Jesse

8: First Touch

8: First Touch

Nervously, my hand shaking, I rang the doorbell.

My eyes stung with tears, and I felt the blood drip from my nose, wet my lips. My ribs ached, throbbed with gut-wrenching pain. I couldn't help but wince, and I folded my arms, trembling violently.

Where was he at? Was he even coming? My back screamed. I couldn't see well out of my left eye. It was swollen, and coursed with a stabbing aching. I could already feel the bruises along my lower back, a fiery throbbing.

Dammit, where was Ian?

I knocked fiercely, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Abruptly, I heard muted footsteps on the other side of the door, and the pop, and creaking of the doorknob turning, unlocking. The door was flung open, and Ian stood in the doorway startled. He looked as if he was about to say something, but then his mouth dropped open, his eyes widening, stunned. He couldn't speak, he stuttered something, and shook his head.

"Jesse!?" he finally blurted out. "W-what the hell happened to you?"

"Long story," I huffed, "but, got into a-a—a fight." I couldn't say I had gotten my ass kicked.

Ian was still speechless, blinking.

"M-my Dad will kill me if—if he sees me like this—Please—"

"You're bleeding a lot, Jesse; you're really hurt," he muttered, as if he cared. "Here, come inside quick. Let me help you."

Something I didn't expect, I felt his arm cradle around me, and he pulled me into the house, assisting me because of how bad I was limping. My face drew up again in pain, and I bit down hard on my tongue.

"Here, let's go into my room," he said, "it's upstairs though." I nodded quickly in response.

We were standing in his living room, the stairs a distance from us. I pressed a hand against the wall supporting myself.

"But first let me get some paper towels for the blood," he said, and Ian was gone.

After a few seconds, I heard footsteps again and I saw Ian holding a wad of paper towels.

"Here," he said, and I took them attempting to smile.

"Thanks," I replied, and swiftly brought most of them around my nose. That was mainly all where I was bleeding from, everywhere else was just bruised, and throbbing. It could have been so much worse. So much worse.

I felt one of his hands tenderly grab hold of my side, the other my wrist, and we began to climb the stairs. Each one was a pain in the ass.

I hadn't really noticed anything about the house, whether it had changed or not, since the last time I was in it. That was ten years ago, though. I wasn't focused on that. But I thought it was strange that Ian had taken Shane's bedroom out of three bedrooms in the house. The room with the window that faced mine.

What I did notice, when I staggered into his room, Ian still at my side helping me, was the color of the wall was the same. A faint light blue. That instantly transported me back.

The TV was blaring. Shane and I were lying on our stomachs holding the video game controllers. We were playing on his new game system. It was type of war game rated M. He had bought it somehow without his parents knowing.

We were sharing a bag of potato chips.

Shane looked over to me sighing, when his guy had died. "I'm tired of playing this."

I smirked. I remembered; I wasn't really tired. I didn't have this type of expensive stuff back at home. I was enjoying every minute of it. But I lied, "Yeah, me too."