A Boy I Know
You don't often find a half-dead boy when you're taking out the rubbish.
Today's the kind of biting cold in December that would make anyone in their right mind throw their rubbish and be back indoors, into the warmth, in two seconds flat. If it weren't for his tattered, black Converse peeking from behind the bulk bin, I wouldn't have even noticed.
But I did, and I recognize the face, bloodied as it may be. My chest aches in a place I thought had long been numb. He slumps against a stack of cardboard boxes, his head lolling back like a puppet with its strings cut. His dark hair seems wet, sticking to his scalp. I only hope it isn't blood. I race through my jumbled thoughts, sifting through the chaos for something that could help me save him. I'm no Florence Nightingale. But this is the one person I couldn't leave for dead.
I kneel down and press my thumb to his pulse point. Weak, but alive and beating. His chest rises and falls shallowly. With a flutter, his right eye opens, unfocused, the left eyelid is too bruised. I shrug off my coat and drape it over him. The warmth triggers something in his consciousness.
I pray for the first time in a long time. "Please, Jasper. Let me know you're still here." I pray so hard I don't even feel the cold.
"..funny," he murmurs in a ragged exhale. "I'm not dead."
I resist the urge to smother him in a hug. "Are you bleeding anywhere?"
"Probably not."
"We need to get you to a doctor." I take out my phone and dial emergency services.
He shouts hoarsely, "Don't! I can't. Not like this."
With some hesitation, I end the call and ask him, "...Is anything broken? Can you move your legs?"
He tries to bend one leg, and then the other. He rips out a pained gasp. Gritting his teeth, he pulls up his left leg. As he's struggling, I feel completely helpless. "Let me call someone from inside to carry you. Please. You need the help."
When he doesn't refuse, I run inside. Luckily Norman, a tenant on the ground floor, is in his room, and he answers my insistent knocking.
"What happened, little lady?"
I explain to him and he follows me outside. Norman carries Jasper and takes the stairs to my room on the first floor. Hastily, I sidestep past him and unlock my door. He gently puts Jasper down on the bed, legs dangling off the edge.
"He'll survive as boys his age tend to, but he's badly beat up."
"Thank you so much. I owe you one."
"No worries. But Sabrina, you should get him to the NHS. Wouldn't want him to suffer from concussion. My brother knocked his head on a low ceiling and the effects didn't appear until days later. He complained of headaches and wooziness. With the punches this boy must've took to the head, he might be worse off."
"I'm fine," he argues feebly.
Norman shoots me a meaningful look and nods as he leaves. I shut the door. The temperature in this room is always extreme, one of the quirks of the old building. Right now, the heat should be almost tropical, but I barely feel it now that the numbness has spread all over my body. Under my coat I only had on thin polyester pajamas that wasn't any help to stave off the cold. I slip on a sweater that was dangling on a chair and turn my attention back to Jasper.
"We need to disinfect the wound on your face and ice your bruises. I also have some clothes you can wear, I think." I pick out an oversized band T-shirt and a pair of baggy trousers from my wardrobe and throw it on the bed.
He doesn't answer me. He doesn't move either. I take out an ice pack from my fridge and wrap it in a dish towel. "Put this on the bruise on your eye." I hand the ice pack to him and he obediently follows my directions.
I know I put the first aid kit somewhere in one of the shelves in my kitchen. With it being a studio flat, there's not much space to keep things. I pull out the box from its hiding place in the back of the shelf and bring it to the bed. I tend to the wound on his face, cleaning it first with a wet towel and disinfecting it with the antiseptic. He winces but makes no sound of complaint. It frightens me how he seems too used to this. I press Band-Aids on the cut on his forehead. "There," I say with finality. "I think this should help as first aid. You heard him, right? You have to get yourself checked by a doctor."
"I wonder why it's you," he murmurs absently. "I haven't seen your face in.. almost four years now?"
A million memories from the past threaten to burst from behind the dam I built in my mind. Seeing him wounded and vulnerable, I feel the cracks in the dam shivering from the strain.
I change the subject. "Take off your clothes.”
"Well, I always imagined this happening in a more romantic way. Some candles, maybe. We've had a nice meal and I borrowed a car I can drive you home in," he drawls. There's a tilt to his lips that I imagine drives girls his age crazy. It only irritates me. “Not that I can drive.”
"Jas, be quiet and do as I say. Or I'll strip you myself."
"The thought seems more pleasing than not, if I'm being honest." Still he unzips his jacket and I help him as he tries to slip out of it. He pulls off his shirt in one sharp tug and he throws it on the floor along with the jacket. There are more bruises on his body, and the pitiful sight of it tugs at my heartstrings.
"Like what you see?" he says mildly.
"What did you do, Jasper?" My voice cracks at the end and the atmosphere of fake bravado he's been putting on softens. He holds my shoulders with a gentle touch.
"Bree, I know you don't believe me, but I'll be fine."
"How could I believe that? Why won't you tell me?"
"Why should I?" His tone is even, measured. “It’s not your concern anymore.”
"You were such a good kid. I should know, I practically raised you. I can't.. I don't understand why this is happening to you."
His blue eyes are dark and bottomless. "I must have needed you more than you know, Bree."
I can't look away for a long moment. His gaze feels like an accusation. I finally break off eye contact first with the excuse of getting him another ice pack from the fridge for the bruise on his body.
He still doesn't know why I disappeared that day. He doesn't know his sister betrayed me.
