I cursed my hellish life as I sat by the register of the 24 hours open, dirt cheap grocery store that I worked in. I was taking my fourth night shift this month and it was the literal definition of 'death silence' both inside and outside of the rundown building with no customers in sight.

Was I surprised?

Of course not.

No one other than the students from the nearby college who wanted cheap beer came into the store at that hour. And that was only on friday and saturday nights. So the silent hours left me with nothing but to dwell on my thoughts to do.

I had been studying in that same college once. My chest tightened as I remembered the lessons, the classrooms, the professors, the rush before the finals and everything else.

I had been a good student too. My grades had never once gone under average. I had never had any problems with any of my teachers or classmates. I had liked it there. I had liked learning. I hadn't wanted to drop out. Not at my last year. Not before reaching my dream.

I was going to be a doctor.

I could feel a knot forming in my throat but I took deep breaths and shook my head. I wasn't going to let the tears come. I couldn't change anything from then on anyway. Crying over some shit that had happened two years ago wouldn't solve anything either. There were more important problems in my life, ones that I could actually try to fight before it was too late.

For example, that bastard of a man that I called my father and the drinking and gambling habits he had taken on after my mother's passing. The cuts and bruises he gave me whenever he saw me in the house. The pile of debts we were swimming in, or the shady men with the black cars who came to collect some of the money that they had lent to my father every few weeks.

Those were more urgent.

Had my life always been that bad? How had I ended up like that?

Well, my mother Milené, a young and beautiful girl of nineteen who was the heiress of her father's trading business had married my father, Joan Kirschtein, a man of thirty one who was penniless at the time out of her family's knowledge and approval.

Of course, her family had refused to give her anything unless she got a divorce. But unfortunately for her, the man that she loved enough to ignore the twelve years between them was nothing more than a fortune hunter on the inside and after only a few weeks of their marriage, I, Jean Kirstein, was already on the way. My poor mother, Milené, couldn't imagine raising her precious baby born out of her love all on her own so she had refused her family's offer just to stay with Joan.

Meanwhile, he had started to silently debate wheter to divorce the foolish girl who, in the end, brought him not the money he dreamt but another mouth to feed in the form of a brat who hadn't even been planned or wanted in the first place.

They had started to drift apart when Joan's 'luck' returned. A car accident had happened. Milené's parents were no longer there. The house, the business, the money, the lands,... Everything had become hers in one day with a twist of fate. Joan had become loving again. My poor mother had lost everyone dear to her except her husband. As her pregnancy progressed, she had clung to him more than ever. She had slowly accepted her family's death. It was just her, her husband and their baby from then on.

When I was finally born, both of them were the happiest they had ever been. I was going to be the cure to all the pain and sadness my mother had experienced before. I was going to bring her and the love of her life even closer. And in Joan's eyes, I was the guarantee of him getting to keep his prize, his wife and all her money. He knew the overly emotional girl he had married like the back of his hand. She would be more in love with him and would never consider leaving him then that they had a baby. Everything had turned out just the way he had wanted and his rich life had begun.

I had learned all those from the twenty five years old diary of my mother which she had written in every single day after she had met Joan and the drunken babbling of the said man years after her death.

I hadn't read anything after the yellowed page which had my birth date on its top right corner and I had long since learned to tune out the resonating cacophony Joan made in the rare nights that he spent in the house.

I had witnessed the rest of the story from the first moment that I had become aware of my surroundings and the people around me anyway. I didn't need to know about the few years between the last page that I had read and the day which consisted of my oldest memory.

I should have been four or five, I think. It was a sunny afternoon but I was sitting in the living room of the two story house that had once belonged to my grandparents. For a reason which I couldn't remember no matter how much I tried, I hadn't had any desire to play outside that day. My mother was there, sitting beside me on the antique couch that I had liked the most and that had been her childhood favorite as well. She was beautiful as a portrait painted with all the colors that gave joy to the one looking and tender as a dove at the same time. Her light brown eyes and her singing voice as she caressed my hair are the furthest back I could go in my mind when I closed my eyes as if I was born out of that lullaby which I hadn't been able to understand at the time and couldn't remember the words to when I finally learned french after many years.

I felt a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips accompanying the tightening of my chest at the fond and sad memory of my late mother.

She had been the best mother out there. She had always been there whenever I needed her. She would answer all the question that my child mind could think of. She would play the ridiculous games that we made up together with me. She would sleep in my bed and sing to me whenever I had a nightmare. She would hold me whenever I cried and soothe me with her hugs and small, affectionate kisses.

Our life was perfect then when I had my mother with me, when I hadn't been aware of the coughing fits she would have, when I hadn't known of the young secretaries that would call Joan's phone and ask for their lover when my mother answered.

But the good things never lasted, did they?

Everything had gone downhill after a dinner which my mother started coughing uncontrollably and we saw crimson stains on the tissue that she had used to cover her mouth. My seven years old self hadn't understood what was happening. The only thing I had known was that my mother was sick.

