Sleeping on Sidewalks // Ashton Irwin

week 2

On Monday he was back in school. He had a black eye, and there was still dried blood around his nose. His hair was messy and he was black and blue with bruises. I wanted to go over and check he was okay, offer to take him to the nurse. But when he saw me he ducked his head and moved quickly away.

On Tuesday I saw him again. He was asleep on a park bench at half 8, late wakinh up for school. I crouched beside the bench and tapped him on the shoulder. He woke up hurriedly and blinked a few times, adjusting to the sun. I waited as he pulled a shirt out of his bckpack and changed. We walked to school in silence, and I occasionlly glanced over, catching him wincing in pain. That evening, as we left school, I asked his name. He told me he didn't know, and ran in the other direction.

On Wednesday, he risked his safety to post a letter through my door.

I'm not from this town. A few weeks back, I woke up in an alleyway a few towns over. I was aching everywhere and my head was bleeding. I remembered nothing. A passerby took me to hospital and they fixed me up, but nobody knew who I was. There wasn't a missing persons report. My parents aren't looking. I had a book with me. The page with my name on with my name on was ripped, but it starts with A. I moved to this town and registered at school. I'm registered under John Doe.

-A

On Thursday, I saw him in the park. He had the binbag again. I went and sat with him, watching as he drew. Today's picture was a self portrait. I watched every pencil stroke, every flick of the eraser, observed as the picture took form. He was sat crosslegged, and when he finished he passed it to me before standing up gracefully and walking away.

On Friday he asked me to come with him after school. Reluctantly, I followed. We were heading in the opposite direction to the park. After about twenty minutes walking, we reached a bridge. He told me how every night he came here and thought about jumping. About how he didn't see any point in existing with no family to care for you. And then about how he would remember the night I left the duvet, or when I invited him in, or came to help him after my dad beat him up. And he holds on for one more day. I led him back to my house, and let him stay in my room.

On Saturday I woke up to him curled tightly in a ball, muttering in his sleep. I tried to wake him, but he didn't stir. He seemed like he was having a nightmare, and I kept hugging him until he woke up. When he blinked open his eyes at last, the first thing he did was reach for the backpack. He walked through to the bathroom and came out 10 minutes later, wearing different jeans and the same shirt as he was last Saturday. We didn't do much that day. We sat in my room in comfortable silence as he drew again. Today, it was a picture of me.

On Sunday we decided to try and figure out who he was. We laid out all of our evidence on the carpet between us, as we sat facing each other. The book with the A, a few concert bracelets, the incident report from the hospital, and a ticket to a music festival. Male John Doe. Mid-teens. Blonde hair, hazel brown/green eyes. Bruising on the face and arms and small, shallow lacerations to the face around the eyes. Minor head injury. Appears to be suffering from amnesia. I looked up at The Boy and saw small scars beside his eyes. They were faint and barely there, but you could still consider how much it must have hurt. The concert pass didn't help much- the only personal detail on it was his signature, which was an A with a squiggle beside it. Nothing more than we already knew. The bracelet just showed various bands and shows he'd been to see, and again, nothing personal. We spent hours reading through the notebook, but it was a scrapbook, mostly filled with photographs of places he'd visited. A few had him in, and occasionally a little boy. Underneath the photos were little notes. Beach with Harry!!, Harry's birthday :D, best brother ever xx Recognition was flashing in The Boy's eyes, but he didn't say anything. A few minutes before midnight, I asked if he knew anything at all about his past. He rolled up his bracelets to reveal row after row of scars.

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I cried writing Sunday oh lord. I AM EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE.

I considered not putting it in but it's pretty vital to the plot and idk. I'M SORRYYYY (on the bright side I know where this story is going now)

Chapter 3 soon. Dedicated to MiiMiix01 bc she's been tweeting me pictures of 5SOS all evening when I was sad.