Words Weigh More Than a Beer When You Have Gastritis - Pt. 2

I stop outside the pub. The cool night air hits my face, but it doesn't calm me down. I cross my arms and lean against the rough wall, pressing hard as if I wanted to disappear into it.

Stupid!

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

My fingers tighten around my arms, driven by a sense of frustration.

I'm not a child!

I look at my hands, small, fragile, as if searching for proof to the contrary. And yet there they are, reminding me of what I am.

It's all the fault of this useless, stupid body!

A lump forms in my throat, and tears flow uncontrollably, tracing hot lines down my cheeks. I try to wipe them away with my hands, but the more I try to stop them, the more they keep flowing.

Why did they do this to me? Why couldn't they at least let me grow up like a normal person?

I feel mucus running down my nose, it annoys me. I try to breathe, but every breath is a sob. I wipe my nose with my arm, ignoring how ugly it must look.

People passing by on the street pretend not to see or hear me. Nobody stops. Just because I'm a mutant, an inferior "thing" not worth even a glance. They don't understand. Nobody understands! I feel trapped. Trapped in this body that doesn't reflect me. Trapped in this life that I didn't choose. Serving a sentence that doesn't concern me.

And then him. Dango. Always so cheerful, so, so... stupid! How dare he treat me like that? How dare he call me a child?

But when the thought turns to him again, something cracks inside me. The anger mixes with a pain I can't explain, something that makes me clench my fists, press them against my eyes, and lower my head.

I don't want to see him! I don't want to talk to him!

... Yet, a part of me hopes he'll come looking for me. That he'll really look at me, for the first time. That he'll say something to comfort me.

But I know it won't happen. Who could ever see anything in me, as I am?

…

The sliding door of the pub opens. I hear footsteps approaching. As soon as they stop, I hear a familiar voice, gentle, but with a more subdued tone than usual.

«Beatrice…»

I don't look up. I just keep my arms wrapped around myself. The knot in my throat tightens even more. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to listen to him.

He comes closer. I can't see him, but I can feel him, closer and closer. He stops a few steps away from me.

«Listen, as you might have noticed, I'm terrible with words. I just wanted to say...»

His voice is calm. It's sincere. And that hurts.

«I am sorry.»

Two simple words, almost whispered. Yet they hit me harder than I'd like to admit.

I remain silent, my arms still wrapped around my body. But his words dig into me.

«Since you've been with us, you've done nothing but endure the hardships I've caused you... And today I even called you a child...»

Those words make me look up, albeit hesitantly. I see him there, with his hands in his pockets, his head slightly bowed.

«I don't deserve all the kindness you've shown me so far.»

My eyes fill with tears, but this time they're not tears of anger.

He takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. He stops a few inches away, takes off his jacket. Without saying anything, he puts it on my shoulders. The warmth of the fabric, impregnated with his scent, envelops me. Gently, he places both hands on either side of my face and with hesitant thumbs, he wipes away my tears.

I feel his warm hands on my cold face. He stays there for a moment, looking me straight in the eyes with a gentle and compassionate gaze.

«Come back inside when you feel like it.» he says with a small smile.

And then, without adding anything else, he turns and leaves, leaving me there with my heart pounding wildly.

I hold the jacket around me, with his scent calming me. I clench my lips, quickly reach out and grab his jacket.

«W-Wait!... I want to come in with you.»

For a moment I fear he hasn't heard me. But as soon as he turns around with a gentle smile, my face heats up.

«Let's go then.»

I walk beside him, my head down and my cheeks burning, unable to stop them.