You're My Best Enemy

The streets were illuminated by the city lamps, but it held no comfort for him. Not tonight. The air shifted. It made it difficult for him to take in slow breathes. Thick fog surrounded his feet and made them as cold as stone. He was rooted to the spot, unable to breathe or move, but he was famous.

This was no ordinary man standing on any street. This was the most famous man on the street. He offered a good price, he was talented and everybody wanted him for one night. Men and women. They would beg. His tall figure and jet black hair would send the women wild. His dark blue eyes that could bore into your soul and his cheek bones would send the men howling. He was famous.

But tonight, something was different.

The fog still lingered the same way. The street held the same men and women, lurking the streets hoping for a catch. Cars still slowed down to witness them as if they weren’t human at all, everthing were as normal.

Something had changed. He could feel it deep within his soul. He felt dirty and used and extremely cheap. To anyone else you would think would be a normal feeling for a man like him to feel, a man so famous. But no, he had never felt this before. He felt disgusting.

He felt like crying.

Of all the customers he had, he never let himself feel anything. He would give for the money. The money would buy him food and if he was lucky, somewhere to sleep at night. Luck was a big part of his nights. It was luck that brought him his customers, luck that gave him the nice customers that would have what they want and pay and nothing else. Luck was the fiction of the game.

But last week, he let himself feel. He felt all the emotions he grew up never feeling. The flooded into him like the sea would to a shell. His bones felt warm and his skin glowed. For once in his life he didn’t want the night to end, he wanted it to repeat in his mind over and over again. The feel of the woman’s skin on his was almost a poison, as much as he knew he shouldn’t he wanted it. He drank the woman like a deserted man would drink water.

He asked for no payment, he let the woman go. The woman with the fiery hair and the emerald eyes. He would never forget, she smiled as she left and she was never seen again and his body ached. His throat burned. His eyes would water and his mind would crawl into the shadows of his mind to search for that night again. The free night he shared with her.

Tonight he wanted to be found.

It was a fact everyone knew on the street. The police are the enemy and you should hide or run when you see the lights. You should never run towards the lights. A cruel irony.

“You better step out from that lamp man, or the pigs will get you!”

He gently nodded and stayed where he was. His feet were rooted to the spot.

He wasn’t only famous by the people wanting a dirty secret, oh no. He was also well known by the police. His name rang through their stations like a wild fire. The police were all curios about him and were dying to catch him. Dying to see what he looked like in the flesh. Was this man really all that wonderful? Was he really all that talented?

So he stood there, feeling cheap and dirty waiting.

He didn’t want to do it anymore. After years of doing it, he had had enough. Of the nightly numbness of the emotions, he was scared of never feeling what he felt that night again. Man or woman. He wanted that feeling back and he wanted to keep it. Keep it in his pocket and keep it safe. He wanted to keep something safe for once. Something different from money.

As per usual, luck was on his side once more.

The lights came down the street like a marching band and it filled his heart with hope. Everyone around him ran and hid, one even tried to warn him, but he made on indication of moving. They all knew, he’d given up. The famous was leaving the street.

The police man rolled down his window and squinted.

“You him?”

He gave a nod and small smirk.

The police officer got out of the car and stood over him. He searched his face and found history. He looked at his clothes and found pity. He looked at his feet and found misery. He searched his eyes and found a hint of sadness.

“You’re just a boy.”

This famous man was 17 years old. His body had been used and paid for 4 years. First by the ones he loved, then by the one he never knew existed. He had grown to realise the world didn’t show love willingly. Wars were happening. By bombs and by words. Between countries and families’. For 4 years this is all he knew.

Until that night.

Love could be found in the darkest of places and the most unwillingly but he found it and he wanted it. He would search for it, but he needed a way out. He needed a reason to escape it all.

“You’re him”

The police officer stared wide eyed and tried to imagine his 17 year old boy standing in front of him.

“Please, take me in.”

The police officer handcuffed the 17 year old and pushed him into the car and slowly got into the car himself.

The boy looked out and saw everyone crawl back onto the streets and he felt warm as he realised, they were all strangers to him now. He was caught by the enemy the all hated.

“Thank you.” His whisper reached the police officer’s year and the police officer gave a smile, but didn’t know why he gave one.

The boy sank into the seat. Caught by his very best enemy.

“Thank you so much my dear enemy.”

And as the street lights passed him and his feet began to warm, so did his bones and skin and he felt human again.

And it was the best feeling in the world.