Ev

My apartment was small; I was aware of that. But I didn't need much. Just a bathroom, a kitchenette, a double bed and circular table that also served as my desk. Daniel shed glances around the place, having the expression of a small terrified animal. I reached into my dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants, a warm hoodie and a dry towel and handed it to him. Without saying anything, I walked back away from him and to the window next to the table. I opened it and took a cigarette from the table, as I heard him remove his pants.

I averted my gaze, surprised that he didn't mind taking his clothes off while in the same room as I. I blew out the smoke and with the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Daniel as he took off his sweater. I shuddered and that glimpse turned into a horrified look. He had his back to me, so he didn't see me looking, and I only had a moment to process what I was seeing before I turned my gaze outside again.

He was so thin that I had been able to see his bones. But that wasn't what had horrified me. The bruises and scratches and bite marks had caused that reaction from me. From what I could tell that must have been a thorough beating.

"What should I do with these?" he asked, and I turned to look at him.

He had placed the towel on his head and was holding onto his wet clothes. I breathed out the smoke and dropped the cig in the plastic cup I had on the kitchen counter. I needed to empty that. I closed the window and went to grab the clothes from his arms. I took them to the bathroom and unsure of what to do with them, I tossed them on the curtain rail to dry.

He had followed me and when I turned around, he was standing by the door, making himself as small as he could. I walked past him and took off my leather jacket, setting it on the back of a chair. Then I went and turned up the space heater by the table and without saying anything Daniel sat close to it. With the heat hitting his face he seemed to ease a bit.

I smiled and then opened the backpack I had taken from my motorcycle's storage. I felt his eyes on me, but I acted as if I was unaware of it. Slowly, I took out four spray paint cans and the gas mask and placed them on my dresser. One of the cans, the green one, had been empty so I went ahead and threw it away.

"You do graffiti?" he asked me as I went back to my dresser.

"Yeah," I muttered and took off my shirt. It wasn't as wet as Daniel's had been, but it needed to dry.

Again, I could feel his eyes on me. He was probably fixated on my tattoos. I had seen how his eyes had danced on my fingers earlier. I knew I had enough to look at. I put on a new shirt and a pair of sweats and slowly went to sit next to him at the table.

Daniel opened his mouth, ready to say something, but then closed it again, hesitating. I sat back in my chair and tried to be as gentle as I could with my expression. If he wanted to say something, I didn't want him to be too scared to say it. His light green eyes moved from me to the bed and then back to me with an almost childlike glint.

"Are we..." he bit back his lip and I saw a tremble go over him. "Do you want to touch me?"

My eyebrows immediately went up, the question catching me off guard. I blinked and tried to process what he had asked me. He must have noticed the shock in my features because he let out a low breath, easing up a little more. But now I wasn't at ease. He thought I had brought him here to...

"I don't. I'm not... I'm not interested," I managed to say, hating the words the fell from my lips but not being able to find anything else to say.

"Then why did you...?"

"You said you had nowhere to go. I didn't want to leave you in the streets," I interrupted him. "I have a small apartment, but at least I have a big bed. If you don't mind sharing."

He nodded and leaned closer to the heater. His hair was starting to dry, and I could see what it normally looked like. It was light brown and curly, and it matched his eyebrows and long lashes. Some freckles dusted the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, but I figured in the sun I could see more. His eyes started to flutter close and I realised that he was probably exhausted.

"I think I'm going to go to sleep," I told him, making him look up at me. "I have work tomorrow morning and," I paused to look at the clock mounted on the wall by the kitchenette, "it's almost three."

"Work? What do you do for a living?" he asked me, after looking at the clock for himself.

"I'm a tattoo artist. I only work part-time, on Fridays at least, so I'll be back by noon," I said and stood up to head to bed, wondering whether he'd follow me. "If you wake up before that and you're hungry-" I heard him shut off the heater- "eat whatever you want," I finished pointing at the kitchenette.

As I pulled back the bedding, I heard him stand up and slowly he came closer. I lied down and watched as he followed my movements and adjusted as far away from me as he could. His eyes stayed on me, but he pulled up the duvet to cover himself.

"Is it okay if I turn off the light?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he rasped, and I reached over my head and clicked the light switch that turned off the only ceiling lamp of the room.

I stayed lying on my back for a few moments, but then I realised that he would never relax enough to fall asleep like that. So, I turned to my side, looking away from him and tried to actually fall asleep. Perhaps if I did, he would too.

