It was raining, which was good, 'cause I like it when it rains. It reminds me of a big shower, only outside, and you're not supposed to bathe in it. I learned that lesson the hard way.
Dinner had come and gone, like it always does. I can't even remember what it was tonight. There was no flavor left in my mouth, just a bitter taste that would remind me to brush my teeth later. I wish I could go outside.
I can in the daytime, though; but I'm not allowed to go out in the dark. It gets dark at night. I learned that one the hard way, too.
So, instead of being outside like I wanted, I was inside, staring at the fire that's always here after dinner. I like the smell of burning wood, and it makes me warm, too. The library was full of shadows as the light from the fire danced its way across the walls.
There was a book in my lap, but I really didn't feel like reading. Sometimes I just like to sit, and try not to think about anything in particular.
Because thinking makes me feel lonely.
I jerked my head up when I heard a thud. It came from the front door, but it hadn't been a knock. It sounded like somebody leaving a package, only I don't think mail gets delivered at night. Does it?
I waited for half an hour, watching the clock tick away the slow minutes. There weren't any more thuds. No more noises. Creeping to the front door, I peered through the peephole, but I couldn't see anybody standing there. I couldn't see a package, either, but packages were usually pretty short, so it made sense to me.
Finally, I opened the door. The smell of fresh rain distracted me momentarily, and I hummed happily. I looked down at the door mat. A boy was covering it, blood seeping through his white shirt. He wasn't a package. I checked to see if he had a mailing address, just to make sure, but he didn't. He wasn't awake either.
I dragged him into the house by his arms, and left him in the hall. Where was I going to put him? Wait, there was a couch in the library. I thought I could manage to drag him to it. I got him over to the couch just fine, but it took me four tries to get him up on the couch. He still didn't wake up. Why did he have to be unconscious? That's not very nice, not when he could tell me what to do.
I stared at him as he lay on the couch. At least he was breathing. His skin was pale, where it wasn't bruised, or bleeding, and he had silvery blond hair that was long enough to fall into his eyes. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn't remember who. Oh, well.
I tried to remember what people used to do when I got hurt. I got a bowl of water and some towels from the bathroom. Carefully, so I wouldn't hurt him any more than he was, I took off his shirt and pants. He was really pale, even his toes.
He had a lot of bruises, too. Maybe he bruises easily, like I do. The dark blue-purples of the injuries stood out in stark contrast to his white skin. I didn't know what to do for the bruises, but he had some scratches, and I knew I could help with those. I soaked one of the towels in the water, and dabbed over the cuts. They criss-crossed his chest, like he fell against sharp wires or something, and he had one on his cheek.
I ran the towel gently over the bruises when I was done with the cuts, just in case that would do something, and then sat back on my heels. I brushed the hair out of his eyes. It was bothering me. His chest rose gently up and down with his breathing, and I smiled because he was so…beautiful.
I started humming again, and put a pillow under his head and a fleece blanket over him. I hope it was going to keep him warm.
And then I started to worry, just as I sat down in a nearby armchair. Should I wake him up? Make him something to eat? What if he was hungry? But what if he needed sleep more than he needed to eat? How was I supposed to know what to do? I can't even tie my own damn shoes!
I growled to myself, watching him with growing concern. What if I did something wrong? What if he's broken? I don't know how to fix broken people! Maybe, if he was hungry, it would be enough to wake him up all by himself. So, because he's sleeping, he needs sleep more, right? That makes sense, doesn't it? I threw myself back in the armchair with a sigh, and curled up.
I wonder what his name is.
The library didn't have any windows, so there was nothing to prompt me to wake except for the fact that I wasn't tired anymore. I groggily pried my eyes open. The fire was dead long ago, the ashes weren't even smoldering the tiniest bit.
The boy was still on the couch, and I hurried over to check if he was still alive. He was. I frowned in confusion. Why wasn't he awake yet?
I poked his shoulder irritably, and he moaned slightly, turning towards me, one hand lifting as though to defend himself. It dropped a moment later, though, and he moaned again. It was more of a whimper. Maybe he was having a nightmare. I don't like when I have those.
I brushed my fingertips across his smooth forehead lightly, surprised at the warmth coming from him. Was the blanket too much? Did it make him too hot? I put my whole hand on his forehead then, and yanked it back quickly. Ouch.
I dipped my fingers into the bowl of water from last night. Besides being slightly bloody, it was room temperature. Maybe if I put some cold water on him, it'll cool him down…
Determined to make sure he didn't burn a hole through the couch, I got a bigger bowl with cold water. For the next hour, I knelt by the couch, and wiped down his legs, arms, face, chest, and neck. I think that's what you're supposed to do. I remember somebody telling me this a long time ago, but I think I must've been a toddler, because I don't recall very many details.
Then I covered him with three more fleece blankets, and watched him as he slept. The bruises looked the same, but his cuts weren't as bad as they were last night. At least, they didn't look it to me.
I crawled over to my chair and grabbed the book I didn't want to read last night. Settling with my back against the couch, I started from the beginning, even though I was halfway through it already. I thought he'd like to know how things started. Otherwise the rest of the story wouldn't make any sense. My voice was soft, mostly because I was right next to his ear, and partly because I've never been good at reading aloud. I stumbled a bit at the beginning, but when he didn't make fun of me, or tell me to shut up, I kept on going. It was fun. I made up different voices for each of the characters.
I heard the dinner bell, and looked up in alarm. I turned to check on the boy, and found that he wasn't quite as hot. More like warm, now. I smiled in relief, and went to go get my dinner. I'd eaten in the library before, it was allowed. As long as I was careful. I ate as quickly as I could.
He didn't wake up again, so I figured he wouldn't be hungry. I got some new cold water, and repeated the wiping down process that I'd done this morning. I sat again in my spot near his head, and finished the chapter we'd been on.
I was tired, and I thought it'd be okay if I stopped there, and went to get some sleep. I tried to stand, but my legs were too tired. I shrugged, and curled up next to the couch. The carpet was shaggy and almost as comfortable as my bed upstairs. I didn't mind. It wasn't the first time I'd slept on a floor, and this one was of the pleasanter ones.
