One Dove

I always thought it only happened in movies. Those kinds of movies where you instantly know who will end up with who in the end, living happily ever after. Those movies that begin with a scene where the main character is fighting his way through crowded metro and sees her then. Catches a glimpse of her hair, a wave of her perfume, barely-there touch lingering for maybe a second and that is all that's needed. That is all that the guy needs to keep searching for her, looking for her until he would eventually find her.

I never knew this... this obsession could be real. But yet, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Whenever Ellie or Adam or anyone took me with them to the streets, I wasn't too much of a help. I spent the most of time wandering around, looking for him; just a glimpse of his raven hair, his laughter that was so vivid in my memory, his voice, anything. I felt like I was going crazy and I guess, in a way I was. I needed to see him again.

Four days later I did.

I was standing near the van, leaning against the dirty surface, without really caring if my jacket would get all dirty from it, and staring somewhere off in the space. I knew Ellie noticed how useless I was, and I was, and still am, so thankful she never tried to tell me it was all vain – I would never believe her anyway. During those days she never said anything about him, except for one short sentence that I love her for so very much.

“I saw him there,” she muttered, stepping to me and touching my arm lightly as she pointed towards an alley between two buildings on the left. My heartbeat immediately doubled its speed and I was shaking, literally shaking when I walked there, a part of me pointing at the rest of me and laughing hysterically – I only saw him once. Just once. What was I trying to achieve?

But when I saw him a minute later, I forgot everything I was thinking about, I stopped wondering. Because I knew the answer – I wanted to save him, as simple as it was, I just wanted to save him back then.

He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall of one of the buildings, curled into a tight ball as if trying to protect himself from something I couldn't see. He was shaking visibly, I couldn't compare my nervous trembles with that; resting his chin on his knees and staring in front of himself. Only when I came closer I noticed his cheeks were strained with tears.

I immediately forgot every advice Ellie ever gave me about approaching the people on the streets and the next second I was kneeling in front of him, my heart beating insanely fast. I raised my hand a bit, instinctively, wanting to touch him, maybe just to find out if he was real or just a beautiful dream – or a nightmare, I couldn't tell.

When he saw the movement, he finally moved as well, twitching like a wild animal when it's approached. Then I saw his eyes that would haunt me in my dream for ages – so different to how I remembered them – they had been brightly blue, sparkling and smiling when I saw him for the first time. But now, now they were almost grey, reddened from crying and still swimming in tears, so empty and emotionless.

I gulped heavily, his eyes scaring me. I wasn't sure what to do now, a part of me wanted to get up and go call Ellie like a terrified kid. But what would she do? Nothing, I answered myself in the next second, she wouldn't do anything. Maybe she would even pull me away from here and I couldn't let this happen. Not now that I finally found him again.

After what felt like ages, I was just staring at him and he was looking at me with those scary eyes, all I did was to breath out a completely illogical question in a voice that felt strange and unfamiliar: “What is your name?”

He blinked, another visible tremble seizing his fragile figure. He bit down on his lower lip, unsuccessfully muffling a painful moan. He was suffering, I could see it so clearly.

“Help me,” he said, his voice cracking down from so much pain it actually hurt me.

“Help? How?” I whispered; I didn't know what he wanted, what he needed. Even though it was actually so obvious, so obvious it was blinding me. His suffering was so real I just wanted to take him in my arms and save him from the pain. My brain didn't play any role in that.

He pulled his knees even closer to his chest, shuddering as if he was fighting cramps. He raised his hand and for the first time he wiped the sweat and the tears away. And then he finally said what he wanted: “Money...”

Of course, of course he wanted money. What else could he possibly want? Money for the next fix, because it was so clear to me now; he was suffering because of withdrawal.

He noticed my hesitation, maybe he expected me to just reach in my pocket and give him the money he wanted, he needed. But I didn't. He loosened his grip on his legs, and made an attempt to stand up. He was holding the wall behind him for support as he tried to get up, and only now I noticed how tall he was, almost as tall as me. He had the longest legs I had ever seen, but they did poor job in keeping him up. I noticed the wavering movement before his knees gave up and he fell down just as I was getting up to catch him. He fell in my arms somewhere on the halfway.

