The Tiffany Box- ONC 2021 Shortlister

14- Skin

Eli had asked to buy D'Art and the bowl when he left the motel. The receptionist told him he could take them for free, stating that no one had even cared about the fish in their rooms before. Now the fish swam contently upon a shelf away from the curious kitten. 

Dusk played over the horizon of Eli's second day with Haven. Through the window of the kitchen, Eli watched colours shift over the sky. With him showered and clean in a pair of Haven's gray joggers and black top, he felt reborn. "Not sure what that ointment was but it's pretty good." Touching his head, Eli felt a faint scar. But there was no pain and no more dizziness. It almost felt like he had not fallen at all. "Shouldn't it still hurt?"

Looking over the toaster, Haven dropped in two strawberry Pop Tarts before replying, "It's the plant I told you about. It works miracles."

"Haven, you work miracles." Eli slid his feet out of a pair of slippers Haven had lent him and touched his toes to the cool tile.

Giving his guest a butterfly smile, Haven spoke, "If that were true, the cat would be able to see. It still won't open its eyes."

"She," Eli corrected.

"Huh?" Setting the Pop Tarts on two plates, Haven walked to the kitchen table and set one in front of Eli.

"It's a girl." He pointed to the kitten who was sleeping in a shoebox on the floor. "Total accident, I swear to everything that is holy." Eli covered his eyes and grimaced.

Raising a brow, Haven chuckled. "Ok, so she won't open her eyes."

Lowering his hands, Eli replied, "Maybe she just doesn't want to see how ugly the world is but," he paused when he tried to cut the pastry in half and burnt himself on the hot jam, "Crap!" Eli yelped then sucked the sticky jam off his fingers. "But she's in a safe place now and it's not ugly here." Looking up, he added, "It's nice here in your house."

Haven's home was small yet cozy. Well-worn furniture with a lot of life left in them. Hand-made art. An ultra shaggy rug in front of a small fireplace. Lots of spicy-smelling candles. Though he didn't have a lot, it was a house that felt like a home.

"I like feeling secure," Haven said softly. "I had some bad things happen to me before I came here." He picked at the Pop Tart's frosting. "That's why I came to Los Demonios actually. I was running away from my past."

"About what happened to Ryo?"

Haven shook his head. "This was much after Ryo." He wanted to confide in Eli. He was the first person in years that showed any compassion and interest and it melted through a lot of Haven's pain. His desire to have someone care tugged at him like a needy child. "It's my skin," he finally admitted.

"Your skin?"

"The skin I'm stuck in, yah."

Eli broke the pastry into bits and looked Haven over. "What's wrong with it?"

"I'm an albino, Eli."

"I don't get it."

"Some people are racist...they don't like those who've got different coloured skin."

"People treat you badly because you are white?" Eli popped a piece in his mouth and listened carefully as Haven continued.

"I'm exceptionally white, I guess. I was hunted down by these two men they..." pushing his plate away, Haven looked as though he was about to pass out, turning an even whiter shade of pale.

"Hayv?" Eli got up and dragged his chair to sit by Haven. "Hey, you don't have to tell me," he said in a whisper as he lightly touched Haven's knuckles with his fingertips.

Haven's voice cracked. "Another time, Eli?"

Eli saw he was on the verge of breaking down. "Yah. It's ok. You're ok. No one bad is here now." Putting an arm around Haven, Eli felt him melt into his arms. A huge, painful sigh escaped Haven's lips. "It's ok, Hayv." Eli uttered under his breath as he held the other carefully, as though he were made of glass.

Midnight had come and gone. It found both of the men sleeping. Speckles of starlight trickled into the living room. On the couch, with his arm dangling off the side, Eli dreamed of childhood memories – of sunny days and learning how to ride a bike as his grandfather watched on proudly.

Haven was cocooned in his covers. His bed was large enough to engulf him if it so desired. In the tragic darkness of his room, Haven's nightmares came on all fours. They crept to him like things of the underworld and leaped up on the bed with fangs and claws sharp enough to tear away cloth and skin. The devils formed into figures and sank into Haven's thoughts. Two men pulled up in an old pick-up truck, cornering Haven in a remote ally. In the shadows, they loomed like giants. The stick in the taller man's hand looked like it weighed a ton. The knife in the grip of the man with the scars on his face blazed when it caught a sliver of street light. As they neared Haven, the only sound he heard was that of his thundering heart. One man he could escape from but they were two, and they were determined, having chased him for hours until Haven thought he'd pass out.

"It's just a little game we're going to play," said a first voice yet lips never moved.

"Just us three," said another. "I don't like boys but I'll make an exception for you."

In his covers, Haven spasmed from fear. He saw himself fall backward over the trashcans, the cement greeted him like a cold slap. He saw them come closer and hover like phantoms. In the shadows, they were devils coming to drag him into hell. 

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