Antoine Griezmann says to me, "Can you please fix me?" He doesn't even say it. He just squeaks it, basically, as much as a male person with his tone of voice can. "I know how much of a horrible person I am. I know I've done absolutely awful things to you, only because I was insecure and needed to make myself look better, and you were the only person I had to do that, because... I don't know why. I'm just... awful... And... I want you to make me better, even though I know you owe me nothing. I only owe you the world."
I tighten my grip around his body, staring forward. I know I shouldn't, because I shouldn't make any promises to stay loyal to being a friend to someone who has hurt me so much, but without thinking anymore, I say, "I'll help you, Antoine. Then you can give me the world that you owe me."
"I know I've made your life miserable. I've said the most nasty things to you, and kicked and punch you so you're all bruised up, for years."
"I know you have, too, and it's awful, but if you want to stop, I'll be the first one to help you stuff, because I know firsthand how bad you can be."
He shifts, pulling away, muttering, "Damn me, crying in front of you."
"Antoine, it's okay to cr-"
"No, it's not. Not for me."
"I guess that's step one to 'fixing you', then, Antoine," I smile softly. "Because it's okay to cry."
He shakes his head with a sigh. "I really am messed up, huh?"
"Yeah, maybe, but there's got to be a reason." I'm not about to lie and say he hasn't been a horrible person for years to me, because I still have emotion wounds from that I'm trying to get over. I am about to, though, say that I see he's a broken person, and that's why he did it, and if he wants to be fixed, of course I'll help him do that. At least that would mean he'd (hopefully) stop abusing me, right?
"There is," he breathes. "But no excuse."
"I know. There's never an excuse. But what's the reason, Antoine?"
He looks at me with very soft, gentle blue eyes, looking very unsure to tell me for a moment, before saying flatly, "My papa. The reason I'm like this is because I'm just like him. I even look like him. I'm a jerk like him. He'd always put me down, so I'd use you to push myself back up."
"When's your birthday, Antoine?"
"March 21, why?"
"You'll be eighteen then?"
"Yeah."
"What do you want to do with your life, Antoine?"
He sighs, leaning back again on the pillow. I continue putting the tepid water to his face on the sponge as he says, "I'm trying to see if any football club will have me. Everyone is very wary because I haven't been in a football academy because whenever I asked I was called spoiled. I have skill, though, and I think with professional training, I really could be good. It's just that when I walk in with my messy brown hair, tired eyes, and Puma hoodie, they don't see a football star. They see some sad teenager who's just chasing dreams that're never happen. They see a guy that should figure out what he's gonna do with his life pretty darn soon because it's not going to be football. That's what they think when they see me. Before I even walk out of there they know they're sending me home, not to get my bags, but to have yet another realisation that no one f***ing believes in me. I mean, I don't know. Maybe that's all they are. Dreams that will never happen. But I need to play football. It's the only thing that makes me happy. That's what I want to do with my life, Reese, but no one wants me!"
I sit there silently for a few seconds, before muttering, "I bet somebody will take you, Antoine. Why don't you rest now?"
He sighs, muttering back, "Sure..."
He's out in a matter of minutes. I fix up his covers a bit, and after a while, I get my phone and call the kitchen, telling them that Antoine cannot volunteer today because he's sick. They thank me for the situation before I hang, up, gazing upon Antoine. I really, truly can't believe it.
When Gabe comes home, I tell him about Antoine's condition in my room, and he says he'll have to drive him home by the end of this day, because he can't just be staying with us and sleeping in my bed. I don't like this idea. I don't want to have to send him home this sick to his father, but I guess there's not much else we can do.
Then I ask him if he can keep a secret. I just need to tell somebody this. He says sure, and I make sure he won't even tell my mum. He says he won't, unless she asks, because he can't lie. I know she won't ask, so I tell him who 'Pierre Dubois' really is- the jerky kid who's abused my for years named Antoine Griezmann. I tell him about what I've learned about him, and how he really does seem to want to be a better person. I tell him that I think now that he's finally hit rock bottom, he realises that what he's been doing for years hasn't been working, and that being a person like that really doesn't get you far in life.
He nods, saying that my theory may be right, but that I should just put up boundaries and be careful with him, and that if Antoine ever does anything to me, I should tell him, because he'd make sure things were sorted out. He knows that Mum would do nothing, so that's why he wants me to turn to him.
I nod. I then tell him about the other things about Antoine. The fact he has never called me 'Reese' in his whole life- most of the time it's 'Reese Mallory'. I've told Antoine hundreds of times not to call my by both my first names, because no one does, but he's always been persistent to call me Reese Mallory. I don't even know why. Sometimes, in a teasing way, he's called me Reesy or simply shorty. I tell Gabe about Antoine's football and his eyes and his hair and all those fake friends he has and his dreams for life.
Gabe just smiles, shaking his head, saying, "Just be careful, Reese. You sure are talking about this kid in a rather fond tone."
