I didn’t really sleep that night. I’d kept my door open so I could hear if the kid left his room in the middle of the night, but if he had, I’d not noticed it. When the sun was rising, I fought my urge to go check up on him and make sure he was still in his room. He was free to go if he so wanted, I just… I just doubted he’d survive on his own. He’d walk in front of a car or something…

Fifteen minutes later, I lost the battle and got out of bed. I pulled on a robe and tiptoed my way out of my room, across the hallway and to his door. I pressed my ear against it, but heard nothing. I hesitated for a good while, but my curiosity and worry won, and I quietly opened the door.

And there he was, still in bed, under the covers, but the second he heard me, he hurried to sit up, and retreated until he ran out of room.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to spook you,” I said soothingly. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

He turned his head down, retreating into himself, trying to keep his body small. But… there wasn’t a lot of fear in him now. He was still scared, but not afraid of his life like yesterday. I let out a relieved breath and slowly approached his bed.

“Are you feeling better? Did you sleep well?” I asked with a friendly smile.

He kept himself turned away from me, but somehow… somehow he seemed more aware now.

“You look better,” I noted, studying his face. There was a little more color on his face. “I bet you’re hungry.”

There was something black on the floor on his side. His jeans? Yeah, he’d taken his jeans off. For some reason, that made me feel so much better. That was such a human thing to do. Maybe… Just maybe…

“Do you mind if I sit? I’ll stay on this side,” I said, slowly sitting down on the bed, as far away from him as I could. He didn’t seem to mind, so I made myself comfortable. I glanced out the window. “It’s going to be a really nice day today. Maybe you’d like to spend the morning with me in my garden?”

I could’ve sworn he was about to look out the window as well, but stopped himself. I studied him, his posture, his expression, even his breathing. I couldn’t just be imagining things. There really was more life in him. He was showing interest.

“I have a really nice garden. No thanks to me though. My gardener does all the work. He’s amazing,” I told the kid. “Or we can stay indoors. I’m sure you could use the rest. I can also stay out of your hair until you feel better. Or completely. It’s all up to you.”

His head moved a little in my direction. Not even half an inch, and he still kept his gaze down, but he did react to my words. That felt really, really good.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” I asked tentatively.

He shifted a little, turning away from me. I thought that was his way of telling me to leave, but then he lifted his left hand a little, turning his palm up. I tried to see what he was looking at, but his fingers blocked my view. It looked like he was holding something.

“What is it?” I asked quietly.

He reacted to me again. He didn’t look at me exactly, but somewhere in my direction. There was still fear in his eyes. Fear and pain. He hesitated for a really long time, then looked back at his hand. He let out a few deeper breaths as I waited patiently. We were getting somewhere. I knew we were. He just needed a little bit more courage.

“I’d like to see it,” I said gently, then held my breath when he turned his whole body toward me. “What do you have there?”

He stared at whatever he was holding, then lifted his head up, his eyes meeting mine. He quickly lowered his gaze, took another deep breath, then moved his hand closer to me. I stayed perfectly still, maintaining my smile.

He stopped when his hand moved past the center of the bed and froze completely. He stared at it, his expression turning more scared, and yet… yet he already trusted me enough to show what he was–

“Oh, you poor baby…” I muttered when I finally saw it. I understood why he felt the need to show it to me, even though he still feared me.

He wasn’t holding anything in his hand. The object was literally in his hand.

“What is that…”? I muttered, carefully leaning closer to see one of the nastiest wounds I’d ever encountered. “How did I miss that…?”

There was something big and black sticking out of his palm, right next to his thumb, and the surrounding skin was oozing pus. It looked like a piece of glass or a metal or something. It must’ve been there for days.

“Can I…?” I asked quietly, then carefully took that hand in mine. “Man, it looks painful… You poor thing…”

He relaxed a little while I studied his infected hand. The piece was deep under his skin – I could see the outlines right below it. Even I felt sick looking at it, and I’d seen a lot. His body was doing its best to get it out, but it was quite large, maybe half an inch wide, and by the looks of it, really stuck in there.

Seeing it brought back my rage. How did he get it? And why had no one… No… I didn’t need to ask why no one had done anything about it yet. Those pieces of shits… It was probably that leader roach that had caused this…

I forced myself to keep smiling when I turned back to the kid.

