Evolution (Completed) ✔

5: Awake

If it wasn't for the blue Megadeth banner hanging on the back of the door, Miles would have thought he was in someone else's house. The spotless room was the most clean it had been in three months. His clothes were in his drawers, the sweaters in the closet and not a single chip bag was to be seen on the floor. Weird.

He stretched his arms above his head, he wasn't sure if he could sit up yet with the gruelling, nauseas feeling in his stomach. He tried to recall any memory of the night previous, but could only remember Tyrell carrying him out of the truck.

He sat up, head pounding and his brain surging in his skull. Blindly, he felt around his night stand before his hand fell upon the glass. He held it tightly and brought it to his cracked lips. Water dribbled down his chin and spilled all over his shirt but at least half of it went into his mouth. The ice cold water froze his teeth, but his dehydrated body was grateful. The clock beside him read 3 p.m, he had slept for at least twelve hours.

The searing pain in his leg had numbed down to a dull throb. He shuddered as the image of the gash replayed in his head,the blood and puss that practically oozed from his bone. His eyes hastily moved down to the leg, he could hardly bring himself to lift up the blanket. He wiggled his toes first, they moved fine and so did the muscles in his calf. Slowly, he brought his knee up to his chest. The stiff leg moved pretty good. Was he moving the wrong leg? No, he was sure it was his left leg. He greedily ripped the blanket from his torso, rolling up the fabric of the sweat pants. His calf was bruised and scratched, the flesh dark blue with purple blood vessels. Besides that --- no cut, no stitches. Nothing. He checked his other leg, the one he'd injured at school.  It looked in better shape than the first. Weird.

He gathered up his courage and stood up from his bed, gripping on to the dresser for support. His legs wobbled as he opened his bedroom door and slid down the hallway. He caught sight of his old peewee hockey metals and laughed. The whole scenario reminded him of the first time he went skating.

His dad's tall head of coal coloured hair  sported a bulky helmet. With his features cast in a shadow, he stood blocking the sun. Miles clung to the boards for dear life, his blue hockey stick  discarded on the ice behind him.

" C'mon son, it's like sliding down the hallway in your socks. Just push off," The man stood on the opposite side of the rink, " Skate to me, then we'll go for hot chocolate."

He tried to bribe the five year old and it worked pretty well. The blonde boy's ankles wobbled, he pushed his long bangs out of his eyes. The ice glimmered like a million tiny diamonds in the January sun. The winter air blew bitter and cold, but the sun seemed to heat you up through a light jacket. The dad grew a little impatient, he checked his watch from under a black glove. But sure enough, the son slowly pushed one foot out in front of him. He glided on one foot, the other trailing behind him.

" Quick, use your other foot!" His father shouted.

Miles shakily pushed his left foot in front of his right, he put out his arms for balance. To some, it probably looked as if he were just walking --- but he felt as if he were flying.

Learning to skate was probably the best thing he had done in his life. Canadian winters were boring and cold unless you knew ways to have fun outside. He hung on to the floral wallpaper, and took the advice of his five year old self. He slid one foot at a time down the hallway, a musky, mint scent pervaded the air of the kitchen. The curtains in the living room were open and Miles shielded his eyes.

" Why didn't you tell me you were awake?" It was Aidyn, sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee in his hands.

" I didn't think anyone was awake," Miles sat beside him, sinking into the worn cushions.