As I was helping him to sit back down, it felt as if I was holding a porcelain doll, as if one harsher touch would break him into tiny pieces. And he kept telling me I could fuck him if I wanted, that he just needed money.

I didn't really listen to him, his words not getting past my ears. I didn't realise he was offering sex to me – and right then, I didn't want sex from him either. It was the last thing on my mind. Right then, I was just thinking that I was special. He asked me, me out of everyone, for help. But that just showed how stupid I was. Ridiculously stupid. Because now I know he would have asked anyone, anyone at all who would happen to be there when he needed money. And he probably did that too, I was just fortunate enough to not see him begging other people for money. Or getting them, in exchange for sex.

I caught myself reaching to my back pocket, and I saw his eyes shine for a second because he saw that movement too. It was strange, that little movement made happiness flash in his eyes, followed by disappointment when I actually didn't pull my wallet out.

“You can fuck me for money,” he repeated in raspy voice and I shook my head a little. I didn't want to have sex with him. And a part of me didn't want to give him the money either – what for? He'd buy more drugs, and he would feel okay for a while, until the drug's effect didn't wear out. Then he'd be back where he was now, a vicious circle he couldn't break by himself. And I wouldn't help him if I gave him money either, because that was all I still just wanted then, even more so than the first time I saw him – I just wanted to save him.

I was staring at the ground as he pulled back from me, curling in the same position that he had been in before I came. He probably lost the hope that I would give him money, and I stopped being interesting for him. I didn't realise then that it actually hurt me.

Even though I couldn't see him, I sensed he was shaking again, and I could hear the muffled sounds of pain he tried to hold back – the last attempts to save his dignity before he wouldn't care about anything at all, although I wasn't sure if he had some dignity left. The soft sounds, though, were making small cracks in my decision to not give him any money, they were crumbling it into pieces more and more. And when I looked up and saw him cry silently, biting on his hand to stay quiet, my decision fell apart.

It was his tears, I know now, his tears that always made me do whatever he wanted. I couldn't stand seeing him cry. It broke my heart over and over again, even though most of the time he wasn't aware of his tears. Maybe he didn't care, and the attempts to stop the tears were just something subconscious from times when his mum told him boys don't cry. And later he learned to use his tears against me, but I was still so helpless in trying to resist just like that first time.

“How much do you need,” I said more than asked, my voice finally sounding like my own, and he looked up almost disbelievingly. Thinking about it again, it was another thing that hurt me so much – that the only time he showed emotions was when the drugs were concerned.

He told me the amount and I gave him the money. He grabbed it without even looking at it, and then leaned forward and did the most unexpected thing in the world. Without smiling or changing his expression, he looked at me, his eyes still reddened and oddly grey, but not so scary anymore, a hint of emotion there; and he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine.

It only lasted a second. I was unable to move, to kiss back, do anything at all, just shocked from the movement. Then he pulled back and with surprising speed he got up and rushed somewhere away, leaving me kneeling there on the ground, tasting his tears on my lips.

I gulped down heavily and got up shakily, feeling like I was just a robot as I walked back to where Ellie and Adam were. They were done, and later I learned they were just waiting for me.

It was strange how Ellie could read me so well, but I was so thankful for her, because she was doing exactly what I needed without asking me about it. When I walked to them, she shook her head softly as if she knew exactly what a mix of guilt and relief I felt. She stepped closer and touched my cheek, before hugging me shortly.

She didn't say anything, just nodded at the van and we drove off without looking back. My head started to ache, and I rested my forehead against the cold glass of the window, closing my eyes. I still don't know whether I should or shouldn't have given him the money back then. I feel so guilty thinking about it, but if I didn't give him the money, he wouldn't come back to me the next time.

And I knew even then that he was far too huge part of my life already.