Do you want to touch me?

I was furiously tapping a pen against a notepad, waiting for my client to arrive. Today we were finishing up a sleeve tattoo. Normally, while waiting, I would doodle something in said notepad, but I just couldn't focus today. All I kept thinking of was Daniel and everything he had said the previous night.

When I had woken up, he had been fast asleep, breathing deeply and in a fetal position. I had noticed that even while asleep he had a sad expression. Only once had that sad expression faded from the moment I had met him, and that had been when he ate the pizza. At least, momentarily food had seemed to help.

"Hey, slacker, what're ya thinking?" Marcie asked me, jumping out of the backroom and settling on the counter next to me.

"Nothing much," I said, trying not to entice her into asking me more about it. "When is Teo coming in?" I asked while stretching my arms upward.

"He's got the afternoon shift today, so you won't see him," she told me and ran her fingers through her brown curls.

Marcie was technically the owner of the tattoo parlour. Despite being part African American and part French, she had been born and raised in London, giving her the accent neither of her parents had. She owned the tattoo parlour alongside her brother, Colin, who was a business-savvy lawyer.

"So, what were ya up to last night?" she asked with a squint. Taking my eyes away from her piercing brown ones, I scratched the back of my neck.

"I finished it," I told her, unlocking my phone so I could show her the finished piece.

It had been in an alleyway, between an abandoned house and an old apartment building. It was a design I had drawn a while back on paper, a heart with leaves and flowers coming out of its arteries and veins.

"God, that looks so nice, dude. I wish I had been there to marvel at it..." she replied as she examined the picture I had taken the previous night.

"I can tell you where it is so you can go see it," I told her and put away my phone.

"Please do," she managed to say before our attention was drawn to the customer that came in for her sleeve tattoo.

Marcie used to come with me and do graffiti. She loved it. She loved art in general, but that specifically had been one of her passions. About two years ago though, her brother had found out about it, and being the lawyer that he was he had given her the scolding of her life. And while Marcie was never one to listen to others, she always listened to her brother. He was the only family she had left.

Four hours later I was on my way back to my apartment. It wasn't raining yet, but grey clouds covered the whole sky. It would probably rain later. As I parked my bike, I couldn't help but wonder, would Daniel even be there? The thought had crossed my mind a couple of times while I was working, and last night before falling asleep. Part of me wouldn't be surprised if he had woken up and just left. He didn't have a reason to stay.

But on the other hand, he had nowhere else to go. Or at least, that had been what he had told me. I didn't believe that. I hadn't believed that he had no home, no family. No eighteen-year-old homeless orphan had clothes like the ones he had been wearing. I also hadn't believed that he was eighteen. He seemed younger. If I had to guess, sixteen at best. But I was trying not to think about that. Because if that was true, if he was under eighteen and had a family, then I was thoroughly screwed.

I opened the door, being able to hear my heartbeat and walked inside. When my eyes fell on the bed, I let out the breath I had been holding. He was still there. He didn't seem to have shifted at all since the morning when I had left. Still on his side looking away from me, in a fetal position having hogged all the duvet.

I took off my shoes and jacket and sat at the table while opening my laptop. With my eyes darting to Daniel every now and then, I went ahead and searched the internet for missing person reports. Nothing that seemed to match him or his description. So, either somebody didn't miss him, or they hadn't noticed it yet.

But I'm already losing.

Closing the tabs, I stood up and started brewing some coffee. What had this kid even gone through? And who had hit him? I've had my fair share of bruises and scratch marks, but I had never seen on me anything that looked remotely like Daniel's back. Or on anyone else's for that matter. Whoever had done that to him knew what they were doing. To be honest, I was a little surprised that Daniel had survived.

I filled a mug and sat at the table again, pulling my sketchbook and a pencil in front of me. I quickly glanced at Daniel and then back to my sketchbook and I started designing what I wanted for my next tattoo. I still had skin to cover.

What had to be about an hour later I heard a low groan. It was very subtle, and I almost didn't look up when I heard it, too preoccupied with the shading of my drawing. But I did. Daniel had changed sides and almost completely kicked off the covers. I set down my pencil and then I froze.

"...more..." he whimpered.

More?

"...please..." His voiced faded and he curled up, hiding his face with his arms.

"Daniel?" I called out softly, wanting to wake up him. Whatever he was dreaming of was clearly distressing him. I stood up and slowly went closer to the bed. I almost reached out to shake him awake, but then chose against it. He probably wouldn't like being shaken awake from a nightmare. "Daniel," I repeated a little bit louder and clearer.

