No Place Like Home ✔

Four

They say when someone shows up into your life unexpectedly, you should do anything in your will to keep them; because chances are, there's a reason they were brought into your life.

In what way is that relevant to this story? You're about to find out.

"I don't have much to say at all," I lied, fumbling with the material of the shirt I'd damaged to ruins. "You don't have to do this."

"Do what?" he questioned, looking over at me. This compelled me to look at him as well and I finally got a better look at him. 

He was well put together yet not quite at the same time - with dark locks that were neatly brushed back except for a few stubborn strands sticking out here and there. His dark hair complimented his dark eyes perfectly; eyes that were hooded in deepfelt curiosity. Eyes that were accompanied by faint bags underneath them, a reflection of his sleepless nights. The skin around his cheeks was red and irritated and made it seem like he was blushing, which I found to be quite intriguing - and the colour did his pink lips justice - with the upper lip being thinner than the lower which was more plump in comparison. 

He wasn't someone who would make you stop in the streets if you ever came across him, nor would he make you want to spare a second glance. To put it shortly, he was neither attractive nor unattractive - speaking from society's point of view. At the end of the day it only comes to what you find unattractive. 

I thought about whether he looked better than I did. 

I had short, dark hair that always stayed in it's place - a trait I was thankful to have gotten from my father. I was also gifted with chocolate coloured skin, a trait I'd borrowed from my mother, and it praised my dark eyes a decent amount. My facial features were what would be considered conventionally attractive yet not so much at the same time. 

My body was what I took pride in. I didn't have the chocolate abs people often spoke about or the washboard abs that my brothers did. I was born with a slight belly and I had never attempted to get rid of it. I loved every single inch of my body, though I did have days in which I doubted myself. 

"What's your name?" he asked out of nowhere, breaking our staring-contest session. 

"Eden," I responded, monotonous. "Yours?"

"That's sick! Like the garden of Eden?" he noted. "Mine's Adam. Like Adam and Eve."

That made me crack a chuckle, "What a coincidence, huh? Who's your Eve then?"

I found the tension in the air that had once surrounded us begin to dissolve gradually. I began to feel more comfortable with this stranger whose name shared somewhat of a similarity with mine. This stranger who had mustered the courage to sit behind another complete stranger - just to ask him about what was going through his mind.

"My Eve?" he questioned, confusion laced in his tone. "Oh! No, I went for Steve instead."

That made me laugh too. 

"You're funny," I commented. 

We were silent for a second or two before he spoke up yet again, "How did you end up like this?"

"Homeless?"

"Yes."

I chuckled inwardly. 

If only you knew.

"Just bad luck, I guess."

"There's no such thing as bad luck," he corrected. "There's always a reason."

"Not really," I retorted. "If someone were to die, would you not blame it on bad luck?"

"They died for a reason. A cause. Ever heard of diseases?"

"Still bad luck to the person who has to grieve," I mumbled. 

"Well, if you put it that way.. I guess you're right."

That sparked my interest. Never had I ever met a person who was willing to admit that they had been mistaken. Never. I, myself, possessed the stubbornest of minds and would stop at nothing to prove my point - even if it weren't true at all. 

"Did you only recently become homeless?" he began. "I've never seen you around here before. I often come here for walks at this time."

"I just decided to move streets," I let out with ease as if I were telling the truth. "The street I was in before this didn't really have a lot of people. I barely made a penny. All people did was tell me to get a job and whatnot - call me lazy and all that."

"I'm sorry," he replied. "People are horrible."

Oh yes they are.

And you're talking to the most horrible one.

"You don't know how horrible they can be," I said. "And you should be glad you don't."

"You sound like you've seen more than you should've," he remarked, shifting in his position. "I'm sorry the world's been so cruel to you."

I opened my mouth to form some sort of response, but he carried on:

"See.. that's the thing. People only make bad decisions because of how horrible the world is to them. In that aspect, you can't really blame the person - you only have society to blame. I guess the person deserves a little bit of blaming on their part too for giving in to all the pressure.. but the society's equally responsible."

I tried not to show how much that little rant of his had affected me.

"You hate society that much?"

"I do."

"You and I are both a part of the society you hate so much."

"I've heard that one before," he nodded. "We blame society but we are society."

I said nothing.

"Eden?" 

"Yes?"

"Why do you think I hate society so much?"

"Beats me."

"It's because I am a part of it as well."

I blinked once. Then twice. 

"Are you trying to say that you hate yourself?"

"In a way, yes," he confessed. "But I'd rather not get into too much detail. I might let out more than I should to the wrong person, you know? No offense. I'm not saying you're a bad person. I just.."

"You can't trust someone on the side of the street that easily."

"You make me sound like a horrible person when you put it that way."

I paused for a second.

"Well, after all - you are a part of society. People are horrible. Society is horrible. Everything is horrible."

"It's not that deep," he said with a chuckle. "Maybe you're just seeing the world through horrible eyes."

I thought he'd meant my vision, and so I said nothing.