Eliza

Olivia's car moves down fifth avenue, drawing us closer to my house. I know what is coming next, I think to myself as my entire vision becomes obscured by the focus of him outside of the window. His head is leant against the wall, but the only thing that peaks at the height of my attention is the uncontrollable motion that has gripped his body.

My heart fills with sorrow.

"Let it go, Lize."

I snap out of my daze. "What?"

"Stop staring at him."

"I wasn't," I say, as she pulls up into the driveway of my house. "Thanks sweetie, I love you." I kiss her on the cheek.

"Stay away from guys who tell you you're blocking their sunlight," she laughs, though her earnestness screams much louder to me than her laughter does.

I raise my eyebrow at her, and walk to my front door.

Once inside my house, I see my mom on the phone in the kitchen, on what I assume to be a work call. I mouth "mom" and she puts a finger up to highlight the length of time she will take.

"You alright, sweetie?" She asks once she gets off the phone, as she takes a cutting board filled with carrots on it, and begins slicing them into small pieces.

"Um... I need to ask you something. A huge favour," I mumble out nervously, already anticipating her unwanted response.

She looks at me worriedly. "Help me to cut some of these carrots, will you?"

"Yeah, sure." I grab hold of a carrot and a knife from the knife stand, and begin chopping.

"So, what's the favor?"

"Well... Um basically, on my way to college today, I bumped into a homeless guy. Well rather, he threw his coat at me-"

"He did what?"

"No, it's okay mom, it was an accident. But I kind of got talking to him, and he just seemed really sad."

"And how exactly did he seem sad?"

"Well, he was rude. But I can tell that's just because he knew I was feeling sorry for him. I could tell he has a lot of pride. Despite his position. He didn't even want to take the food I brought for him."

"You brought him food? From here?"

"Yeah, just like some sandwiches and a couple of snacks. But anyway, mom that's not the point."

"So what is the point, Eliza? Because I can sense where this is going, and I really want you to think hard about what you're about to ask me."

"I've thought about it."

"No," she voices sternly, without even looking up.

"Mom, I haven't even asked it."

"You don't need to. My answer is no."

"Why not? He's homeless."

"How does he look?"

"What?"

"Does he look like an innocent young man who was just accused of the wrong thing at home and decided to run away? Or does he look like he brought it on himself?"

"Mom, you can't determine somebody's position from the way they look."

"How does he look, Eliza? Are there any scars on his face?"

"Well, yes but-"

"And you didn't stop to wonder how they got there?"

"He lives on the street mother, he is vulnerable and a victim. Anybody could decide to attack him just for the fun of it."

"Or maybe he asked for it. Or maybe he got it back home."

"Which doesn't seem the slightest bit worrying to you? Whatever happened to him, mom, somebody obviously gave him a major beating. We don't know why but we could prevent that from happening again if we just-"

"No, Eliza! My answer is no. Don't bring this up again. I won't be changing my mind."

"He is not safe on the streets, mom." I persist, desperate for my argument to succeed.

"And you think we'll be safe with him living with us?"

"He's just a kid, mom. Why are you being so selfish? You're usually all for doing good for citizens."

"Yeah, but not for thugs. He's on the streets for a very good reason honey, believe that."

"And what if tomorrow you find out that he's dead? How would you feel knowing you could have prevented that?"

"Watch the way you're talking to me, missy. I have made my final decision, and nothing you say will be changing that," she states with a stern tone that cuts deeper through me than the carrots she begins to slice more rapidly. "And why are you so desperate to help him anyway? You barely know him."

"Yeah, I know but... Like I said, he seemed so sad."

"You also said he was rude. And threw his coat on you. I'm not taking someone like that into my house."

"Mom-"

"That's enough, Eliza. Drop it now."

I breathe a deep sigh, feeling outraged. "Fine, you can cut your own damn carrots," I say, as I drop the knife, and head to the front door.

"And where the hell do you think you're going, miss?"

"Away from you," I exclaim as I slam the front door shut.

I walk the same routine I've done twice already yesterday. The playful sun instils hope in me that my offer isn't rejected, and the more unrealistic dream that he will be in a good mood.

When I walk in the familiar pathway, my stomach begins to churn at the sight of nothing, but what should be him sitting in the same position he was in yesterday.

I stand in confusion for a minute, before my memory clicks back to Olivia telling me about the alleyway nearby that she saw him in. I take a few steps forward and stand in direct view of the alleyway, opening my vision to a figure lying on the floor, with a familiar black, ripped coat over his legs, and a plastic bag behind his head.

I take another step forward, and gasp at the quick pace in which he jumps up.

"Hey, relax, it's me. The girl from yesterday. You know, the spoilt brat."

My lips quiver as I see his face covered in fresh cuts, the attire perfect for somebody that has just escaped a wrestling ring. "What do you want?" He grumbles.

"What happened to your face?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Did you get in a fight? Did someone attack you?"

"I said... It. Doesn't. Matter," He repeats, emphasising harshly on each word this time.

"It looks like it matters a lot."

