Rocket To The Moon.

A couple of days had passed, and Rocket was finally letting my leave my bed and walk around like a normal person. My head injury was fully cured. I would be going back to school the next day.

“I’m going out” Rocket stated nonchalantly, leaving the room.

“Don’t say goodbye then” I rolled my eyes.

Bored, I jumped out of bed and started searching around the room for something to do. The first thing I grabbed was my laptop, but no one was online, I had no news updates and no interesting mail apart from spam, so I turned it off. There was absolutely nothing on the TV, as usual, so I decided that I was going to watch a DVD. I had quite a large DVD collection, and there was some in there that I hadn’t watched in a long time. When we had moved to California, I had put all my DVDs in a box under my bed, so I laid down on my stomach and squirmed not so gracefully underneath my bed in search of the DVD box. I’ve always enjoyed watching movies, therefore my collection of DVDs was quite extensive and rather varied.

What I found instead of my vast DVD collection was a box of school supplies (Pens, pencils, notebooks, calculators…you get the idea), a box of books, a box of video games, a random sock, and Rocket’s old cuddly Spyro the Dragon toy.

My eyes fixed on Spyro for a moment, and a wave of nostalgia swept me back to the day I first met him. I picked up the toy with my right hand and held it close to my face. It felt soft. And despite spending four years under my bed, it still smelled like Rocket.

Eventually, I put it back down, and crawled out from beneath the gloomy depths of the underneath of my bed. So my movies weren’t there. Another possible hiding place for the box was on top of my wardrobe, so I grabbed the chair from the desk and pulled it up to the side of the tall white armoire. This was one of the main disadvantages of being a small person, you have to stand on stuff to reach any tall places. Luckily, I had become quite skilful in the field of standing on things and reaching, as I’d had much experience at it.

All I found on top of the wardrobe was a few more books and an old pop tart wrapper.

The only other possible place in my bedroom that the DVDs could have been was underneath Rocket’s bed, so, using the same crawling method as before, I delved under there. I found a couple of pairs of shoes, a book and his school timetable. No DVD boxes.

I was about to give up, when I noticed something lying right at the far corner of the room under the bed. I crawled closer to it and saw that it was a small, A5 sized notebook. Once again, I gave into my curiosity, something I should really stop doing. I made my way back out from under the bed, as the light under there wasn’t really sufficient enough for me to be able to see what was inside the book. I turned open the first page, and gasped in amazement.

There, on the paper, was a full colour, amazingly accurate and hauntingly beautiful landscape portrait of the beach outside of our house. At first, I was wondering whether or not it had been cut out of a magazine or photograph, or printed off the computer. Put the pencil lines were very real. I flipped over to the next page and saw an impressively realistic portrait of two people, a man and a woman, smiling, with their arms wrapped around each other. This had been sketched in pencil. The next eight or nine pages were all filled with amazing artwork. I seriously doubted that this book could have belonged to Rocket, but, it was the one I had seen him scribbling in before. It must have been his. Each drawing was just as good as the last, possibly even better, and he clearly had an outstanding talent. An outstanding talent that was completely hidden. The final picture shocked me more than any of the others. It shocked me so much, that I almost dropped the book and burst into tears. It was a portrait. Pencil sketched. But not just any portrait. It was a portrait of me.Looking at the paper was like looking in a mirror. He had drawn me perfectly. But why? Why would he do that?

The door flung open suddenly, causing me to drop the book in shock. Rocket entered, and glanced at the notebook on the floor that was open on the page containing the portrait of myself. He swiftly snatched it up and snapped it closed, before throwing it back down the side of his bed.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” he roared, his expression brimming with anger.

“I was just looking for some DVDs and..”

“You’re such a fucking inquisitive little bitch! You just can’t keep yourself to yourself can you!? You HAVE to go prying around in absolutely everything, don’t you!? I can’t fucking stand it!” his hands turned into fists as he spoke and his tone was pure enraged.

“I…” tears stung my eyes. He was right.

“Just stay the fuck away from me, and my stuff, okay, McKenzie!?”

“Okay…” I choked.

