Bellow
"Get your useless ass back here, boy!" the slovenly drunk man bellowed, staggering as he lumbered after me, my blood chilling with cold anger as I stalked out the door, escaping the oppressively hot tin-can that masquerades as my home.
My lips curl with bitter contempt as the slob that pretends to care during the social worker's monthly visit, but usually makes my life a nightmarish hell stumbles, collapsing on the floor in a puddle of his own drool as he loses consciousness. A derisive smirk slips over my face as I rake an icy glare over him, flexing my hands and think of how easy it'd be to end his existence.
All it would take is flick of my wrist. But he's not worth it.
Wincing, I bring my hand to my throbbing cheek, swiftly changing a mottled black and blue because I never saw those iron fists flying. That's what I get for getting lost in dreams over a certain petite brunette – a lesson learned for reaching beyond my station even in my daydreams.
Laughing bitterly, I spit a mixture of saliva and blood and storm away from the trailer park, needing to get away before I gave into the cold temptation whispering seductively through my battered soul and head to the only place I shouldn't. To see her even if she never knows I'm there.
Clambering up the fire escape I've spent many a night contemplating, I fling one leg over the wall of her balcony before realizing she's not asleep as I expected but watching me apprehensively, journal open on her lap. Straddling the wall, I claw at my brow, wondering how to explain my presence, when she climbs out of her lawn chair, walking towards me.
"Michael?" she queries cautiously, soft chocolate gaze caressing my face, sucking in a startled breath as she takes in my bruised cheek, running the rest of the way to the wall. "Oh my God, Michael, what happened? Are you okay?"
Her hand reaches out, cupping my stinging cheek tentatively, brushing gentle fingers over the bruised flesh, sorrow filling her eyes as they met mine. Sliding my eyes closed, I turn my cheek, pressing it into her palm, rubbing against the soft skin, allowing myself one brief moment of comfort before remembering she wasn't mine to seek out.
Jerking away from her touch, I bit back a shuddering breath and shrug indifferently as I start to swing my leg back over the wall. Good going Michael, leave one form of temptation behind just to jump into another. "It's nothing. Just stumbled while doing rounds. See ya, Parker."
"Michael, wait!" she called, chewing on her bottom lip and shifting uncomfortably when I let my foot rest on her balcony again, watching her with bored apathy. "Let me take care of that for you. I…uh…I have an ice pack and did some first aid training this summer. And….umm...you…I'm a great listener if you, you know, need to talk."
Snorting derisively, I fix her with an incredulous look, and smirk. "Don't you ever get tired of saving people, Liz?" I asked unable to keep the bitter hostility out of my voice. Better to feel angry than give into the despair that lurked under the surface, leaving me open and vulnerable.
Her hand snaps back, confused hurt flitting across her face as she watches me wearily through sable lashes, pursing the lips that I dream of every night. "I just wanted to help, Michael," she whispered.
"Don't." I snapped, turning back to the wall, climbing down before I caved and sought sanctuary in soft pink lips and vanilla-scented skin, knowing only she could save me from myself, yet unwilling to drag her down into the abyss with me.
Dropping to the ground, I stare up at her once more, hands clenching as my mind and body warred, before breaking into a run, unsure who I was running from – her or myself.
