Scarred

Chapter 2.

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."