What had happened? Just a few days ago, Rocket and I had bonded to a point I’d never imagined us getting to in my wildest dreams. He even gave me a hug. Why had everything suddenly changed now? Surely, just looking in the notebook hadn’t set him off? It wasn’t that bad, was it? What could possibly have happened to make him suddenly hate me like this? Was it really my fault?

And that’s when I noticed the blood on his arm.
The right sleeve of his shirt was soaked with crimson red, that was trickling down from a violent rip at the top.

“Your arm…” I began.

“Just leave it” he growled.

“But…what happened to you? It looks serious” I whispered.

“I said to stay away from me!” he spat, covering the gash in his arm with his hand and taking a step further from me.

“You’ve done something stupid again, haven’t you?” I asked. My voice was no longer small and weak, I was being confident and demanding. I took a step closer to him, and he proceeded to take another step back.

“It’s nothing to do with you” he muttered.

“Yes it is, now let me see that!” I reached out for his arm, but he jerked it forcefully away from me, took one huge step back and threw his arms in front of his face.

“NO!” he screamed “NO! NO! GET OFF! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”He kept backing up until he hit the wall, which he then slid down and fell into a seated position, dropping his head down onto his knees.

“What happened to you?” I now sounded very worried and concerned. He didn’t respond to my question, so cautiously, I knelt down next to him.

“Something happened. Are you alright?” I asked softly, considering whether or not I was brave enough to put my hand on his shoulder. I decided against it for the time being.

“I couldn’t to it” he whispered “I lost her”

“Lost who? What are you talking about?” I pleaded desperately.

There was silence between us. Rocket wasn’t talking. I was about to repeat the question, when something happened that I would have expected even less than the hug on Saturday night. Something that stunned me to the point of speechlessness. Rocket started to cry.

“What the FUDGE!? Is this really Rocket I’m looking at right now? Or has he been replaced by some impostor who actually has feelings? This is way too weird. How on earth am I supposed to react?”

I remained quiet.

“I’m such a fucking idiot!” he sobbed “Why couldn’t I have been just THAT much smarter!? I’m a total fucking failure!” he punched the wall, leaving a mark.

I softly placed my hand on his arm.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” he screamed, writhing away from my touch.

“Shh! It’s okay! Calm down, please!” I implored, trying to remain as reserved as possible, but failing. Once again, I put my hand on his arm, stroking him lightly. Thankfully, he stopped thrashing and fell still. He sat up and put his head against the wall with his eyes closed. Breathing heavily, he said:“I don’t deserve to be here”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked delicately.

“I fucked up” he stated “I shouldn’t be alive right now. I should have been shot four years ago with my parents”

“Don’t say that!” I shrieked, clutching his arm tighter than before.

“Hero, why do you even care?” he asked with an unsteady voice.

“Why would I not care!?” I replied.

“Because I…I’ve been a total jerk to you this whole time…I…Oh God, I’m sorry…you didn’t d-deserve it!” he was now crying again. He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead and rested his injured arm on his leg. I took a good look at him. He was a mess.

“Rocket, you’re tired. And badly hurt. Come with me and I’ll get you cleaned up, then you’ll go to bed” I said calmly.

“Stop trying to help!” he sobbed “You can’t do anything for me right now!”

“Rocket, please!” I cried, very concerned about the amount of blood he was losing from his arm.

“I c…I can’t do this anymore!” he shook his head despairingly “I can’t...”

“Do what?” I asked.

“I can’t do it!” he repeated.

“You’re not being very helpful here!” I complained “I just wanna help you out”

“I lost her…”

“Lost WHO Rocket!?” I shouted, becoming frustrated with him. He shook his head violently and turned away from me.

“Come with me, I’m going to get your arm cleaned up” I said, standing up and tugging lightly on his shirt so that he would follow. He trailed behind me into the bathroom and I raided the medicine cupboards in search of the first aid kit. As I got out the bandages and disinfectant, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu.

When I turned back, Rocket was facing away to me, and to my horror I saw that it wasn’t only his arm what was covered in blood, but his back also.

