Losing It

Chapter 2- Losing to Pain

We made our way through the town. When I say 'we' I mean he walked and I was a deadweight on his back being no help whatsoever. And when I say 'town' I mean the backstreets where everything is old and tumble-down and the place where the poor and weak are forced to live among the drunk, violent, and criminal. As we passed through the diseased streets I watched as some men harassed an old lady for her goods and some boys abused a girl’s body. It always happened. And as long as the rich and wealthy stayed in the centre of the town living in luxury, the poor would be forced to suffer as desperation drove people to cheat and steal in order to survive.

Eventually we reached out destination. Exactly where our destination was I'm not sure, but we arrived there none the less. It was an apartment block, old and worn out but this was the better part of the backstreets so it looked luxurious compared to where I called home. As we entered the building I realized this must be where the boy lives. He made his way up the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to room 204. No lock. That would have broken years before.

 I stared around the room in amazement as we entered his home. Although the furniture and walls were faded, this room was luxury. The kitchen was cramped into a corner and I could hear the hum of the fridge. There were two doors going off into other rooms, one of which I guessed was a bathroom. Across on the far wall was a large window which provided light for the room. There were two chairs at the kitchen bench where meals would be eaten. Over by the window there was a guitar and piano. I wondered if he could play them for me. His bed was a double. It was lovely and big and had faded blue sheets. Most of the room, I noticed, was blue.

He crossed the room to his bed. As he placed me on it I smelt his skin and hair. It was sweaty from the effort it took to carry me to his home. Under the sweat was a fragrance I couldn't place but it intrigued me so I inhaled it again.

“Umm…. If you don’t get let go of me I can’t get any ice for your ankle.” His voice startled me out of my trance and I awoke to discover my arms were still wrapped around his neck. I quickly moved them away, blushing a deep red and staring intently at the guitar. He gave me an amused look, before chuckling and walking off towards the fridge.

When he opened the freezer compartment of the fridge, it made a “pff…” noise and some mist floated out. He rummaged around for a bit before pulling out an icepack and shutting the door. He walked over to me, crouched down, held the ice to my ankle, and started talking.

“I’m Gem. I know, I know. It’s a girl’s name. But I can’t really do anything about that. What’s your name?” he stared up at me with hopeful eyes waiting for a response. I didn’t give one.

“C’mon,” he sighed, disappointed. “I’ll run a bath so you can wash that muck off.” As he carried me over to the bathroom I caught a glimpse of sadness in his eyes from not being able to get an answer from me.

When the water had filled the bath Gem turned the taps off. I leaned over to feel the water when the shift of weight caused my ankle to cry out. I yelped as the pain hit me. Gem instantly spun around.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes filled with alarm. I pointed at my ankle and he instantly understood. “You can’t get into the bath because of your ankle.” I nodded. He returned my nod understandingly. Then he had a thought.

“You can’t wash yourself with those wounds can you?” I shook my head.

“Then how can you get clean?” I stared at him.

“Oh no…” he said, a mixture of embarrassment and horror on his face at the realization of what I was implying. “I am not…” But we both knew he would. There was no other way. And that’s how Gem ended up giving me a bath.