I could remember crying and trying to go to the hospital with Joan and my mother instead of staying home with the housekeeper. I had been more scared than any nightmare had left me before. It had been the first time I had seen my mother's thin body shaking that hard as tears run down her face and the ever emotionless Joan that panicked.

I didn't know how I spent that night all alone on my bed with the shadows lurking around every corner and nightmares looming closer nor the next eight years that had followed which my mother had spent in the hospital, never once returning home and with her condition worsening day by day until it was all over one cold february morning.

We had had a fairly small ceremony for her with only the closest friends of my parents invited. It had lasted only a few hours under the light snow and with everyone wrapped in black, contrasting the eternal whiteness around us. It had been all quiet that day, as if the people of the city, the cars and even the animals were aware of the grief I had been feeling. All too quickly, they had buried her and everyone had left. My mother was gone forever. I would never see her again.

I remembered falling into a dark void after she had died, waiting and waiting to finally hit the bottom and smash into unrecognizable pieces.

I had stopped caring about the school, about my ambitions, about everything. I had wanted to become a doctor only because I had made a promise to my mother when she had still been living in that narrow hospital room. I had told her that I would become a doctor and heal her one day. I would cure everyone who had families waiting for them to return home, I had said. I had stuck to that for eight years, working to male it come true, to make my mother proud. But my life had turned empty without her by my side, my promise meaningless.

Joan hadn't cared about me. He hadn't even checked how I was doing at school, how I was coping. He had been free to do whatever he wanted, have flings with whoever he wanted, spend as much as he wanted from then on that my mother was gone.

I had decided to get myself together after I had realised how much of a bastard Joan really was.

He had started to show his true colors as there wasn't anyone who he had to hide from anymore. I had studied hard and won a scholarship for the school of medicine at the college in the town. It had been my way of rebelling against Joan. He had accepted my mother's death easily but I wouldn't. I wouldn't let her die. I would fulfill my promise to her because it had been the only thing that really tied me to her. It had been what kept her alive for me.

Years had gone by slowly. Joan had strayed more and more from the man that my mother had imagined him as. He had started drinking and more often than not, spending the entire night at pubs. He had also started joining gambling parties with men who had shiny black cars and guns tucked in their expensive leather belts.

I hadn't cared about the dangerous shit he got involved in. He hadn't cared about the brat of the girl who he had married only for money. I could go and die like my mother for all he cared so we had come to a silent agreement to not get in each other's way.

But things had kept getting worse. Joan had lost so many times that we had had nothing left from my mother's money in the end. We had lost the house and moved into a two bedroom apartment. We had lost the car and the lands. Everything. Joan had drunk and gambled everything away. In the end, the books and the extra fees that my scholarship didn't cover had become to much to afford. Joan had stopped spending momey for me completely after he had sold the house and I hadn't been able to fund for myself with the part time job that I had had then.

So two years later after the day I exited the college building for the last time, the story found me working at that dirty, old grocery store and trying to collect enough money to leave the apartment I shared with Joan and get out of Trost completely if possible because I just couldn't take the bastard's empty bottles occupying every corner in the house or his beating sessions anymore.

I didn't even know why I was trying at that point. I was a failure. I was unlucky. I was... I would never get to become a doctor as I had promised to my mother. I had let her die. I was stuck with Joan. I would never be free of the terrible man. I would probably die in his hands when he got really drunk and really angry one night. Still, there was that small part of me telling me to keep going, to fight to stay alive...

Maybe it was my mother watching over me from wherever she was and whispering to my ear.

I didn't know. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing mattered. I had no means of escape out of the life I had and I was too much of a coward to end it all eventhough I knew that even one of the cheap razor blades that the store sold would do just fine and save me forever.

I forced myself to stop the train of thoughts. It didn't matter. I didn't matter. I was too warm, too comfortable for those depressing ideas.

"E..."

I could hear a voice in the distance but I didn't listen. I was floating. I didn't want to hear anything or see anyone then. I just wanted to let the soft darkness around me devour me completely and maybe dream of my mother.

"Excu..."

The voice was still there, closer, louder. I started to shake lightly. It reminded me of the rocking motion my mother would use to make me fall asleep when she would pick me up in her arms after a nightmare woke me.

"Excuse me!"

I shot my eyes open. I had fallen asleep somehow on the uncomfortable stool behind the register and a customer had arrived while I was out cold. Great. I would certainly have trouble with the boss the next day.

I blinked a few times to clear the mist out of my eyes and looked at the man that woke me.

Instead of an old, fat drunk with oily hair and a week old dirty beard, I saw the face of a young man about my ages.

He had black pants, a crisp white shirt and a black, silk tie with a dark green suit jacket and shiny shoes on. Definietly, not someone one could see everyday at a small grocery store located on the dirtier, poorer part of the town at three in the morning.

"How may I help you?"

