Runaway!

Dreams!

"George.... George honey.... Time to wake up!".

"Mum?".

"Hey honey, it's time to get up".

Prizing open his eyes the sunny smiling face of his mum came into view, her green eyes sparkling, red hair curling softly around her shoulders, pale pink jumper glowing in the soft morning light.

"Hey mum" George smiled, "what time is it?".

Sitting up blinking and looking around, he was laying on his bed, but not in his room.

There were no walls, only a swirling haze of oranges and yellows, and his mum..... His mum didn't look the same.

"Mum, why do you look weird?".

"George, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry", a tear splashed down on his hand, the cool drop evaporated in the warm air.

"Time to wake up honey, I have to go" the woman smiled softly, "but mum..... Mum...... MUM, where are you going?".

"Goodbye George, I love you!".

The woman drew away, fingertips brushing, fading, fading away into the swirling cloud.

"Mum.......MUUUUMMMMM?!".

"Con, that's him I swear, that's the boy behind the bins, that red hair, the blanket it's him".

Blake was sure that the boy asleep on the sofa was the boy from that night at the pub.

Stirring the coffee vigorously Blake sighed aggressively.

"It's okay Blake, I know how this is making you feel", Connor rested his head on the blondes shoulder as he slammed down the teaspoon, closing his eyes against the bad memories.

A sudden shrill cry echoed around the flat.

"Oh no", Connor lifted his head, breaking away he shot out of the kitchen, Blake following close behind as he ran through to the sitting room.

George lay shaking, sweating, crying on the floor, still in the dirty clothes he'd fallen asleep instantly in as soon as his head hit the sofa cushions.

"George, George, hey" Connor soothed, kneeling beside the boy, rubbing his arm as he shuddered violently, "Blake, he's freezing, grab the blanket", he whispered.
Grabbing the blanket from the sofa Blake wrapped it round the lad as the shaking subsided and the lad started to come to.

"Mum..... Mum.......no mum don't leave", the boy shook as he reached out a hand towards the light from the window.

Sitting back as Connor continued to comfort the lad, Blakes eyes filled with tears at the sight, seeing this poor lad, trapped in his dreams.

Crying the way he had cried so many times as he lay on a street, in a doorway, on his abusive ex partners bed after another 'game', the pitiful sight tearing him up inside.

"George, wake up mate, hey George", Connor shook the lad gently as the sobbing subsided and those green eyes began to focus, slowly turning his head Georges frightened eyes began to soften as he recognised Connor and Blake.

"S-s-sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you", the lad sniffed in a wavering tone, fiercely scrubbing the sleeve of his filthy hoodie over his face, smearing tears and dirt all over.

"Hey it's fine, it's no bother kid".

Blake felt so bad for the boy, he remembered only too well the feeling of being scared.
George pulled himself up to sitting, tired, aching and still so cold, "here, drink this, I hope you like coffee?", Connor handed him a hot mug which he gratefully wrapped his hands around, shivering slightly still as Blake draped the soft fleece blanket back over his shoulders.

George sniffed, the coffee smelled good, but he definitely did not, wrinkling his nose feeling embarrassed, his dirty clothes out of place in the clean cozy flat.
"Sorry again", George took a huge gulp of the hot drink, squeezing his eyes as the hot liquid slightly burned.

"Hey kid it's not an issue, take your time, Connor's found you some clean clothes so you can have a shower in a bit then something to eat, you fell asleep soon as you hit the sofa", Blake chuckled nervously, lowly.

****

Stripping off his old, dirty clothes George studied himself in the mirror, almost bursting into tears again as he took in his dirty thin face, the bags under his eyes, dirt and blood caked into his hair that hung limp and greasy over his face almost reaching his shoulders.

Scratches littered his face and neck from hiding in bushes and climbing trees trying to find a safe place to sleep.
Yellowing bruises a faint reminder of the last beating bestowed by his uncle the night of his 18th birthday.
The night he'd thrown what he could into a backpack and climbed out of the window, running for the woods behind the house in a desperate attempt to flee the pain and hatred.

Rubbing his fingers over the ribs showing through the pale skin he winced, not in pain but in horror at how thin he'd become and how grey as tears pricked his eyes again, running down the patches of clean skin of his face, washed by so many tears.

Stepping into the shower he shuddered as the warm water hit his skin, he had been so so cold when Steve and Nick found him he wondered how if he would ever be warm again.
Letting the water run, he watched as clumps of dry blood and dirt swirled around his feet and down the drain feeling his skin finally lose the dull sticky layer that had built up from weeks of not being able to wash.

Lathering his hair felt so good, the pleasant floral smell of the shampoo danced in his nostrils, pulling in deep breaths he revelled in the aroma of sweet roses and vanilla.
Washing felt like heaven, even the stinging sensation from the many tiny cuts and scratches on his legs and arms couldn't take away the total joy of being clean.

Wrapping himself in a fluffy fragrant towel, running a brush through his hair he looked again in the mirror, his hair shone brightly once again, with a red copper tone, his skin was actually peach colour not grey, his green eyes standing out more against the cool pink shade of his face.

Pulling on a pair of new boxers from a pack Connor had given him, new but too small round the waist for Connor, he reached for the joggers and long sleeve t-shirt, three or four sizes too big and way too long for his 5ft 7in frame.

Shrugging on the clean sweet smelling fabric and pulling up the drawstring tight on the joggers he wandered back out into the living room clutching his old dirty clothes, somehow not wanting to let them go.
They were the last set of new clothes that his mum had bought for him before she became too ill to go out, he'd pretty much worn them every day since, hanging onto that one last thread of connection.

"Where shall I put these?", he mumbled casting his eyes to the ground as Connor and Blake looked up from the sofa where they'd been watching a film.