"You okay?" The boy from the autographed picture approaches me after the scene. His voice sounded deeper than usual.
"Yyyee..yeah." I stammer. I trace the marks with my fingertips that left my wrist stinging. It's no surprise that Daniel has a grip. He almost has to for him to win all the fights he does.
"He's not going to bother you anymore," the boy reassures me. I don't feel very reassured. There are days Daniel is a very predictable creature and there are days where he's the furthest from that. Mostly, his behavior is very sporadic. There's no telling when or whom he'll strike. If he's determined enough he'll go through anybody to dish out what he thinks is deserved.
"Why is Daniel afraid of you?" I burst out. I can't bring myself to look further than his black shoes. If Daniel is scared of this guy and he's one of the scariest people I know, than there's a reason I should be scared of him too.
"He's not afraid of me," the boy says shortly. I stare blankly in confusion.
"Are you guys friends?" I ask trying to comprehend their relationship.
"Not by a long-shot, I'm not friends with his type," he chuckles and sits down beside me.
"I don't get it." I shake my head left and right. "How did you do it?"
The boy tilts his head to one side, his blonde hair sweeps with it. "How did I do what?"
"How did you make Daniel stop?"
He lets out a long and drawn out sigh. "It's a bit complicated at times."
"Oh." This is all say. I figure if he really wants to tell me he will and I should just leave it at that. There's no good reason for me to get nosy. I stand up and start rearranging the magazines that cluttered the floor.
"It's not friendship or fear that makes him listen. I have a lot of control," he says after several moments of silence.
"What do you mean?" I ask as I flip the table back into its original space.
The boy stoops down and collects a pile of magazines with me. "It's a piece of cake, really. Little Daniel has a major addiction to pot. He's the craziest I've ever seen and he'll do just about anything to get it. I'm pretty sure he's convinced that he can't function without it so I've supplied him a few times." He pauses to see my facial expression before continuing. "I've also got him out of trouble with the police a couple times as well so he owes me. He owes me big time."
"You deal drugs?" My face produces a look of disappointment and worry. It's one thing to do drugs, where you're only harming yourself, but it's another if you're dealing them and harming others. I don't think I could ever do something of that nature knowing what could result of that. Do drug dealers even realize this or do they not care?
The boy shows me his pinky. "Got him wrapped around my finger."
"Oh my word." I say meekly and a hand flies up to my mouth. I'm in the same room as a drug dealer. I back up a couple of steps.
"Hey, it's alright." He speaks in a light tone. "Hey..." He whispers softly.
"No," I say hoarsely. How the heck was I supposed to know that he's safe to be around or that he's even telling the truth? He's been high a lot lately and his insight and judgement have probably been heavily impaired.
"No?" His face falls and he seems almost ashamed.
"How do I know you're not going to hurt me? I don't think I can trust you." I warily bring the magazines I've been holding closer to my chest. I want to run away, but something inside me tells me not to.
