Fragile: Handle With Care

Fragile: Handle With Care - Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“You have got to be kidding me,” I moaned.

“It’s not so bad,” Mason understated, cocking his head sideways. “If you just close both eyes it’s like it never happened.”

“I can’t exactly erase it from my memory.” I buried my face into Mason’s chest, shielding my eyes from what I just witnessed.

My cardboard box was flattened, and not even the way it was supposed to be. It was like someone had just decided to sit on it…someone that was like six-hundred pounds. And I guess that could be compared to what really happened.

The place where I slept every single night for the past three months was now occupied by two people—a boy and a girl covered in scabs—going at it like wild animals. And that would’ve been fine if they were actually in the wild, out of the public eye. The fact that they were doing it on my shelter just made it twenty times worse.

“Where am I supposed to sleep? I can’t even stand here without wanting to puke.”

“You can stay at mine if you want.”

“Your box?”

“It’s a lot nicer than yours.”

“Anywhere is nicer than mine at the moment.”

“So it that a yes?”

I nodded. “I guess I’m moving in.”

It took me about ten minutes before that sank in. And when it did, I started to hyperventilate.

I was going to be living with Mason, a boy. We would be sleeping together, not like the couple we saw earlier, but like an old married couple. He would see my morning face, not that it was any better than my afternoon or evening face. We would be together like every hour of the day, and that was a lot of pressure.

***

“So this is your place?”

He nodded and smirked. “Told you it was better than yours.”

“I never denied that it wasn’t!”

“Whatever,” he muttered.

I looked around in awe, marveling at all the bright street art that surrounded me. It wasn’t like the ones I’d seen before; this was real art. I couldn’t really describe it—it was like a combination of abstract, modern, and cultural art. It had meaning, a definition.

Although the décor amazed me, it’s not what took my breath away. Cardboard boxes—and other things, like desk drawers—were scattered everywhere, some double stacked. They resembled little homes—random things were added to it to make it more comfortable and quirky. There were shopping carts scattered here and there. People were milling out and about, making conversation with their neighbors.

It was little community that was hidden between four walls of four different buildings. It was like a hidden courtyard that no one really knew about it. There were only two entrances and exits; both were thin alleys that you wouldn’t really notice unless you knew they were there.

Such a charming sight left me speechless, captivated. “Mason this is…” I couldn’t find an appropriate word to describe it. It was heartwarming and beautiful to know that even people who were suffering could find happiness.

Mason seemed to understand what I was getting at because he smiled. “I know.”

I found myself grinning back at him. Finally, I found someone who I could communicate with without talking, something that was close to extinct back home. “So which place is yours?”