I hate my job. My boss is a dick, my coworkers are spoiled assholes, oh and I don't get paid enough for the shit I have to tolerate. Whatever at least it's Friday and I can get away from these fuckers for a few days. I know I sound like a whiny bitch, whatever. Right now I need a hot shower, a beer, and a decent bed, not exactly in that order. But of course I have no such luck. On my angry walk to my car I hear a soft noise. Most people would ignore it, thinking it was an animal or something of their imagination, but I know it's not. I know that noise. Fraternal instinct kicks in as I slowly make my way down the ally. Stopping at a dumpster I hear the noise again, a soft faint whimper, almost sounding in pain and fear. My heart beats hard in my chest, as I edge along the dumpster, finally getting a glimpse of the noise. The sight that awaits me scares the living piss out of me and makes me sick to my stomach. A man... wait no, a boy sits, huddled in the corner, his body only being covered by a pair of ripped sweat pants. The parts of exposed skin are covered in fresh cuts and bruises. Pale skin is stretched tightly over sharp bones that protrude out, patches covered in dirt or blood. Slowly he looks up at me with wide green terrified eyes. Giving another soft whimper, he tries scooting away from me but cannot due to being as far in the corner as he can go. I know I can't leave him sitting there and from the looks of it, contacting the police would be disastrous. So I do the next best thing. Emptying my jacket pockets I unzip my hoodie, stepping closer to the boy I gently drape the garment over his shaking shoulders. To my surprise he doesn't try to run or get away from me. He tightens the hoodie around his shoulders as I bend down to scoop him up.
"Im going to help you. Don't be afraid." I whisper in his ear. I see him swallow then nod slowly, unsure if he wanted to trust me. As my hand slides under his legs, I feel a wet patch right at the base of his pants. My stomach drops when I realize what it is. Blood. Someone raped him.
I held him tightly as I practically ran to my car. Finally getting there, I set him down gently in the seat, shutting the door and running over to the drivers side. It's not surprising he doesn't say a word the whole drive to my apartment, but every few seconds I glance over at him. Now that I look at him closer he looks to be about 16 possibly 17. So young to be in this condition. I find a space to park and quickly get out, once again scooping up the broken boy and taking him to my apartment. Luckily I lived on the first floor and it was already late enough for everyone to be asleep. Explaining this to curious eyes would be difficult. Holding him with one arm and unlocking the door with the other, I quickly make my way through the house and into the bathroom. First things first, he needed to get those cuts cleaned. I set him down on the toilet lid then turned around to start the water. When I looked back at the boy he was looking up at me with a mixture of fear and confusion.
"Don't worry" I say, trying to put his fears to rest. "I need to to clean your wounds before they get infected." He doesn't fight me as I pull the hoodie away from him and start on the sweatpants. I have to hold is a gasp as I see his exposed skin, his cuts and bruises are more noticeable in the light and fresh blood covers his thighs. He winces slightly as helped him into the tub and lower him into the water. Bathing the boy took a lot longer than I anticipated. It might of gone quicker if I didn't have to practically beg him to turn around. As much as I didn't want to have to check, I knew that I needed to make sure there was no damage. Luckily nothing looked to be torn, and it didn't look as if I needed to take him to the hospital. After getting him settled back into the water, I finished with washing the dirt and grime out of his hair. After seeing him clean, the cuts no longer looked as bad as before and his skin had more of a softer hue to it. I dried him off and helped him into an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxers then lead him into the kitchen. I was by no means a good cook but from the looks of it, I don't think he cared. I made the first thing my fingers touched which happened to be a can of soup. With the steaming bowl sitting in front of him, he stared down at the warm liquid then looked up at me.
"Am I allowed, sir?" He asked. I was shocked that those are the words he says the first time he speaks.
"Yes, and please call me Mike. Oh and you don't need to ask, just please eat something." He nodded, diving into the soup quickly. It was obvious he hadn't eaten in days. Within five minuets the bowl was clean and he sat back, licking his lips. He reminded me of a young child in a way.
"Ok buddy I need you to tell me something before you go to bed." He looked hesitant but still nodded. "What's your name?" He bit his lip, looking away.
"My name is Billie joe"
