Tears Of London

The Hutt

JO

- When you say it hurts...you mean it hurts-hurts ?
I finally managed to get him into my Twingo. Anyways, he had no choice. He, this strange guy that I just met/hit. The same guy who called me a racist. But I feel like I cannot blame him, because he is bleeding.
- Or you mean it hurts but you can live with it ? Huh ? How is it ?
He has a brown skin, with a two-day beard, perfectly shaved, and freezy black hair, shortly cut on his head.
- Because, if so, I want to make sure you can, so I could be more...
- Quiet ? he teases me with the eyes closed, but no smile.
- Ah-ah. I was going to say « peaceful ».
When I first saw his face, I thought my Twingo had disfigured him. His eyelids were looking so plissed, as they were almost close. As though the sun light was dazzling him. But it is 20 pm. That's partly why I wonder now if I haven't crashed into an addict...however, he looks too clean to be an addict.
- So... ? I insist without taking my eyes out of the road.
- So what ? he complains, coldly, almost casual.
Why is he so mean with me ? Oh, yes...I hit him. And then I forced him to come into my car.
Before getting in it, we came to an agreement : I help him to get back to his house, but « NO HOSPITAL ».
I am sure his problem with hospitals is related to the potential drugs that must flow in his blood (if he's really an addict). I understand him, I don't think the doctors would like to learn that.
- How does it hurt ? I ask.
- Really bad.
I take a few seconds to observe his condition. He has his head placed on his hand, that is leaning against the edge of the window. He is looking pensive, watching into the void of the window.
- Really... ? I repeat, worried.
But he never answered. During a moment, I thought he might be dead.
- Don't you have pity ? I pursued, mostly to check if he still can answer me. You make me feel so guilty.
- I hope so. You just hit me.
I laugh. Alone, again. I never seen such an indifferent man. He literally has no emotions. Any tiny reaction. Any face expression. He is like a wall. A Wall Man. With the eyes of an addict. And a clean beard.
I wonder what is his name. Rick ? Donald ? Jason... ? Jason suits well on him...
But when I was ready to ask him, he spoke up before :
- It's here.
In less than a minute, he had loosened his belt and went out, without even waiting for the car to stop completely. Then, he painfully starts to stumble to an old house, made of red bricks. The house is really small, but high, with what seems to be two floors. We're lonely in the street. No car in sight. No passers. And it's dark. If I can see something, that's only thanks to the floor lamps. A thing catch my eye when I look back to the window upstairs. There is someone in the house. The Wall Man might have a roomate.
The roof of the house is connected to the porch with three large posts, between which the Wall Man passes, to reach the entrance, limping. When I see he starts to wave while climbing the mini stairs of the porch, I directly get out of the car.
With my right arm, I held him back before he ends on the floor. He has to hold on the railing so he doesn't fall. I notice he is pulling back, like he is avoiding any contact with my skin. He really hates me.
At the same moment, a guy opens the door of the house.
- Mate... ? Where have you been ? the guy simply asked.
He is taller than the Wall Man, his skin lighter. He is thin with gigantic legs and short red hair. The contour of his eyes are blue and purple. It's more impressive on his light skin. Why does everyone look like toxicos in this district ?
To the guy, the situation seems to be funny. But when he understood something was wrong with his « mate », his eyebrows gathered.
- Erin ? the guy suddenly called, while looking at me. What's the problem ?
I strangely observed him. Erin ? Why is he calling me like that ? My name is not...
- I wanna sleep, answers the Wall Man.
Oh. Okay. Erin is also a boy's name, obviously. It feels strange to me, because I only met girls named like this. This name is too sweet to belong to him. Too melodious. This sensitive name doesn't fit him.
- What happened, man ? the guy asks anew, staring at Erin.
- She hit me, he answers directly. Mate, help me to open the door.
- Wh...she what ?
- It was an accident ! I immediately reply. I didn't see him crossing...
The guy took one look at my car before brusting out laughing. Is he serious ? His friend is in pain and he finds this funny ?
- Good thing it wasn't a truck ! he says whereas he can't stop laughing.
I am speechless at his lack of responsability. This guy is crazy. I cannot let Erin, who is hardly hurt, with him.
- Malcolm, move your ass. Open the door.
Firstly, I didn't understand why Erin wasn't opening it himself. And then, I get it when the guy, Malcolm, struggled to open it. He almost had to break down the door with his left shoulder to unlock it. This house is really rotten.
Malcolm comes in first, closely followed by Erin, who is still limping. I cautiously hold him back before he enters. He stops himself instantly. His half-close half-open eyes are staring at me surprisingly.
So now he's able to have emotions ?
His sloes are a warm jet brown, expressive and nonchalant at the same time. They are hypnotising. He looks exhausted. I wish I could help him.
- Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital ? I finally whisper to Erin, because I don't want the mad guy to hear.
- Yes, he declares with confusion.
Why is he so confused about me being kind with him ? It is normal I care, he just got hit !
Then, he just slammed the door in my face.