Chapter 1
365
I fucking hate rain.
It was all Kris could think as he limped down the deserted ally, bloody, bruised and now soaked. His mind clouded with thoughts of relieving this rejection he felt in his heart by slipping a cool sharp instrument across his wrist and bringing a new scar to the many others. His excuse of rain trailed down his face. He did not deserve half the shit he got. His parents, gone from a car accident that happened before he could even enter high school. The many jobs he so desperately needed, lost because of the bruises and cuts that appeared on his face without given reason. The bullies at school he could have easily took on, if they fought fair for once. Kris kept it all inside. His face, emotionless. Earning him the title, Machine.
Everything suddenly turned black. My forehead and body were pressed against the wet floor. Great. I tripped over air. I push myself up off the ground onto my knees, only to fall flat on my butt again. Were those legs? A cold wave shook my body from head to toe. I gulped hard and turned my head to confirm, indeed, they were legs. White pants with large black stains all over, and the feet attached, barefoot. What the? I cautiously crawl over to see the torso that I couldn't see before due to a few garbage bags. It was a boy, that looked younger then me. His hair jet black and short, his eyes were closed and lips were slightly parted, as if he was sleeping. "Hello?" I call out to him. No response. Maybe he doesn't speak mandarin? Even still, he would have responded. I move a bit closer, and call out to him once more.
No response. Don't tell me he's dead. I look carefully at his body. No blood, that's always a good sign. His chest is moving so that means he's breathing. I push myself to my feet and look around. No one in sight. I can't just leave him here. Against my better judgement, I pick him up from his legs and back, holding him close to my chest, bridal style. He lifelessly lies in my arms as I carry him the few blocks to my apartment. He felt almost weightless in my arms.
Once I got him onto my couch, I quickly ran to the bathroom, getting a towel and a first aid kit. I walk back to the living room, turning on the heat before kneel by the couch. The first thing I do is dry his hair, face, and arms. His breathing was normal, so that was good. I place a hand on his forehead softly. No fever. I then look to his clothes, stained in black. I bring my index finger to one of the stains on his shirt and rub slightly. It felt warm and sticky, like blood, but of course it couldn't be blood since this was black and smelled like, I brought my finger up to my nose and smelled, nail polish? I stood up once more, this time heading to my room. I dug through my closet and retrieved some black sweatpants and a black hoodie. I return back and set the clothes to the side.
Oh god, I hope he doesn't think I'm some pervert. I close my eyes as I pull his soaked pants off his body and toss them into the unknown. Blindly, I made a grab for the towel and attempt to pat down his damp skin. Wait, why am I being so weird about this? It's not like he's a girl. I open my eyes to see him still motionless. His legs were milky and looked smooth, somewhat delicate. I let my eyes wonder up them, looking for any type of wound. When none found, I lifted his legs and fit them into the sweatpants I had supplied. A little long, but at least their dry. I then moved over to his torso. I gently wrap my arms around him and lift him up. His head lifelessly tilts back. This guy is such a heavy sleeper. I grab the bottom of his shirt, lift it up over his body, but not without a little struggle. He falls back to the couch while I throw his shirt to meet his pants. I turn around and freeze in my spot. A shock of cold enters my body as I gaze at his chest.
Right below his collarbone, on the right side, there was what seemed to be, what looked like a branding. The symbol looked like, a hourglass, with two lone numbers on the bottom that read 10. The lines to the pattern, purplish and swollen with black crust in a few places. Must be from the nail polish stuff. I take the towel and gently pat his torso, leaving the branded skin for last. After I gently cleaned and dressed his wound, I sat there, watching him. I watched his chest rise and fall slightly. I watched his pale lips part slightly each time he took a breath. I closed my eyes and just listened to the sound of his soft breathing...
"Kris! Wake up! Please wake up!" I open my eyes to see a blurred figure hovering over me. Something wet hitting my face, right below my eye. I blink a few times to see a teary eyed Luhan, my best friend. "What happened?" I sit up only to be pushed back down as Luhan's arms wrapped around my neck and his body pressed against mine, bringing me into a tight hold. His body slightly shook. I smooth my hand in circles on his back in attempt to calm him. "I thought you were dead!" He cried in broken sobs. "Dead? Why would you think such a thing." I ask in a hushed tone, still trying to calm him. "I- I came to see if you wanted to eat breakfast with me and your apartment door was wide open! And there you were on the floor!" He started to cry even harder. My door was open? Wait, what about... I look over to my couch. He was gone. He must of left while I was asleep but why leave the door wide open?
I was brought out of my thoughts by Luhan's hands on my face. He was staring at me, teary eyes and his lips were cutely pouted. I didn't like him, but I'd be lying if I said he wasn't cute. His thumbs messaging my face lightly. "Your face is all scratched up again." His voice only a whisper now. That's right. I forgot to clean my face. I weakly smile at him. "I'm fine." I reassure him, but of course, he doesn't buy it. He only wordlessly reaches for the forgotten first aid kit and starts to gather supplies from it. I sit up properly, with my back against the couch, letting him take care of me. He gently dabs the cotton ball dipped in medicine on my forehead, where it burns like hell but I dare not complain. Luhan's face, emotionless. I could tell he was upset but didn't want me to know. He was like an open book to me, since I've known him for almost seven years. I lean in and press my lips against his forehead. He stops, and then I feel him tremble under my lips. I knew he was crying again.
"Just don't leave me. You're my only friend." I hear him cry into my shirt that he now had in his death grip. "I won't leave." I assured, only this time, I wasn't half lying. I swore that no matter what, I'd protect him, which is why I hadn't offed myself when my parents died, or when I lost hope in general. He was my best friend, like my brother. He needed to be protected. After being like that for a few moments, he stood up, wiping his tears from his eyes and shuffled to my kitchen, mumbling something about making breakfast. I moved my hand through my hair and looked out the still open door. I wonder where that black haired boy went? He's probably long gone by now.