DESTITUTE || HS ✔️

one

I recalled when I met him. When everything in my life had popped out to me, and all the flaws and mistakes had been shown as he had stomped into my life and made a big storm. It actually wasn't really a big storm, though it was just a collision at the first stoplight from my house. From so many arguments of how I almost ran him over to how much his hospital bill would be for the stitches implanted into his head, I did not like him at all.

From his arrogance to how terribly jealous I was of his perfect fitting skinny jeans, it all was a mess, especially the deep gash on his forehead. But then, I thought I would never see him again, I truly did, and for some reason, I was completely fine with that. Seeing the boy who put a large dent into the side of my already-broke down car would have been slightly not good, but as he went away, I was quite happy. But, from what I have learned, happy moments don't always last long, and this one did not.

A second time happened, him getting almost run over by my car. Another dent, but in the opposite side of it, and another large gash in his head, but on the other side. A dent for a dent, but not the good kind. We had met again, both of us now at the hospital for uncalled injuries. He told me this time it was another mistake, and that he was running across the road so the ice cream truck would not be out of his sight. The first time I had accidentally hit him was because a bird was chasing him, so he thought my car could hit the bird.

I thought every single damn one of his little explanations were lies, from the bird chasing him to the ice cream truck. It was beginning to be funny as he continued to tell me the story of how the bird was chasing him because he had a french fry and the bird was chasing the french fry. So, I replied to his stories by telling him that I hit him with my car because I saw a bee on his back as he was running, and I saw the stinger coming out, so I saved him just in time. All I got from that story was a long glare.

The boy's name was Harry. Harry was the one whom I had seemingly ran over. His stories were still claimed to be true, and I had started to believe him as we were laying side by side in the emergency room. The hospital nurse had claimed that Harry and I were a couple because she noticed our bickering, which made us look like a couple, so she put us in the same damn room. Although I thought that could not happen, it did, and the doctor's really did believe that we were a couple.

And, we both refused to every single one of the nurses and their little bickering about if we were a couple or not. But, as time went on and we stayed in that room for two days, I got to know more about the boy. And every single thing he told me, I thought they were all lies as if the first thing he told me, which was the bird story, was not true.

From what I had listened to, Harry was homeless. But, he wasn't homeless because he just didn't have enough money, he did, somewhat. Harry chose to be homeless for the hell of it, to experience. He told me that he loved traveling so much, so he just dropped everything. His apartment, his job, every single damn thing. When I first heard that story, I, well, I thought it was not true, and then I proceeded to tell him how hard it was to get a job and back up from being homeless. And then, it just took a few words for him to explain that he didn't care. Harry was experiencing, with human beings themselves as well as nature.

That was all that he told me, only those three stories. And then the nurses came in and told us we could leave anytime we wished. Immediately, Harry and I got up and left, leaving that room for God knows how long before we would meet again. But, there wasn't another meeting with my car and his physical body, but it was him coming inside my house.

I invited him to stay, to stop experimenting with nature and human beings because he had enough of that for six years. Six years, he was put into this hole called the outside world, this terrible place, and I knew he was sad. He was sad because he was lonely, and no one was there for him when he needed somebody. But, as he walked through the doors of my welcoming home, I told him he wasn't lonely anymore as long as I was there.

And after all the bickering of him coming into my house and where he should stay, he slept in the room next to mine. The shower I had told him to use came in handy when I saw him come into my kitchen with a towel hanging lowly off his torso, screaming, "it worked! I'm finally clean again!" Harry was happy and proud of his accomplishment to finally be dirtless, but on the inside, he wasn't completely spot free. His flaws were still inside him, and they would never leave just as every human being.

Surprisingly, Harry wasn't embarrassed when he came running in that towel, but man. As I was trying to force my eyes not to look lower, they did, and they saw the scandalous ink drawings laid upon his skin. Harry noticed because he followed where my eyes were and a pink tint came upon his cheeks as his feet scuffled back and he tried to walk out. Notice that I said tried due to him tripping over his feet when he back pedaled and the towel was unleashed. His lanky body had fell down on my hardwood, and the towel was laid beside him, leaving his glory open and bottom peeking up at me.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" I remembered him screaming aloud, quickly scrambling to grab the white towel that laid beside him.

My eyes had still been glued to his bare bottom, and I was frozen. Well, my body was physically frozen, but my blue eyes were flickering at the 'I love Vegas' tattoo in the middle of his left butt cheek. And by the large blush appearing on Harry's face when he wrapped the towel tightly around his torso, he knew I saw it, but he was not ashamed. I recalled the words as he walked out to go to his bedroom door, something like, "Yeah, bitch. Bet you don't have an ass tat," which had led me to bursting out into a bubble of laughter.

But, at times, Harry was not always this open. Almost every night, I would hear small whimpers from his, well, my room, and would have to walk through his closed door to wake him up from the dark nightmare he was having. And I would have to ask if he wanted to talk about it, which he always resulted in saying, "I'm fine, but I think I lost a couple pounds from all that tossing and turning." He always tried to make the conversation better, but sometimes, I knew Harry couldn't do it.

He would not open up, wouldn't comply. I was aware that I would find out the good way or worse, but by the way he had been, I knew it would be the dark way like his nightmares. Harry thought I couldn't hear, but I could. During his showers, through the thin wood, I could hear the tears being mixed in with the water running down his body. It was all mistaken, but they were so similar. His cries and pleas made everything so terrible, and I knew he had enough experiencing in his life.

started: may 21st, 2016; 11:26 pm

ended: june 2nd, 2016; 2:44 am