Wolf

Chapter 22 - Operation Newcomer

I returned to my apartment four months later. My things were brought over from Kirishima's place. It was night time and I stood by the front watching the empty, dark space for a few seconds. I was reminded of the moments where I had returned home after a long overseas mission – the same ire feeling.

Seeing the familiar setting made me relax. I walked to the kitchen to open my windows so I could let fresh air enter the apartment and looked out of the window to admire the view before me. There was nothing special about the view but seeing it again after four months made me reminisce a little.

Informing my sister that I was at the apartment, I went to my bedroom so I could air the room out and switched to comfortable clothing.

This apartment was two and a half years old – moving out after the Tom fiasco and the space where I could seek some peace – where I had let out all of my pain, demon and my sorrow. My sanctuary and this was one of the reasons why I didn't want to let go of the house.

Switching on the television so it wasn't quiet, I headed to the kitchen to check my refrigerator. Four months meant that I would've some rotting food in there so I prepared myself. Instead of what I expected, I was stunned to see that it was stocked with fresh groceries, dairy, meat and so forth, and so I wondered if Kirishima had bought them.

Closing it again, I finally noticed the sticky note on the door.

Cook something delicious.

- K

Seeing that made me laugh and I felt better. It was a nice reminder that I was taken care of and that I hadn't worry about a thing. It was a nice gesture. It was thanks to his kindness and thoughtfulness that I won't feel guilty moving back to my house.

Hours later, I left the convenience store carrying a bag of snacks I had purchased and enjoying an ice-cream stick while I walked back home. As I turned the corner, there was two hooded men beating up a younger boy almost an inch to his life and what else could I do but to step in before he dies.

Directing their attention to me so they laid off the boy, I stepped forward and beat them up so they ran away with their ego bruised. Watching them retreat, I turned to the boy who was on the floor resting against the store shutter holding onto his stomach.

"Can you get up?" I asked as I crouched in front of him.

"Yeah."

The boy looked like he was in his late teens, bearing bruises and I wondered the type of problem he had, to have two grown men beat him up. It was baffling to me. I brought him back to my apartment and sat him down on the dining chair so I could get the first aid kit from the kitchen cabinet.

"What's your name?" I asked as I set the kit on the table. "Let me see what you have underneath."

"No just ... just the face."

I paused. "It's gonna hurt like a damn bitch if I don't treat your wounds," I said.

The kid reluctantly took his shirt off which revealed to me what he was hesitant to show. He refused to look at me. I said nothing as I got to work – disinfecting his old and new wounds and patched him up as best as I could.

"My name's Amelia," I said as I dabbed iodine on his recent cuts. The wounds looked bad and some were old, some were fading. "You were lucky I found you. Those two men looked like they were about to beat you to death. Do you need to make a police report?"

"No," he replied. "I stole something from them."

"Oh?" I asked as I worked - pasting a layer of gauze over an opened wound gently and a plaster over it, hoping he won't move around too much to let it heal properly. "What did you steal?"