B watched as K left then turned his attention to the two men standing at the door.
"I'll leave you two alone then?" Roger said before leaving.
The other man entered B's room and sat where K had been previously sitting. B stood up and sat in his window, not wanting anything to do with the man. B knew who he was, he had seen him before. B glanced above his head.William Murphy. So this was who Roger had called. The therapist.
"Allow me to introduce myself-"
"I know who you are." B interrupted, shoving his hand into his now empty jam jar.
Murphy opened the notebook he was holding and readied his pen. "So you remember me?" He said with a smile. "It's very nice to see you again, Backup."
B threw the jar he was holding at the man's feet, causing him to jump. It shattered on impact, pieces of glass scattering all over the floor.
"Don't call me that." B snapped. "It's B."
Murphy looked at B worriedly, and wrote something down in his book. B glared at the book, watching as the pen glided over the paper.
"Oh, yes, B... how could I have forgotten?" He said with a hint of unease. "So how have you been?"
B wiped his hand on his shirt and stared out the window. Gray clouds lingered in the sky, it looked like it would rain soon. How depressing.
"Roger has told me you've been acting violently again." He said. "Would you like to tell me what happened today?"
B rolled his eyes and sighed. No. B wasn't even going to bother answering him, he probably already knew what happened anyways. He wondered what K was doing.
"B?" Murphy called.
B ignored him again, and continued to stare out the window.
"B, I'm not going to be able to help you if you don't talk to me."
"I never asked for your help." B said quietly. "I don't need help."
The man wrote some things down before looking at B again.
"B, you do realize you attacked X, correct?"
B stared down at his bruising hands and tried not to smile.
"He is very badly hurt, and you seem to be acting like you did nothing wrong." B was silent. "This is not the first time you have attacked someone."
All Murphy was trying to do was guilt B into speaking; but it wasn't going to work. The man was boring him and B was done listening. He stood up from where he was and made his way to the door, disregarding the glass that was covering the floor.
"B, the glass- where are you going?" Murphy asked in confusion.
B ignored the man and walked past him, shards off glass lodging into the bottom of his bare feet.
Murphy grabbed ahold of B's arm, getting a good grip on him. B's eyes went wide and he forcefully pulled his arm away from the man, stumbling backwards a few steps.
"Touch me again... and I'll cut off your hands." He growled.
Murphy stared at him in shock, then quickly began writing something down in his book. B smacked the notebook out of his hands, before exiting the room.
...
B noticed K's bedroom door was closed, Wammy was probably still in there with her. He turned right and ran down the hallway, hoping Murphy wouldn't follow him. Once B got to the end, he looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was there. Surprisingly, the man didn't follow him. B opened the last door in the hallway, which led to the attic, and began to make his way up the stairs, closing the door behind him. It was forbidden by Roger to go in the attic, but B snuck up daily. No one ever locked the door, so it was as if Roger was just asking B to sneak up there. Since he shared a room with A he needed someplace to go where no one would bother him. It was a dark, cold, old smelling room. There were no lights, just small square window on the far left side of the room. Under the window was a couch and a bunch of crates filled with old things, and a mattress was leaning up against the wall. More crates and boxes filled up the rest of the room, it looked like no one had touched them in ages.
The air was thick with dust and cobwebs, but B liked it. He sat down on the old couch and stared out the window at the view of the forest behind the orphanage. B pulled his sleeves over his palms and began biting his fingernails, resting his head on the couch cushion. His eyes began to feel heavy and he started to doze off. The last time B had slept was about 3 days ago. It wasn't that he couldn't sleep, he was afraid to sleep. B was exhausted, but tried to fight his tiredness. Reluctantly, he soon gave in. B drifted off, feeling his tired body sink into the couch.
...
It was dark. Empty beer bottles littered the floor and dirty stains covered the carpet. A putrid smell hung in the room, it was something like puke and spoiled food. B heard drunk rambling which soon turned into shouting. A middle aged man appeared out of thin air and grabbed B by the arm and pulled him close to his face. B couldn't make out his expression, it was as if a dark cloud hung over his face. They were inches apart, the man's breath reeked of alcohol.
"It's your fault!" He screamed in B's face. "It's all your fault!"
He threw him on the ground and clenched his hands around B's throat.
"She would still be here if it wasn't for you!" He growled, releasing one hand from B's neck but tightening his grip on the boy with the other.
B tried to scream but nothing would come out, he couldn't breathe. He saw the man was now holding a broken beer bottle in his hand.
"You're going to pay..." The jagged glass inched closer to his face. "I'm going to make you feel what she felt..."
...
B suddenly gasped and blinked himself awake. He brought his hands up to his neck; it felt numb.
"Just a dream..." He mumbled to himself.
He sat up and looked out the window, realizing it was sunset. Had he really slept that long? Murphy Roger and Wammy were probably looking for him. B lazily stretched his arms over his head and yawned, then unlocked the latches on the window and opened it. A cold breeze rolled in, sending a shiver down the boy's spine. B climbed out onto the roof, carefully gaining his footing before closing the window behind him. He got on his stomach and let himself slide onto the lower level of the roof, where he then walked past many windows before stopping at the one across from the big tree. It was K's window.
...
K was laying on her bed playing with her hair, staring up at the white plaster ceiling. Some of it was cracked and peeling, making interesting shapes for her to look at. She suddenly heard a banging noise coming from her window that caused her to jump. She looked around, unsure of what to do, and heard the banging noise again. K sat up and walked over to the window, where she saw B crouching outside. He was hitting his head against the glass, the wind blowing his already messy hair around.
"Beyond...?" She said, confused.
He looked up at her and gave her a small smile. K ran to her door and quietly shut it, then ran back to the window and let B in.
"What were you doing out there?" She asked as he climbed in and sat on the floor, wincing in pain. "That man was looking for you."
"I know." B said, awkwardly holding his foot up to his face so he could look at it.
The bottoms of his feet were caked with dirt and dried blood, the pieces of glass still stuck in his skin. K got down on her knees next to him and looked at his feet, a disgusted look on her face.
"Come to the bathroom."
...
B sat on the edge of K's bathtub, his feet soaking in the warm water. K was sitting on the floor beside the tub, making little braids in her black hair. "So what happened?" She asked, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers. B moved his feet around in the water, turning it a dirty brown color.
"He made me mad." B murmured. "I told him before to never call me that name and he did."
"You know him?"
"Yes he's my..." B hesitated. "My therapist." B bit his lip. He wanted to throw up jut saying that.
"Oh." K said quietly. They didn't say anything for a while.
"I don't need him, though." B finally said. "I'm perfectly fine."
He took his feet out of the tub and sat on the floor next to K.
"He wouldn't stop asking me questions, it was irritating." B began picking the glass out of his feet. "And he kept writing about me in his book, he's going to tell Roger everything I did."
Specs of blood soon covered the bottom of his foot.
"I don't think Roger likes you." K said, watching as he struggled to dislodge a tiny piece of glass from his foot.
"Roger doesn't like anyone." A pile of glass soon formed on the tile floor, and there was a knock at the door.
"K? Are you in there?" It sounded like Roger.
"Speak of the devil." B mumbled.
"Yes?" K answered.
"Who are you talking to?"
"...No one." K said, looking at B.
They heard the sound of the door opening and before either of them could react Roger and Murphy were standing at the bathroom door.
"Backup." Roger said, shaking a pill bottle in front of him. "These are for you."
B felt an enormous wave of rage go through him.