"Look. I don't have the patience to sit around listening to you whining about whatever. You came here for a reason so tell me what the fuck you want, or leave me alone."

The desire to take him into my house fills even more at seeing his broken face.

"Um... I have a proposition for you. I was talking to my mom, and you happened to fall into the conversation."

"Why?"

"And, um... Well, I have good news. She said that you can come and stay with us for a while. Well, for as long as you want."

A plane soars through the sky, penetrating my ears, whilst no sound escapes from his mouth. I try not to watch him, to prevent the opportunity of me being verbally annihilated by him, but I can feel his eyes sharply on me.

"You're willing to take a stranger into your house? You don't even know me," he finally utters, his tone forming the shape of curiosity.

"I know but, well we met yesterday and I thought-"

"What, that because you gave me food we're suddenly going to have a special bond with each other, and I must abide by whatever you say now?"

"What? No, I-"

"I told you I didn't want your charity."

"It's not charity. I'm just trying to help."

"I don't want your help either."

"Stop lying. Yes, you do. I know that your pride is blocking you from taking this opportunity, just like it blocked you from taking the food yesterday. But you still took it. And that's okay. It's okay to admit that you need help and accept the help you're given. I can't-"

"You don't fucking know me! How many times do I have to express this? Along with being a spoilt brat, are you a brainless bitch too?" His words prick into my heart with every syllable pronounced. "You met me yesterday. You've known me for a few days. You don't know me. You don't know anything about me, apart from one thing - I'm homeless. But yet you would take me into your house and trust me around your stuff, as if you know in your heart I won't be tempted more than anything to take the first thing I see!"

"You know what? You're right. I don't know you. And I don't want to," I respond with a sheer soft tone, despite the inner me becoming more and more frustrated by his behavior by the minute. "I just wanted to help because I see how helpless and sad you look and I just wanted to fix that. But all you've done since I met you yesterday, as you like to remind me, is be the biggest jerk I've ever met in my life. Fine, don't accept my offer. I was just trying to help."

"Well... The next time you try to help someone, make sure they ask you first."

This time, I don't shy away from looking at him. I make sure my eyes bore into his to cite awareness into his mind of what he is ruining because of his own irritable insolence. "Enjoy the streets, asshole," I say, as I huff, and attempt to get away from him as quick as possible.

Theo

I watch the vexation written so clearly on her face before she turns on her heels and walks off.

My pride will kill me, I think to myself. My body literally ached for me to say yes to the offer. My nervous system sent an immovable amount of messages to my brain at once telling me to just accept it. But I didn't. Because I couldn't.

I hate people seeing me like this. Helpless and hopeless. But I hate it even more when people feel sorry for me. I know what my situation is, and although I will never be completely used to it, let alone the slightest bit happy about it, I can't accept letting my pride go to show anybody that I'm suffering. Whether they know me or not.

I feel all the damage that has invaded my face, one by one. I wince at the touch of every mark, and see traces of dried blood on my fingers.

I take my left shoe off, removing my sock from my foot and placing the shoe back on. I look at the once pure white-now extremely slimy and muddy sock, and dab the remaining white parts on every cut that is still bleeding.

The last scar I deal with lies on the right side of my forehead. At the touch of the sock the pain pierces through my head and I shout in excruciating disbelief.

I drop the sock from my hand and hiss in agony.

I'll try again later, I think to myself and lean my head against the wall sighing in exasperation.

The chilly weather stabs into my scars and enhances my desperation, causing me to shake frenziedly.

I sense a figure coming to stand near me, and my eyes shoot towards them.

"Hey, you got any food to go amiss?" Asks a guy with muddy and wet clothes, scruffy hair and a scraggly beard. His deep and menacing voice warns my brain to take no chances, and I stand up immediately.

"No."

"Hey, come on man, I'm desperate here. As desperate as you. Let's help each other out."

"I told you no. I don't have any food."

"Well we'll have to see about that won't we?" He says, as he suddenly grabs me by my neck and pushes me against the wall. I feel blood rushing to my head as it is slammed against the wall ferociously, but that only increases the stupendous irritation running through the blood. "If you don't get off me in five seconds I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll what? Tell your mommy on me? Cry into your pillow? You can't do anything," he snarls at me, as if he is forcefully trying to inject the truth into me. But I already knew it was true.

As he speaks, I gently try to fold my jacket with my shoe, to prevent the twenty dollars I received from her from falling out. My attempts to be discrete prove ultimately futile as he follows my eyes down to the coat.

"What's in there, then?" He hisses, before picking it up. He searches through one pocket and I see annoyance gather on his face at not finding anything. Then comes the next pocket, and within just a few seconds of his hands being in it, his lips curl up into a winning smile, as he produces the bill.

My blood boils to see him holding it and I try to snatch it back from him, but his reflexes show to be much faster than mine.

"Thanks, little boy," he speaks, authority riddled in his tone as he waves the note in my face with one hand, and pats me round my cheek with his other hand. He saunters away whistling victoriously, as I throw my head in my hands and groan. I feel my body heat rising so high I become convinced I could possibly be on fire.