It Only Takes One

Four

Harley:

I was weak, my energy had been drained. My pulse was rapid and uneven. What else could he possibly want from me? To know what the doctors had said? If I was going to tell anyone what had actually happened? I managed, "What do you want?" It was a low voice and I had to force the words out. It hurt my chest to talk, but I gathered it wasn't going to be a long conversation.

He sat there, still twiddeling about the remote, staring right at me. "You know, when I was at high school, there was a kid in my year. He was tall and lanky, not many friends. Anyway, one day he came in and was covered in bruises. They were all over his arms and legs, his back even had scratches. One of the teachers noticed and asked how he'd got them, he said 'My Father Sir. He hit me because he was drunk.'"

I didn't understand why he was telling me this. I didn't understand why he was here. "What's your point?" I asked.

He continued to stare, watching my every move - as little as they were. Then he laughed, a short, harsh laugh. "My point is this. Nobody believed that kid because he wasn't quite right in the head, a few screws loose. You can tell whoever you want about what happened, but you know what? Nobody is going to believe you, because you're just a messed up kid like him."

He pushed himself up off the seat and walked to the side of my bed. My body was shaking, I put my hands together to try to hide it. I felt dizzy from the panic of having him so near to me with no-one else around, no-one to protect me. 

"Remember what I said. I'm just trying to look out for you Harley." Is that seriously what he called looking out for me? Beating me up and leaving me for dead, to come see me in hospical. "I'll see you around, kid." Then he just vanished out of the door. I wasn't quite sure whether or not that had really happened. But my arm still hurt from where he had had hold of it. 

Great! I had some pysco threatening me and nowhere to live once I left this hospical. I didn't know anything anymore; who were my friends, where would I live, was there any point in telling someone what he did to me. The one thing I knew for certain was that I was never going back home.