Misunderstandings

"So, what were you doing here at a time like this?"

"I was at the library. Just a group study session with my friends. Tell me first, who were those two? And why in the world were they chasing you?"

Bryant winced as he touched his swollen cheek. "It's... it's a long story."

After guiding Bryant to the nearby corner store, I led him towards the restroom. He leaned over the sink, splashing water onto his face, attempting to cleanse away some of the bloodstains. Meanwhile, I swiftly gathered essential supplies from the store's shelves - bandages, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and soft cotton pads. It was evident that we needed to mend him right here and right now.

Initially, he resisted my efforts, struggling to stand and make his way to the store's counter himself. But his wobbly legs gave way, and he stumbled back to the ground. Finally, he silently accepted my help, allowing me to assist him to his feet again.

With his arm around my shoulder and my arm supporting his waist, we slowly made our way to the store's counter. I could feel the weight of his battered body pressing against me. Good thing he hadn't lost consciousness; otherwise, carrying him would have been an even greater challenge.

As we reached the counter, the storekeeper, an elderly man with a thick pair of glasses perched on his nose. He glanced in our direction but remained silent, directing us with a nod toward the restroom located at the rear of the store. It seemed he'd witnessed countless peculiar encounters throughout the years. I guided Bryant to the restroom and then proceeded to collect the items I required from the store.

"Just think of them as troublemakers, probably bored out of their minds," Bryant muttered as he turned off the tap. I carefully poured some rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad. When I began to dab it onto his cuts, he winced and let out a sharp, "Ouch... ah... hand it over. I'll handle it myself."

He snatched the bottle and cotton from my grasp.

"Are you acting like a kid now? You didn't flinch at those bad guys, but this has you yelping?" I chuckled, which seemed to irk him a tad. He scowled, biting his lip, and continued tending to the cuts with the alcohol.

"Oh, and I brought this too. Have it."

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing my outstretched arm, as I handed the chocolate bar to him.

"Reese's. Didn't you say it's your favorite?"

"You've remembered it? Seriously?" Bryant stared at the chocolate bar, then at me, and suddenly burst into genuine laughter. It was the first time I'd seen him laugh, not in a sinister way, but with a genuine, hearty chuckle.

"So, did you pick the fight yourself, or was there some other reason?"

"Do you think I'm that dumb-?"

"I mean, yeah..." I couldn't help but tease him. After all, the people he got into a brawl with, including him, seemed to lack common sense. Though I shouldn't be saying that out loud... for the sake of my neck.

"Well, these kinds of things happen everywhere. If you're weak, you'll be weeded out by the strong. But sometimes, that's not the end of it. When life gets monotonous, some folks aim to crush even those as strong as they are, just to assert their dominance."

So the strong have their own problems too.... At first, I believed Bryant was just like Hugh, someone who crushed others to stay at the top. But now, seeing him nursing his wounds... maybe we're not all that different after all. The facade of being at the top... and the shadow that overbears the presence of the weak – what did these things really mean?

I must have been staring because Bryant hissed, "Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?"

"Oh... nothing," I stammered, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "I was just lost in thought."

Suddenly, the door behind us slammed open, startling both of us. My heart leaped to my throat for a moment. Were those two troublemakers back? I turned around to see who it was.

"Reol, there you are! I was looking for you all over the place."

"John?" I was taken aback. But beyond surprise, I was feeling a multitude of other emotions, emotions that were difficult to put into words. Was this kindness? Friendship in action? Though it was me who had called him earlier for help... honestly, I hadn't expected him to come rushing over here. 

"Oh, and Bryant, you're here too," John exclaimed, panting heavily as he leaned on his knees for support. 

"John, did you run all the way here?"

"Yeah. I was actually puzzled at first, wondering what on earth was going on. So, what happened exactly?"

Could it be pity? Yet, the way his eyes conveyed sincerity and relief... Just hours ago, the only think I could think of was to put as much distance between us as possible. I didn't want to look into his eyes even. After what he told me in the library... just how much of John did I truly understand? It felt as though I had completed a full cycle on a ferris wheel, only to find myself back at the base, back at the starting point. "Actually, Bryant ran into some thugs, and they roughed him up pretty bad."

