The cells had no lighting. Darkness was our constant companion, and we learned to eat, sleep, talk, and live in it.
Trying again, this time I put my hand on my brows, covering the sunlight beaming at me from the clear blue sky above while birds chirped in the background.
What the ever-loving fuck?
Shifting my neck to the side, I came face to face with a man sitting opposite me, his back resting against the huge brick wall.
He had a long silver beard. His clothes were dirty, his shoes had holes in them, and he could use some washing. I didn't give a shit about any of it. What snapped my attention were his kind blue eyes gazing at me worriedly.
It reminded me of the look Damian always had for me. “Who are you?” I asked, wincing as it scratched my throat, dry from the lack of fluids. He quickly lifted a rust-and-dirt-smeared cup to my lips, and I took a sip, welcoming the relief it brought.
Maybe that was life after death? Some old dude welcomed you and told you everything was over.
Could this be death? Was there an option to just cease to exist altogether? Because I would have signed up for it.
“Name’s Duncan. Do not move. Might bring pain to your neck and nose.” He pointed at the cloth. “Didn’t have anything better to help out with, although Marty found some expired antiseptic and we used it.”
Blinking a few times, fully accepting it was some kind of transition between life and death, I inquired, “Marty?”
He nodded. “My buddy, he’s out on the streets getting food.”
Food?
Why would anyone need food here?
“Who beat you up so roughly, kid? They didn't even leave your clothes on. Good thing Marty used to be a doctor. He made sure your nose was put back in place.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, and added, “Was it some gang? No one likes homeless.” He patted my hand gently. “Don’t you worry. Marty and I will take care of you.”
Homeless.
A memory from the past associated with this word popped into my head.
Daddy trailed slowly behind us as Damian and I learned to ride our bikes. The weather was nice, a soft breeze cooling our heated cheeks as we laughed carelessly.
Suddenly, a man appeared, sitting in the middle of the street, hungrily eating food like he hadn't seen any for days. The dirt smeared around his hands made us stop, and Damian called out to Dad, “Daddy, why is this man eating here?”
Dad’s eyes narrowed and then gentled as he stood between us, both of his hands on our heads, patting softly. “The man had something bad happen to him, and now he is homeless.”
Frowning, I shared a look with my twin, and then I asked, “What’s homeless?”
“It means someone doesn’t have a home or money and needs to live on the street and get food from wherever he can.” Damian winced. He couldn't even stand it when something dirty touched his clothes, let alone food.
Tugging on Daddy’s shirt, I made him lean down, as I whispered in his ear, “I don’t want to be homeless, Daddy.”
He kissed me on the forehead, murmuring, “Not if I can help it.”
So it wasn't death after all. “How did I end up here?”
Duncan rested his chin on the lid of the cup, as his eyes went up, and he had this deep-thinking expression. “Some man dumped you here, and you were groaning in pain. Not the first time we saw something like this, but hey, you’re a kid. No one should hurt a kid,” he pointed out, and tears slid down my cheeks. As he wiped them away, he murmured, “There, there, don’t cry, kid. Me and Marty will help you out, you’ll see.” So the world wasn't an evil place where all men wanted to hurt children?
Could it be possible Tim took pity on me and decided to let me live?
Breathing the fresh air into my lungs for the first time in eight years, something akin to hope blossomed in my heart, and the future started to brighten up for me.
Being homeless was better than being someone else’s toy.
Rosa
The pilot, wearing a white shirt with an emblem of the Bratva on the pocket, tight black pants, along with a round hat, smiled at me in welcome, and called to Dominic, “Can I have a word with you?”
