In Saving the Imperfect

9. But our faults inspired

Everyone left.

Layne laid on the soft carpet of spring grass. On his side. His breaths ruffling the long, yellowish stems. His aching body mattered less than the injured pride. He was young, strengthened by years of physical labour. Victor, on the other side, has passed his prime age long ago – or so anyone would have assumed.

The wind tickled his face and messed up the lose hair strands. He held on to a handful of grass and pressed until veins protruded under his skin.

"Layne?" someone approached. Layne turned his eyes up to see Coden. Remy stood a few steps away. He was shaking. "Are you ok?"

He didn't answer. Not that he didn't want to. A painful lump formed in his throat, preventing from that. He kept blinking and moving his eyes to all directions. That was embarrassing.

"Do you need help?" the guy assisted Layne standing up.

Instead of gratitude, however, he received an elbow thrown into his chest. Coden gasped in pain, Remy rushed in to help him. Upon giving them a side look, Layne left the scene.

Troy was laying on his pallet when Layne entered the cabin. He sat up and frowned, looking at the man's face. "The hell happened to you?"

"Surprised you didn't hear it." He stretched out on his own bed. The injuries pulsed upon touch, making him flinch.

"So?"

"Don't wanna talk about it, Troy."

* * *

It took quite some persuasion from Iker's side until Layne allowed him to take care of his wounds. Even then, the man kept frowning and sighing. Like a child – he was aware of that.

"Nothing serious," said Iker when he was done. "A few cuts and bruises. Will heal fast enough."

"Yeah, I'm aware." Layne pulled his shirt back down. It was stained in red – not that it mattered. "Thanks."

"You really angered Victor."

The man let out a sad laugh. "He's a psycho."

"He's been through a lot. Did you know he's been here longer than any other person alive right now?"

"Is that supposed to make it alright somehow? Don't defend him, Iker."

"Maybe not but what you did wasn't alright, neither."

Layne bowed down his head and shifted further away. Iker smiled at him. He gathered the little bottles and rugs he used into a box and went for the door.

"Imma go find Zander," he said, "maybe you should get some air, too."

Layne was left alone.

He hasn't been alone pretty much ever since he was rejected. He used to dream about that. Yet, at the time, it only felt awkward. Everyone else were probably working to help sustain the village and there he was. Beat up and useless.

Still, going outside meant the possibility of meeting Victor. The last person he wanted to see at that moment. Even less so he wished to do anything that'd be of any help to that man.

The decision was more difficult than it should have been. The shadows of the flames jumped around on the cabin's walls. No sounds, no chatter, not even some movement of air. The atmosphere truly was oppressive.

Layne lifted his body up and hurried outside. He breathed with the wind and waited for his eyes to get used to the light. It was like a whole other world out there. Like seeing day and night – in it's literal meaning.

Alana and Malia were walking somewhere with woven baskets in their hands. They were laughing. Layne went to another direction. In an enclosure built of wooden poles and rusty net, maybe a dozen of brown hens were pecking at what looked to be rotten potatoes. Just outside it, Troy was setting up a cage-like device.