He stirred up a bit and then pulled his face away from his arms. With worried eyes and a tremor going over him, he looked up at me. His eyes quickly went around our surroundings and then settled back to me.

"Ev?" he whispered and sat up, resting his back against the headboard.

"Hey... it was just a nightmare," I reassured him.

Tears filled up his eyes and before I could react a sob escaped him and he started crying. He covered his face with his palms and pulled his knees up to his chest, his sobs getting louder. I watched him for a moment and then sat down at the end of the bed. He flinched as my weight moved the mattress and I almost regretted my decision to sit down. But then I realised he would have been more scared if I had been standing up. I'd been told many times that my height was terrifying.

"It's not happening anymore. You're safe now..." I said and waited for him to look up at me. But he didn't.

"I'm never going to be safe," he muttered in between sobs.

"Have you thought about suicide again before last night?" I decided to ask him. Part of me was sure he was thinking about it right now. When he had woken up, he had that same hopeless expression he had had while at the bridge.

He pulled his head slightly back and then looked up at me, tears still in his eyes. He didn't bother wiping away the ones staining his cheeks.

"Almost every day," he muttered. A chill went down my spine.

"What kept you going all this time? Who helped you?"

His big eyes, now looking more grey than green, looked at me for a moment. Then he took his gaze away and leaned forward and away from the headboard. Pain flashed in his features.

"My back hurts..." he said in a low tone.

"We should clean it up. So, it doesn't get infected," I replied, softly and carefully. My eyes searched for Daniel's, but he was keeping his gaze away from mine. Eventually, he nodded in agreement and I rose and turned to go to the bathroom, waiting for him to join me.

I took the first aid kit I had and instructed him to sit on top of the washing machine while pulling back the sleeves of my shirt. Without saying anything, he turned to the side, keeping his back toward me, and removed his shirt. I could tell he was uncomfortable; he was being extremely silent. I could barely even see him breathe. I poured a little rubbing alcohol on a cotton pad and examined his back.

"This will sting a little," I told him as I decided to start with the worst looking scratch mark.

As I looked a little closer, I realised though, that this wasn't a scratch mark. It was a small cut that rested very close to his spine. He couldn't have done that to himself. I shook my head in disbelief and then softly pressed the cotton pad on the wound.

He didn't even flinch.

I frowned at him but decided not to focus on it. Maybe it had hurt less than I had thought it would. His back looked worse than last night. Most of the bruises now were dark purple, almost akin to my hair, and the bite marks were also starting to bruise. From what I could tell though, the bites hadn't broken his skin. I almost let out a sigh of relief at that.

A few minutes later, when I was done, I told him to turn and so I could clean any cuts that he might have had on his chest. I tried to avoid his gaze, as I was going over the wounds, but I stopped short as I ended up looking at his ribs. There was a huge bruise on the left side of him. It was still mostly red, but some spots were starting to turn purple.

"Do you have trouble breathing?" I asked him. Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn't seem in pain. He shook his head. I nodded and stayed silent, despite wanting so badly to ask him who had hurt him.

I went on with cleaning the scratches but stopped again when I reached the biggest one. It went down from his lower abs and disappeared under the sweatpants I had given him. Just as I pressed the cotton pad down on the cut, his hand shot out and grabbed me by my forearm. He was shaking now. I looked up at him and we stared at each other for a second, but then he looked down at my forearm and started moving his fingers over my tattoo.

It was a design that went around my arm. A thick forest, with the base of the tress completely blackened out. His fingers danced over the tress and then slowly he turned my arm around, so he could look at the inner side of it. Even from the inner side, my pale skin was covered in black, all but in one sport. There was a space, a small spot that wasn't black from the ink. But there was a tattoo on that spot. A phrase in cursive that wrote I'm sorry.

It was over my scar.

Daniel's hand froze and then he ran a thumb over the vertical scar. Over the tattoo. He looked up at me with sadness in his eyes. I said nothing. There was nothing to say. He knew what it was. He knew what it meant.

"Ev?" he started as I threw away the cotton pads and put away the first aid kit.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," he said. I stopped, rose and turned to look at him. I nodded and shed him a half-smile.

"Are you hungry? I'll fix us up something to eat..." I said back and after he jumped down from the washing machine, we left the bathroom. I was starving.