Mate Massacres

Chapter 8

Pip had been comfortable in the library for hours. Then an odd feeling brewed in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure if he was anxious, annoyed about the pain in his fingers, tired from doing homework since he got back from the doctors, or irritated that he would rather stay in the library all evening than go home to his aunt and uncle.

If Pip went home before he was due to finish work, his aunt and uncle would make fun of him for being so bothered about his fingers, then lecture him about how important it was that he paid his share of the rent, which Pip had paid since he was sixteen.

Two year dragged by and he had never paid it late.

Pip tilted his head towards the splints. He didn't know if his fingers were broken because he decided not to go to the hospital. The doctor just bandaged him up temporarily, though Pip ran out of there before they could convince him to walk five miles for an x-ray.

Pip lowered his book, and for the first time in hours, someone else was in the central part of the library. Pip's eyes glanced to a guy sitting in one of the leather armchairs with sunglasses and a hood up. He looked to be staring his way, but the guy held a book open near his face and was most likely lost in another world of fiction.

Pip's eyes drifted back to his own book, then to the homework all around him.

He had missed dinner, but at least he was caught up on the work for tomorrows lessons. Pip sighed. Another Monday morning was arriving way too soon. The lack of sleep had burrowed deep behind his eyes. They stung every time Pip blinked. He was up early tomorrow for college and needed a good night's sleep.

Time to go home, Pip thought and crammed things back into his bag. When he packed away the homework, pens, and his water bottle, Pip walked to the bookshelf, which was just behind the couch.

He reached up to the shelf where his book belonged, struggling. Pip stood on tiptoes, yet still, the shelf was a few inches above his hand.

He looked left and right for the step ladder, but someone had moved it. Pip glanced back up to the space between two thick books, wondering why his belated growth spurt hadn't yet happened.

He tried reaching again, stretching further than before, feeling the muscles in his sides pulling until a hand took the book from his grip. Pip stopped standing on his tiptoes and watched the large hand slot the book back into place.

Pip's eyes moved to the man wearing the sunglasses, who now towered over him. He felt the body heat radiating from him because he stood so close. Pip flushed red and cleared his throat. "T-Thank you," he squeaked and stepped back.

The guy said nothing, only watched as Pip backed away into the couch. Pip chuckled nervously, feeling himself getting hotter by the second. "I-I'm going now... um-" Pip threw his bag over his shoulders. The man's blank expression didn't even twitch. "Thanks again, for the... uh..." his words, like they usually did when he was flustered, lodged in his throat.

Pip turned abruptly and hurried out of the library before he could embarrass himself further.

He tumbled down the steps and once he breathed in cold air, he relaxed. In the library, Pip's head turned to mush in seconds. He was so used to feeling invisible, that someone noticing he had struggled and helped was like a gift from the heavens.

He smiled to himself and hurried down the street. Pip's mind replayed the act of kindness until a car horn, and bright headlights ripped him into the present.

"Get out of the damn way, Pippor!" a man yelled.

Pip leapt onto the cobbles quicker than the guy could give him the middle finger. The car continued to reverse, then sped off down the road. Only when it screeched around the corner, Pip realised his uncle was the one to nearly run him over. Thanks for the lift, he thought glumly.