Bryant elbowed me on the back hard. "Don't phrase it like that!"

"Alright, my bad. I suppose you understand now why I called you."

"To make them think you had backup, huh?"

"Yeah, but I never expected it to actually work."

"It was quite the gamble, but I guess it paid off. I was literally on edge, thinking about what I'd do if things were really out of hand."

"Doesn't matter. I could've handled it myself," Bryant retorted.

"The same guy I had to practically carry here." I teased, gently patting him on his back.

"Alright, alright, I give up," Bryant conceded with a grin.

I guess Bryant was right back then... we're really so often to make others misunderstand about ourselves... just as often as we're to misunderstand others too.

After John bid us farewell, Bryant and I found ourselves on the quiet streets, a somewhat strained silence enveloping us. Bryant leaned on me for support, his steps unsteady and fatigued.

We continued to walk, the night air gradually growing cooler, our only company the soft shuffling of our footsteps on the pavement. It felt as though we were both ensnared in our thoughts, replaying the evening's events in our minds.

Then, just as it appeared we had reached his house, Bryant abruptly halted in his tracks. His steps became hesitant, and he seemed reluctant to go any further.

I regarded him with puzzlement. "What's the matter, Bryant?"

At first, he evaded my question, his gaze dropping to the ground as if in search of the right words. Eventually, he let out a sigh and admitted, "Actually, this afternoon, I had a heated argument with my mother. I said some really hurtful things and then stormed out of home. I'm pretty sure she doesn't even want to see me right now."

"Would you like to talk about it?" I offered gently.

"No, I don't."

I knew I shouldn't intrude. I've had my fair share of arguments back home, and now, as I looked at him, those memories seemed to resurface, uninvited. Similar words, similar pain. "But what's your plan now?"

"You've already poked your nose in too much. Just leave me be."

Saying things... for which I later regretted, words left unapologized for. Looking at Bryant now, I started to grasp the significance of owning up to one's mistakes and seeking forgiveness. "Allow me to meddle a bit more. If you believe you're at fault, then apologize. But don't carry that burden needlessly."

My words seemed to hit a nerve, prompting him to lash out at me. "What do you even understand, huh? Being blamed for everything and anything! And she won't even listen to me... not even once."

Those same words... I vividly recalled uttering them too... to my brother, to that person I met on the rooftop. But I had never imagined that someone else might be feeling the same way as me. "But if you leave it like that..." It felt like watching my own breakdown. "There might come a time when you'll regret it, not being able to say 'I'm sorry.' And that hurts the most."

He slumped his shoulders down again, calming down. "Listen, thanks for helping me out tonight. And thanks for saying that too. I'll handle this on my own from here...."

Despite his words, a storm of worry brewed within me. It felt as though an invisible, heavy shroud clung to him, as if beneath his tough exterior, he secretly yearned for someone to help shoulder his burdens, even if he was hesitant to admit it. "Alright," I reluctantly said, finally releasing his shoulder. "But if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me."

But as we were about to part ways, out of nowhere, a woman appeared, striding toward us with determination in her eyes. She seemed to materialize like a specter, and before Bryant or I could react, her hand connected with a resounding slap against Bryant's cheek.

The sudden, sharp crack of the slap reverberated through the quiet night, leaving us both utterly stunned. Bryant staggered back a step, his hand instinctively rising to his reddened cheek. Surprise and confusion flickered in his eyes.

Was she Bryant's mother? I couldn't be entirely certain, but there was a strong resemblance between them, especially in their eyes, which bore a striking similarity in different ways.

"Bryant, how did you get so hurt? What were you up to all this time?" She finally spoke, posing one question at a time.

Still rubbing his cheek, Bryant retorted, "Why are you hitting me then!? Can't you see that I've cut my lips?"

His mother's stern expression wavered for a moment, as her eyes widened, seemingly taking in the extent of Bryant's injuries. However, her emotions quickly shifted to a blend of anger and relief.

"Don't you dare say that. Do you realize how much I worried about you?" Her voice cracked as she fought to restrain her tears. In a heartbeat, she pulled Bryant into a fierce hug, both of them sinking to the ground. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she held Bryant tightly with her emotions gushing forth.

"I searched for you... everywhere..." she sobbed. "Do you even know how terrified I was?"