La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

19. Pays des Merveilles

La Mort et ses Merveilles

Chapter 19: Pays des Merveilles

Leslie had nothing but a blank stare as he sat there, his bloodied hand placed on the table. The traces of his tears on his reddened cheeks were shiny, reflecting the light of the kerosene lamp. He didn't even flinch as I picked out the small pieces of glass in his hand with a pair of tweezers. He was lucky the glass didn't hit any arteries.

It was getting dark by then, the sun setting in the horizon. I had locked all the doors and windows earlier, preparing to stay the night.

I still couldn't believe what I had just seen. To see Leslie suffering like this was just heart wrenching. I was upset, and I was still trying to hold back tears. But I couldn't even imagine how Leslie was feeling.

As I cleaned out the cuts on his knuckles with a bottle of antiseptic, the young man finally spoke, breaking the silence.

"He raped me," he muttered, his lips quivering ever so slightly.

I could only reply with silence. What exactly can I say? There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say to take away the pain. I just held his other hand, clasping it between my palms. He looked at me with his deep set eyes, tired and defeated. Eyes that were red and puffy from crying.

"It's all my fault," he said. "If I fought back harder he wouldn't have done that. If I wasn't so weak-"

"No," I cut him off, choking on my tears, my palms clasping onto his as hard as I could. "Leslie don't you ever say that. It wasn't your fault. He did this to you, it wasn't your fault. Not at all."

The young man started crying again, gasping for air through his sobs and hiccups.

"Why would he do this to me?" the poor boy muttered through his tears. "Why?"

I didn't have an answer. I could only bandage his injured hand in silence. He was still bleeding, but it wasn't as bad as before. He had punched a mirror when he broke down, and I didn't blame him.

I just wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay, but I couldn't. This was severe trauma that he had bottled up for years. And it just festered within him until it finally exploded. I didn't know what to do.

"I'm so sorry," that was all that I could say.

Words are cheap. I wish I could do more to help his pain.

"Me too," he muttered.

"You know," I said as I walked up to him. "You should rest. It's been a really long day."

The young man said nothing as I helped him up. Lamp in one hand, and Leslie's bandaged palm in the other, I led him back to the living room.

Leslie sat down at the sofa, saying nothing as he wiped away the tears in his eyes. I managed to get a fire going in the fireplace, using firewood and fuel I found in the basement.

As the flames cackled away in the fireplace, eating away at the pieces of wood, I sat down beside Leslie, just trying to make sure he was okay. It was then I remembered that he had packed dinner for us. Heading over to the kitchen, I grabbed a pot with a long handle, two bowls and a couple of spoons.