Torn Fragility

It's me who's been eternally damned
Trapped inside this cage, a ruined man
All damaged and depraved~ Ghost in the Shell

I made a light chicken salad for lunch, wondering if I could risk some balsamic vinegar. I halved the salad and put Smith’s portion in a large blue bowl and along with a glass of apple juice I placed the items in a tray like Hannah had done and carried the meal to his room.

I was tempted to set the tray right outside his door and make a run for it. I squared my shoulders like they did in the movies and took a deep breath before giving a curt knock on the door and turning the handle with my free hand.

“It’s lunch ti‒,” I began only to have to sidestep something shiny that embedded into the door behind me.

I peered at it closely only to find it was a streamlined metal dart with a tip like an injection needle. I suppressed a shiver and ignoring the angry hunched over figure that sat on the edge of the bed, turned away from me, I walked towards a side table and placed the tray on top of it, shoving aside old used tissues, crumpled balls of paper and a dirty glass. I picked up the glass to take it back down to wash but paused at the door.

I threw a glance at Smith, who was wrapped up in a heavy quilt staring at the view outside or nothing at all.

“You play beautifully,” I whispered, barely audible, and hurried outside, closing the door quickly behind me. And when I pressed my ear to the door no further object hit its surface from inside.

Maybe he’s calmed down a bit after that dart shooting. I sighed and took the glass downstairs before hurrying back up into my room to change into shorts and an old T-shirt.

“Prepare for a massacre,” I told the lawnmower as I began to laboriously push it into the back yard. With a straw hat perched atop my head I made sure the extension cable was secured and turned the mower’s motor on. It chugged and grumbled half heartedly as I took the grass head on. But I was prepared for battle and had my sunglasses on to protect my eyes from stray missiles.

After a while I began to enjoy myself and viewed the neat rows of shorn grass behind me with triumph.

Sudden movement caught my eye but, glancing upwards I at an upstairs window where it had appeared, I saw nothing and continued with my lawn conquest. Dirty but feeling very happy I went inside, washed my hands and ate my own portion of the salad with a ice cold glass of water.

I went upstairs to get my things and shower but I stopped dead still when I passed my desk. My sketch of the house was gone. The colour drained from my face and then returned with a vengeance. I calmed myself down, checked my room for any sign of it, hoping to see that it had floated under my chair or I had just misplaced it. Nothing. I couldn’t find it. I took the room key out my desk drawer and inserted it into my door’s lock. I had kept my door unlocked till now in case of an emergency, and Hannah had also told me to keep it unlocked because the key sometimes caused a hassle by slipping out.

I collected my bath things and locked the door behind me before tucking the key into my toiletries bag.

In the bathroom I saw my reflection in the mirror and laughed. Why am I so angry over a scrap of paper? The drawing wasn’t even that good.

But the thought that Smith had entered my room lent to my outrage and I tore my clothes off and let a hot shower ease the tension in my neck and shoulders.

Downstairs I heated up the butternut soup Hannah had placed in the freezer, mixed in a dollop of cream and carried a bowl of it up to Smith. My hands tightened around the bowl and I pushed the door open after giving a very very curt knock.

A creature tangled up in sheets tumbled to the ground. It appeared Smith had been trying to walk and I had startled him. I bit my lip, feeling angry at myself for not giving him enough warning before placing the soup down and hurrying forwards.

I knelt down beside the wriggling bed monster and started peeling off its wrappings. There was scarcely any light in the room; the sun had just set and no lamps were switched on so I worked by way of feeling and the little bit of light that fell through the open door. When the creature sensed my presence it growled threateningly but I continued unwrapping him and struggling against him at the same time. He clearly didn’t want them off.

“Stop struggling! It’s a warm night; you’ll die under so many blankets!” I was angry at myself for caring and at him for being so petty.

Surprisingly he stopped struggling and immediately I got the second last blanket off of him and found myself face to face with a pair of night sky black eyes...and a face that was horribly disfigured on the left side as if something had cut through the skin from his jaw up to his eyebrow like a knife through butter. Even in the bad light I could make out how the skin was still red and puckered around the scar. How recent was it?

Smith snarled and shoved me onto my back before he hid his face under a duvet. His actions clearly said that he wanted to be left alone but I worried that he wouldn’t be able to get back onto the bed. Hannah had vaguely told me that Smith was physically disabled. Was it his legs?

And then I stopped dead still. For if Smith was really disabled then how did he get into my room? He clearly didn’t have a wheelchair...Who had entered my room?

I brushed the questions aside for later. For now I had to assist this stubborn little monster.

“I’m going to help you onto the bed, so keep still please.” I took him by the shoulders intending to swiftly lift him onto the bed but surprisingly strong hands suddenly gripped my wrists.

Smith glared into my eyes with sudden undisguised vehement loathing. His covering had slipped off and my eyes travelled down to the scar on his face.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered pulling back, shocked at my own audacity and by his...disfigurement.

He glared at me as I climbed shakily to my feet. I gulped back panic.

Feeling I had done something irreparably wrong I stumbled out of his room and ran into mine, shutting the door behind me before sinking down onto my bed. Impulsively I jumped up and I found my fingers scrabbling in my pencil case. And before I knew what was happening, I was tracing the outlines of Smith’s face onto a smooth sheet of paper.