No Place Like Home ✔

Eight

It was the fourteenth day. It had been two whole weeks since I had started begging, and I had already paid all my bills and my rent. I was even able to afford the book I had always wanted to read - and that was the greatest feeling ever. 

However, that tinge of guilt never left, and it never would. It stayed in the back of my mind, in the centre of my heart, right in my peripheral vision. It was everywhere I went. And each passing day, it only got stronger. It came back just as soon as it left, one could say. 

That day, Adam showed up a little later than usual. In the beginning, I assumed he wouldn't show up at all and ended up getting somewhat upset over it. I couldn't tell why, but I narrowed the possibilities down to either me enjoying his company or me just wanting someone to strengthen the guilt I was feeling so I wouldn't feel horrible about not feeling anything at all. 

You heard that right. I was thankful for the guilt. It reminded me that I was still human regardless of all the bad decisions I had made the last two weeks. It reminded me that though I was taking advantage of the kindness of other beings, I was just as capable of possessing the same amount of kindness. 

And then I had days where I doubted that too. Namely, days where I'd feel nothing at all - days in which I wouldn't feel bad for taking advantage of people and using them for my own monetary gain. I couldn't explain why or how I worked the way I did. I couldn't explain anything at that point. I was nothing but a lost soul being sucked into a tornado of misery. 

All the sentiment aside, Adam did show up finally somewhere around half past eight - and he'd brought something with him. 

"I got you something!" he said, holding his hands behind his back with a look of excitement on his face. 

"What is it?" I questioned in an uninterested tone. 

"Oh, come on. At least pretend like you're excited."

I raised my brow at him, "I wouldn't want to get excited over a beetle."

"Why would I bring you a beetle?" he questioned, tilting his head. "And what's wrong with beetles? They're cute."

"They're disturbing," I interrupted. "What did you bring?"

He took his seat beside me like usual and placed something onto my lap. I looked down. 

A book. 

Not just any book though.

"James Bond?" I read out, already smiling. 

"Mhm!" he exclaimed, his smile nearly as wide as mine, if not wider. "Remember that day when you said you didn't have a home to read any of the books or watch any of the movies?"

There it was again.

The guilt. 

In the last fourteen days, the guilt had outrun the ill-determination. It had begun overweighing the determination. It had formed a boulder of itself and had perched itself onto my shoulders, so I would have to carry the weight all along. It had formed a whirlpool of its own and was now beginning to drag me into the abyss, slowly yet surely - and I was doing nothing to prevent myself from sinking. I let the guilt overwhelm me entirely till there was little to no determination left. 

But there was nothing I could do now. I was making money. I had made a friend. This was all I had ever wanted. 

Yes, I could have done it differently. I could've made money and found friends in a different manner, but at the time this was the only way I could think of. Finding a job isn't as easy as you think it is either, mind you. I wouldn't know, though. I've never tried getting myself a job. 

"You're helping me out with my report and so I decided I should help you out too. I mean, I don't really have a choice because it does ask us to help the person out in our reports-"

"You said you were doing an application-based report, right?"

"Yes, what about it?"

"Isn't everything else doing the same as well?"

"No, not really. They just come up with a person and make up their own personality and struggles and all that - and then they solve the person's problem by themselves too."

"How does that even work?" I scoffed. 

"Have you ever taken psychology?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure that's not what they normally do."

"Normal is boring," he said with a soft sigh. 

Normal is boring. Something I heard quite often. 

Then why do people always yearn to be normal?

"Normal isn't boring. It's considered normal for a reason."

"It's better being unique and uncommon."

"People always hate you when you're unique and uncommon," I mumbled. "And they're the same people who say 'normal is boring'."

"Who hurt you?" he questioned with a soft chuckle in an attempt to ease the tension. 

"Me."

I had come to the realization that though Adam and I shared a similarity on the basis of our names, our opinions and views often contradicted each other. If he saw the world through eyes of optimism, I saw them through the eyes of pessimism. If he deemed the colour of an apple to be red, I'd refer to it as green. If he said he'd rather drown than burn alive, I'd prefer being engulfed by the raging flames. 

We were polar opposites.

But we never argued with each other too much whenever we found ourselves disagreeing on something; at least he didn't. He was always so understanding and could comprehend where I was coming from - almost as if he were putting himself in my own shoes.

I admired that. I admired him, the man seated beside me on the pavement in front of an old store. I hadn't met such a person prior to meeting him, and I was grateful that this man was now in my life. If I were a cloud, he was the silver lining I so desperately needed. 

If I were homeless, he was the home I needed.