“You know what? I happen to know how to patch up wounds. I can take care of that in no time,” I told him.

The kid looked up at me, then at his hand. His expression told me it hurt like hell.

“You did good showing me this,” I said, giving his hand back before getting out of bed. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. You’ll feel much better in no time. I’ll go grab my stuff and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He didn’t respond in any way, but I was sure I saw relief in his eyes just before I left the room.

One of the perks about being in the mafia was that we all had to know how to take care of injuries, even the more serious ones, and we had our own drugs. The kid’s hand was no problem for me. I entered my secret lair down in the basement – a corner closet with a couple of more locks since I wasn’t actually holding anything too incriminating in my own house – grabbed whatever I needed, then headed back to the kid.

He had stayed where I left him, in his bed, staring at his injured hand. This time, he didn’t really react to me entering the room. He didn’t look at me, but he didn’t get scared of me, either.

“All right,” I breathed out, sitting down next to him. “You know this is going to hurt a little, right?”

He turned his head a little toward me, showing me he was listening.

“I need to pull the piece out so I can see what I can do,” I continued. “So… Are you ready?”

Hesitantly, he gave me his hand. I took a careful hold of it, then grabbed my tweezers.

“I wish I didn’t have to hurt you,” I muttered. “But I have to get it out.”

The kid looked away when I moved his hand so I could see what I was doing. He held his fingers spread for me while I carefully took a good hold on the piece.

“You should focus on breathing,” I told him, then started pulling.

He stayed completely still without letting out a sound, but his body tensed when the pain grew worse. I had a good hold on the piece, so I didn’t stop until it was completely out, the gash left behind spilling blood on my clothes. I ignored that and instead grabbed a clean piece of fabric to press it on his wound.

“Luckily, it was just under your skin, not deep in your thumb,” I told the kid as I eyed the piece of… glass?

The kid let out deeper breaths, and I glanced at him. He stared into nothingness, his face pale again, though the pain seemed to be subsiding a little.

“Come – let’s clean the wound,” I told him, and got up so I could lead him into the bathroom.

It wasn’t easy to stop the bleeding, although there wasn’t an alarming amount of it coming out. Stitches weren’t an option, not with the infection, and I was pretty sure the wound was too old for them, anyway. We stood next to the sink, keeping his hand under running water to get it as clean as possible. Once the bleeding was calming down, I took a better look at it. It could’ve used getting stitched up, but I decided against it. It would be too painful for the kid. All I could really do was to make sure it was cleaned, disinfected, and bandaged well.

Once it was all done, I stepped back to watch him study his heavily bandaged hand. He turned it around a few times, then carefully moved his fingers.

“It’ll hurt for a while, but I have painkillers for you,” I said quietly.

He turned a little toward me, never lifting his eyes, then just stood there in front of me.

“It probably feels better already with the piece of glass gone though,” I said. “Come. Let’s get you something to eat so you can go back to bed and rest.”

As we returned to the bedroom, I realized he was wearing the clothes I’d brought him last night. I smiled at the sight, but sadness quickly overtook it. He was so, so tiny… He was almost as tall as me at six feet three, but he was as wide as my wrist. All his bones were sticking out, and even though my old clothes were small, they were still enormous on him.  

“You know what? You should go back to bed. I’ll bring breakfast here,” I told him.

He stopped following me, but didn’t go to bed. He was still staring at his hand, holding it by the wrist.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, staying with him. His behavior… I had the feeling he was trying to reach out to me again. I just had to wait. “Or don’t you want to go to bed?”

He spread his fingers a little, even his injured thumb. I was glad to see him move it. And the bandages weren’t getting soaked in blood, even though he was straining the wound.

“Do you need something?” I asked, taking half a step closer to him.

Slowly, he let go of the injured hand and pressed it gently against his chest, protecting it. He took a quick look at me, brave enough to meet my eyes, then he reached toward me with his right hand. It was my turn to stay immobile when he carefully touched my chest with his fingers, letting them linger on me for a brief moment before he lowered his gaze and stepped back.

“Was… Was that a thank you?” I asked, guessing because I was confused.

He didn’t respond to me.

I smiled at him. “You’re welcome. Now you should go back to bed. I’ll bring you something to eat.”