“Rocket, I need to take a look at your back” I said. He nodded weakly. Carefully, I pulled his shirt up over his head and revealed a deep scratch running diagonally from one side of his back to the other. I moved round to examine his arm, and it looked as though a large amount of flesh had been ripped out of it. I winced.

With a wet cloth, I started mopping the blood from his back, being extra cautious not to touch the wound itself with the cloth.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I asked softly.

“It was awful” he shuddered. I remained quiet, giving him a chance to continue.“

She was so young…only about thirteen or fourteen years old. And she looked…she looked kinda like you, Hero..” he muttered tearfully.

“Who?” I asked.

“I don’t know what she was called. She’ll probably be on the news later though”

“And what happened?” I prompted him.

“There were…gunshots. A lot of them…a-and people were screaming. There were dozens of cop cars…all surrounding that Italian restaurant in the city centre” he was gradually becoming much more calm as he spoke “A group of people had broken in to steal money from the cash register…but it had gotten out of hand and the authorities had shown up. At least…a-at least that’s what I think happened” he furrowed his eyebrows “Anyway, they were keeping this one girl hostage. Everyone else had gotten out…she was too slow. One guy was standing at the window pointing a gun at her head. Her parents were hysterical. I-I had to so something”

I began to disinfect the scratch on his back.

“I ran to the next street and climbed over some fences to get to the back of the restaurant. Then I broke in through the back door. Shit, I was so stupid…I shouldn’t have done it…I shouldn’t”

I placed a caring hand on his shoulder, and he continued.

“I just ran straight in there, like a fucking idiot. And he shot me. He only skimmed my arm though” Rocket indicated to the bloody hole in his right arm “The force knocked me backwards onto one of the tables, it had a vase on it which I broke when I landed on it, and the broken glass cut me”

That was obviously how he had attained the cut on his back.

“Then he just…shot her. Just like that. No warning. Nothing. He just…did it. And…and it was…m-my fault. I shouldn’t even have gone in there. Oh God, there was so much fucking blood. I should have let the police handle it. I…I killed her!” he broke down.

“Rocket, you didn’t kill her” I said softly “You were just acting on impulse, doing what you thought was right. You had no idea that was going to happen” I proceeded to clean the blood from his arm. He was shaking violently.

“I…I…” he couldn’t finish what he was about to say.

We were both silent for the next few minutes as I finished clearing up Rocket’s gunshot wound on his arm and bandaging it. It was a pretty bad injury. I knew that it probably needed medical attention, but I decided that I would rather not suggest that to Rocket whilst he was in this state. I would tell him the next day.

“She reminded me so much of you” Rocket whispered after about fifteen minutes of silence “She had those dark eyes, and almost the same colour hair as you. Heck, she even had your freckles”

I didn’t know how to respond to this.

“Hero…I…I don’t think I should be around you anymore” he said.

“What?”

“What happened today made me realise that…I really don’t want anything to happen to you. Seeing that girl getting shot made it so much easier for me to visualise you…getting… Anyway…I thought that…me being here might, sort of, provoke something. I always seem to make everything worse, and, I don’t want to be responsible for hurting you. It’s almost happened a few times… and I fear that I might end up doing or causing something that…” again, he couldn’t finish.

I sighed “Rocket, that’s crazy, you and I both know, that isn’t going to happen”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked.

“You’re just in a bad place right now, so naturally, you’re thinking the worst” I said, trying to sooth him as much as possible “I think you should try and get some rest. You’ve clearly had a rough day” I rubbed his arm affectionately.

“Okay” he muttered “But if anything starts to go wrong…I’m getting the fuck out of here”

“Alright” I agreed “But I can assure you, nothing will go wrong”

He looked down at me with his tear-streaked face, searching for any kind of signs that I was lying. Once satisfied that I was being truthful, he breathed a small sigh of relief, but he still looked tense.

“Come on” I said “Get to bed, Rocket” I turned to walk away, but felt his hand grab my wrist. He pulled me back into him and wrapped his arms around me. This time, the hug didn’t shock me half as much as it had before. I rested my head heavily on his chest, and we stayed in that position for the next twenty minutes, in total silence.