Climax

My Man - 8

Sam

I couldn't remember this kid's name. I knew him, he wrestles, no, that's not right. Kickboxing. Yes, that's it. But name? It's beyond my reach.

He was sitting on the mattress, grinning at his phone.

"Hheyy..." Why did my voice sound like it's coming out from the depths of the sea?

I cleared my throat.

"Oh, you're awake. Are you hungry?" The kid leaned forward.

"Whhaa..." I stopped. Why am I not able to get out a fucking word?

I tried again. "Whhaats... your... naaame."

Sweet Jesus! What the fuck happened?

The kid blinked. "Um... oh... right. I'm Carl. You remember George Stimson? I'm his second son."

Yes, that sounded right.

I nodded.

"Terr...rence." I said remembering the other boy.

Carl grinned. "Yes, exactly. Shall I bring you some food?"

I nodded again. It seemed easier than talking.

He propped me up in pillows and left.

My right arm was wrapped in a huge bundle, other than that I couldn't see any injury.

My head.

It weighed a hundred pounds.

I traced a finger on the back and found a stitch scar.

Oh.

"Looks like some mushy stuff. Smells nice." Carl placed a tray on a bed table and put it around my lap.

Bed table? Where did it come from?

"Use your left hand." Carl sat back on the mattress next to the bed.

A mattress. Does he sleep here? Why?

Something bitter rolled in my throat. I had no one to take care of me, this kid's doing it out of pity. How has my life come to this?

My eyes burned and I blinked to make sure there were no tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm late. Oh... he's up."

I looked in the direction of the sound.

Millie...

He's here. There's something important about him being here. I couldn't remember what it was.

"That's alright Millie, he just woke up. Today he remembers Terry but not me. I gave him the mushy food from freezer." Carl said.

"Thanks Carl." Millie smiled warmly at Carl.

My stomach twitched.

"Good night, Mr. Quentin. Bye Millie." Carl waved and took his school bag from the floor and left the room.

Millie sighed and sat on the mattress stretching his legs. His shirt was crumpled and dusted with flour. He looked dead tired.

"Not good?" He asked, pointing at my bowl.

I shook my head and slowly lifted a spoonful to my mouth. It took forever and ever and when it hit my tongue, I tasted nothing. It was bland. But it smelled of spices.

How was that possible?

"I'm going to shower. Five minutes. Okay?" Millie stood up.

I nodded, joy bubbling up. That meant he lived here. With me. This must be his mattress. I dutifully took in spoon after spoon of the bland food while thinking through this news.