug you all the time? No, baby, I’m not that type of person.”

“Why not, Zaynie?”, I ask, patting my eyelashes and ignoring his annoyed eye-roll, “I’m such a huggable person though.”

“If I wanted to hug you, I’d have to bend down two meters.”

“Shut up, Zayn”, I shout, a little too loud, considering we’re in a library, “You’re like one inch taller than me.”

“Sorry, boys”, a woman interrupts us, “I will have to ask you to quiet down a little or you’ll need to leave.”

“Yeah, sorry”, Zayn whispers and grins as if he didn’t just insult me like that.

“See, Louis, be a little more polite.”

“Shut up before I fucking kill you, Malik.”

“You wouldn’t even reach my throat.”

“Asshole”, I mutter.

“Dwarf.”

~~~

The next morning starts of worse. Who thought, it’d be a good idea to start the first lectures before eight p.m.? What kind of inhuman asshole made up those rules?

I try to fix my hair while walking but the wind is blowing heavily again and it probably changes nothing.

Finally arriving in the bakery, the first thing I do is drop onto one of the chairs and rant to Casey about how shit my day was before receiving my usual order, smiling and leaving the bakery while waving at her.

I feel shit. Tired and overworked, exhausted and dead. Yesterday turned into a late-night study session, I received another stupid mail from my father and I had to tell my employer I’ll need to work one day more this week because my money won’t be enough to pay my rent this month otherwise.

I feel like shit, really.

Until I see him.

Then all I feel is guilt. For acting like I am, for behaving as if I was the only one with problems. Did I even ask Casey how she was, how her son’s birthday was? God, why am I acting so selfish all the time?

I reach for the change in my pockets until I realize it’s nothing. It’s maybe quartered a pound, how the hell is he supposed to survive from that little? Was I really thinking giving him this less made me a better person in any way?

I stand there for some time, feeling stupid and helpless. He’s still so young, how come he’s there, all alone in the cold street without anybody around?

I walk a little closer to him, not even really thinking about what I’m doing.

“Um”, I say when I’m standing in front of him, “Sorry?”

He doesn’t react at first, as if he didn’t expect anyone to talk to him. It takes some time until he looks up, his green eyes being the first thing I notice.

Some wet curls fall into his forehead under the hood and he raises his eyebrow, waiting for me to keep talking.

“Um”, I say again, “Just, was wondering if you needed something to eat?”

It’s probably the most stupid question somebody ever asked a homeless person but he just shrugs, nodding carefully as if it was wrong to admit that.

“What do you like?”, I ask, “I can, um, buy you something.”

He doesn’t answer at first, staring at me as if I’d reveal a hidden knife and stab him any time. After some time of me not doing that and just standing there, staring down at him, he says: “Coffee, maybe, ‘s pretty cold.”

His voice is deep and raspy and he talks slowly, carefully, thinking about every word that leaves his mouth.

“Sure”, I say, heading back into the bakery to find Casey looking at me surprised. “Is the fridge empty again?”

I shake my head. “Buying something for the boy outside, he looks like he could need it.”

She smiles. “Sounds good. I think he does. Sits there every day for quarter a year now.”

I nod and order a coffee and a croissant before stepping outside again. I hand him the stuff and I’m not sure why expect him to smile, say something. It’s so stupid. I feel like I’m changing something when all I did is hand him something to eat that won’t keep him full for half a day.

“Thanks”, he mumbles when I’m already walking away again. I turn around again and he doesn’t really smile, but the complete emptiness in his eyes from the beginning is gone. Instead, there’s something else. Something questioning. Confusion, maybe. Why I’d do that.

And somehow, I’m just as confused, confused to why I thought it’d change anything about feeling shit about my father or uni, change anything about that boy’s day, just because some random dude that feels bad about having money and not spending it bought him a small breakfast.

~~~

hope you like it so far<3