The practised line was out of my lips before I could further examine the guy and figure out what he was doing there. So I fixed my eyes on his face. He had a slightly tanned skin with freckles dotting on his cheeks, shiny black hair and dark brown eyes with thin brows. His face was somewhat familiar but I couldn't place it. But then again, he didn't have any extraordinary traits other than the freckles. My mind was probably just playing with me.

"Sorry to wake you but this is kind of an emergency...do you have a health section here?"

The guy raised his left hand which was fisted around something that looked like a handkerchief which was soaked crimson. My eyes widened at the sight.

"I cut my hand, I need something to wrap it with until I get to a hospital."

I stormed off to the back of the store telling the guy to wait over my shoulder. I immediately kneeled on the floor and found a package of cotton, medical tape, bandages, a small bottle of isopropyl alcohol and a few other things before quickly returning to the register. I left everything on it and turned back to face the guy.

"You need first aid if it's bleeding that much. Sit here."

I gestured my stool and he did as he was told. I quickly unwrapped his hand and started to examine it after slipping a pair of medical gloves on.

"You don't have to do this..."

He talked quietly but I shook my head.

"Are you out of your mind, dude? I told you that you need first aid. What the fuck even happened?"

I asked as I started to press on the cut in his palm. It was fairly large and would certainly require stiches.

"I was driving and I got thirsty but another car appeared suddenly and I dropped the bottle in panic."

I narrowed my eyes as I wetted some of the cotton with alcohol.

"You were drinking while driving?"

I could feel his eyes widening eventhough I didn't lift my eyes from my task.

"It was nothing alcoholic! Just water. I parked and tried to pick up the large pieces but I accidently cut my hand."

"Water in a glass bottle?"

I asked as I wiped at his hand with dry tissues once more.

"Glass is healtier than plastic..."

He muttered weakly and it kind of made sense, I thought to myself. The guy didn't really smell like alcohol and he seemed like the kind of person who would pay five times more to drink some water out of a fancy glass bottle just because it was 'healtier'. I shrugged. I didn't care.

"This is going to sting."

I told him as I pressed the alcohol covered cotton on the cut slowly. He winced a little after trying to hold his breath but stayed mostly quiet as I slowly cleaned the wound.

"You are really good at this...Jean. Are you studying medicine?"

I frowned involunterily.

"No..."

Fortunately he didn't say anything else about the matter, he must have understood the topic was off limits. I bandaged his hand tightly and secured everything with medical tape.

"So, what's your name?"

I asked just too fill in the awkward silence as I started to clean everything.

"M-my name?"

I glanced at him to see a genuinely surprised expression. Probably a rich kid who expected everyone in the neighbourhood to know him.

"Yes, your name since I already know mine."

He blinked a few times as I started to type in the product codes of the things I used.

"It's Marco. Marco Bodt."

He gave me a smile with a different expression as if expecting some kind of recognition from me. Well, I couldn't say I was sorry to not know him.

"You'll need stiches on that hand Marco. Also you can't drive like that. Call yourself a cab and get to a hospital immediately. Your car should be fine in the parking lot."

I put a 10$ bill and took 3$ back bsfore shutting the register. Seeing that, Marco put his good hand in his pocket.

"I should pay for the bandages and everything else, right? How much it is?"

He asked and I sighed. I wasn't going to demand seven dollars from an injured guy who needed to go to a hospital to get his hand stiched. It just didn't sit well with me.

"It's fine. This place sells the cheapest shit you could imagine. Also you will need the money for the cab since the nearest hospital is pretty far away and they charge pretty high these days."

I said in my usual tone and he opened his mouth to argue.

"It's fine. Just call your cab already."

He sighed and fished his hand back out.

"My phone is in the car so...thanks for everything Jean. I will just wait in the car. I need to contact my family too anyway."

I nodded and took in his bright smile. How he managed that, I had no idea. Didn't his hand hurt?

"You are welcome. Just be careful on the way."

He nodded and gave me one last smile and a small wave before exiting and I went to wash my hands in the back and throw the gloves away. I washed my face too before returning to the empty store.

I was fully ready to return to my ordinary night shift in the disgusting place but not quite so fkr the small piece of paper on ths register.

'For the supplies, that you used...

0530 220 5574

Call me sometime. I can be a fun guy, I promise. :)'

I scowled at the note but my eyes widened when I saw the 200$ bill under it. I blinked stupidly at the paper then the money for a full minute.

It was certainly not an ordinary night. Just who was this Marco and why did I care so much? He was just a plain idiot, it seemed, I told myself. I didn't care. I didn't have time to spare to people like him as I worked ten hours a day. And I certainly wasn't the friendliest of the men out there. I would never call a half stranger who I met in the middle of the night after being forced awake at work. I just wasn't like that and between slaving myself to save up a little more and trying to deal with all the other problems in my shitty life, I just didn't have enough energy left to like people.

So, why was I wondering if I would see Marco again?