Ending Innocence (boyxboy)

Chapter Eleven

They say it's silly to blame ourselves for all the bad things in the world. But when someone tells a child that is shall make no difference. Children are the ones who need protection and when things go wrong, naturally they blame themselves. Sometimes that doesn't fade and it's our inner child who will help us fight our inner demons. 

 Luca’s POV.

My eyes open in darkness. I can’t see anything but black. No sound, no nothing. Just what I presume is a dark black room. It makes me wonder if this is what death is. Not that I ever believed in heaven, but I did wonder about hell. I was obviously wrong about that. It’s hard to walk, but I manage to walk a bit closer to what I hope is the edge. Coming closer, I hear a noise. Like that of a heart monitor going flat. I reach what feels like a wall and the voices start. They’re shouting at someone or something muttering “he’s flat lined.” The words mean very little to me. I can only hope that it’s me they’re talking about.

I stumble across a door in the wall. It feels heavy. Almost like a metal or iron door. I fiddle around with the nob until it pushes open. From a black room I walk into a white room. This time it’s light. I can see everything as clear as day. It’s eerie. The noise is clearer here. I can feel them move around the body on the operating table, the gushes of air as they scramble around to save that person. I can’t block them or the sound out. So I stop trying. I listen intently to the words being shouted, several medical terms all of which I know. Blood loss seems to be the one they are concerned with. It’s not looking good for whoever it is.

“Why am I this useless? I can’t even figure out where I am.” I mutter to myself, trying to figure it out why I’m here.

“Can’t I even kill myself properly?” I ask no one in particular. “Apparently not. I can’t even make things better for them. Something has to save me from death. Why can’t I do anything right?”

“Hi,” a quiet voice says behind me.

I turn around and face a small boy. He looks familiar. Long, silky black hair and deep brown eyes. The boy is small, but obviously taller than most boys his age. The features are that of a five year old, yet he looks a lot older because of his height. Olive skin and a slim body is not as obvious unless you are looking for those things. His hair and eyes stand out more. My breath catches when his eyes meet mine. All I can see is fear and pain. He’s so small, it’s frightening to think of a boy so young feeling so bad about all of that. I hold out my hand to him and he clasps it between his. There’s no smile though, just a small quirk of the lips that shows he knows what I’m thinking. I feel incredibly strange seeing this boy.

“Why do you hate me?” He whispers shyly. Taken aback I just stare at those intense brown eyes. Failing to compose my sheer and utter shock at the words spoken to me.

“Why would you think I hate you? We’ve just met,” I tell the boy in hopes of getting some more information out of him.

“You hate me. You say it all the time. I’ve heard you say you hate me. Why?” Realisation hits me like a slap in the face. I stare down at the small boy. Me. I don’t remember ever being that small, but apparently I was at one time. Those hurt eyes lock on mine, waiting for an answer.

“You’ll understand when you’re older. I won’t say it again while you’re here.”

“I’m always here, though. I am you after all. I hear those things every time you say ‘em.” His voice is so small, it’s almost painful listening to it. Memories of my voice, high pitched and begging flash through my mind. I try to push them back. I don’t want those memories there. It’s painful to even think of those memories being around the little boy in front of me. The fact he’s me makes no difference, I have the urge to protect him from the bad things.