Hopelessly Devoted

Chapter 39- Dreaming

My eyes open to an alleyway. Dark, gritty, and dirty: It has a faint smell of sweat and feces to it. Police sirens wail in the distance faintly, they must be far away.

My torso screams as I force myself into a sitting position. I'm covered in the marks of my father's fists and boots. Disgusting blooms of purple litter my body, and I vaguely recall how I got them. But I don't remember how I got here. All I seem to be able to remember is the feeling of my heart breaking with each new blow to my ribs from my father. I guess he decided he didn't want me anymore and dumped my unconscious body out here.

I have a feeling he doesn't QUITE like me, so I doubt I'm in a safe part of town.

Better get moving.

The urge to cry out from movement washes over me, but I surpress it. I slowly manage to curl my left leg under my body. Then the right. I'm sure I looked like a feeble old man when I tried to push myself off the ground, summoning all my strength to perform an otherwise simple task. 

Just as I'm about to take my first step out of the alley, I hear a clang coming from behind me. I whirl around but see no one. Just a mountain of garbage carelessly stacked into a corner. Weird.

I carefully step out of the alleyway and into the main street. The street is narrow and each side is crowded with big blocks of cement closely packed together. Harsh neon lights try to illuminate the night, but they are so scarcely placed that they do almost nothing to detract from the ominous feeling of this neighborhood. Garbage litters the pavement, both in bags and out. No one is outside right now except for me. Perfect.

I have absolutely no idea where I am, so I decide to head right. After all, right must be right, right?

Each step I take makes a hollow thud against the sidewalk. My hands instinctively cross over my chest as if my doing so would prevent harm from befalling me. I make a conscious effort to watch where I step, being careful to avoid the disturbingly plentiful number of needles under my feet. Despite the fact that I can't see anyone near me, I can't shake the feeling that I'm in danger. That every step was a gamble: either taking me to devastation or salvation. Still, I continued to walk.

I walked.

And walked. 

And walked some more.

I walked until the moon, once perched firmly in the middle of the inky sky, was threatening to disappear behind the rundown housing to my left.

A small sense of hope fills me. Morning would mean that I could maybe get some help. I could find a police station or a school or something.  Morning meant safety.

"HEY! Grab the little fucker, Fucker!" 

A voice shouts from behind me. Confused, I turn around. Two figures were now sitting on stairs that led into one of the apartment building. A taller, more foreboding, third figure was standing behind them, staring at me, and pointing to something in the middle of the street.

Pointing at a small rabbit.

"Luke, grab it!  Before it gets away."

For some reason, it doesn't disturb me that this person knows me. It doesn't register that the rabbit isn't moving, just sitting quietly. It doesn't cross my mind that I should keep walking and get help. My legs move toward the small ball of fluff automatically. With the confidence of someone who'd been around rabbits all their life, I scooped up the small thing and faced the group.