Disclaimer: i'm too lazy to put a disclaimer read the previous one.
I blinked, sure that I was hallucinating, for the gorgeous blue eyes I was staring into, did not seem to be part of a body. I blinked again, and my vision came into focus. I was laying on the ground, completely soaked in mud. I had fallen asleep in a puddle and consequently was very wet. oh another thing, a boy was leaning over me.
Though I could now see the rest of the boy, his eyes were the feature I noticed first. but then again, I wasn't staring for long. Days without food had left me very weak, and upon waking up, I promptly passed out.
When I awoke some time later, I was surprised to see that the boy was still there. Not only was he there, but was sitting beside me, absentmindedly stroking my hair. The simple gesture made me want to cry. My mother used to sit with me for hours, and stroke my hair, while I spilled out my problems to her. Her soothing voice used to calm me, and help me sort through my emotions. It felt so good to have someone care enough t to do that.
No one had done that since my father died, when my mother stopped having the time to spend sitting with me, or talking with me, rehashing the day's events. Since her death, my mother had been worried about making ends meet, whether we would have enough food, enough left over to pay the rent, any spare time meant another job to fill it.
No matter how much I waned to, I didn't cry. Since Julia left, I had wanted to cry every moment. I regretted burying my emotions under a calm and relaxed face. Since Julia left, I had wanted to shriek and shout, moan about the unfairness of life, and sob until my tears ran dry. I wanted to cry but I had forgotten how.
At last I forced myself to sit up, only to have a gentle hand push me back down. It was the boy. He whispered to me, "It's ok, I wont hurt you. My friend is going to get you food. Don't try and sit up until you have some food."
His gently voice warmed my frozen heart. Right there, I began to fall in lobe with him. I didn't know anything about this boy; I didn't even know his name. But it didn't matter. The gentle concern in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. But his eyes also held intensity, and a danger that I didn't understand. His eyes held too much worry for a teenager. They made him seem old beyond his years.
He didn't know my story or me. He had no idea how I came to be on the streets, starving, filthy, sleeping in the mud. But yet, this boy was the first person I saw in days that didn't shrink back from me in disgust, as even other street people had done. I fell in love with his compassion. He had no reason the stop and take care of me. He did it out of the kindness of his heart.
Feeling a little stronger, I voiced the question that had been on my mind since I woke up. "Thank you for helping me, but Who Are You?"….