“Tch. Useless.”
The man muttered through a mouthful of food, watching the football game on the TV.
It was the dead of night, the brightness from the TV was the only source of light in the otherwise dark apartment.
The sound of cars passing by outside the window was a constant despite the late hour, perfectly showing that cities never truly slept.
The man’s hair were disheveled, thick bags hung under his eyelids, heavy due to lack of sleep.
He wore a white shirt with food stains on the chest and yellow stains under the armpits and black shorts that made no effort to hide his hairy legs.
He sat barefooted on the couch, a takeaway of chicken wings placed between his crossed legs, eyes locked in the game of football.
“Pass the fucking ball!”
Pieces of food spewed out of his mouth as he shouted in frustration, flying in every direction.
“If that was me, I would’ve…”
His voice trailed off as he stared down, eyes falling on the large scars on his right knee, a deep sadness hidden in his gaze.
“Tch.”
The man clicked his tongue bitterly and raised his head.
“No regrets.”
His voice was heavy with emotions, sounding like he was trying to convince himself that whatever happened for there to be a scar, it was worth it.
The man kept watching the game, shouting curses every now and then when the players messed up, which seemed to be happening quite often.
He reached for the cup on the small table in front of him.
It was lighter than he expected.
“Tch. Empty.”
His eyes moved to the faint outline of a fridge in the kitchen, hesitant.
“It’s so far away.”
The laziness was heavy in his voice.
Clearly he didn’t want to get up.
“But I’m thirsty, though.”
He complained, sounding like a little kid.
Propping a large wing in his mouth, the man steeled himself and, “Urgh.” got up with and exaggerated grunt.
He grabbed the cup and walked to the kitchen, legs wobbling due to hours of inactivity, stepping on tin cans with every second step he took.
“Urgh.”
The light from the fridge forced him to squint, hurting his eyes before it adjusted.
He took out a jar filled with water, the glass cold against his pale skin, and started pouring himself a cup.
“Bowen is in on goal!”
The commentators voice rose in excitement, causing the man to leave the cup half filled before running to the living room.
Due to the darkness, the man was unable to see the trash in front of him.
He slipped on a soda can, falling to the ground face first.
–thud–
The man hit the floor with a hard thud, crushing cans, plastic bottles and empty chips bags under him.
The piece of chicken he had in his mouth got hammered further in, stuck in his throat.
Blood flowed out of his broken nose, his head dizzy from the hit.
But that didn’t matter, as the man could feel his throat constrict against the chicken, desperate to let air pass through.
A large lump could be seen in his throat, the bones of the chicken faintly visible.
The man clutched as his throat, as if to rip it open, tearing long scars in it as his oxygen grew lesser and lesser.
The edges of his vision started darkening, his face and the white of his eyes turned red.
Tears spilled out of his eyes, running down his blood stricken face.
‘Is this how it ends?’
He thought, patches of black appearing over his blurring vision.
The man futily wheezed and coughed for breath, trying as hard as possible for just a tiny bit of it to pass the chicken.
The darkness in his vision started closing in, and the last thing the man saw before it all went dark, was his team losing the game.
‘Tch.
Useless.’
His heart stopped and eyes closed, never to be open again.
********
–gasp–
The boy woke up with a gasp as if he came from under water, grasping at his throat.
“What the f–”
His sentence stopped short when he felt an agonizing pain stab into his stomach.
It felt as if a vortex was sucking his insides.
The boy urgently jumped off the bed, only to fall to the ground when he lost balance.
His legs and whole body felt heavy, as if he didn’t have energy in his body to keep them working.
The morning light spilled through the white curtains, allowing him to see clearly.
His eyes locked onto a door at the side of the room.
‘Bathroom.’
The boy didn’t know how he knew, and neither did he care.
He had an overwhelming urge to throw up and he needed to get to the bathroom before it was too late.
He grabbed onto a chair that was at a desk and pulled himself up with strain.
His hands trembled and shook.
The simple motion took everything out of him, sweat running down his back.
The boy pushed himself forward, and with unsteady steps, threw himself against the white marble wall, leaning against it as he made his way to the bathroom.
–bang–
The door burst open with a bang as the boy threw himself against it, revealing a luxurious bathroom with white marble tiles, soft fur rugs, spotless bath and toilet, golden taps and new white towels placed neatly in the rack.
The boy didn’t have time to admire the scene, he rushed for the toilet the moment his eyes feel on it, opening it without ceremony before his head disappeared into it.
“Bwaaauuk.”
The sound that ripped through his throat was disgusting, followed by a splash of liquid into the toilet.
The boy could feel that his stomach was getting rid of everything it had, as the bile rose from the depths of his stomach.
The session lasted for a few minutes, only stopping when there was nothing left to vomit, leaving the boy’s stomach empty.
“Haaa… haaa…”
The boy leaned against the toilet, totally spent, as if he jogged a marathon under two hours.
He dared a look into the toilet and the sight almost made him go into another vomit fit.
The boy slammed the lid closed and flushed the toilet, sending his vomit to who-knows-where.
“Why the fuck am I vomiting pills?”
He asked out loud, voice hoarse and throat sore.
His eyes traced over the bathroom, causing his eyebrows to crease in confusion.
“Wait. Where am I?”
This was clearly not his dingy apartment bathroom.
No.
These walls were clean, pristine, clearly receiving regular care, while his were old, chipped, with the stain of a cockroach he killed months ago still against it.
His eyes traced over the rack filled with towels and gowns, over the clean floor, the golden faucets, the fairy lights above.
“Where the heck am I?” The boy’s voice held more urgency now.
He stood up, easier than before, and he immediately felt it.
His center of gravity was wrong, completely wrong.
He felt shorter than he remembered, and his limbs took less effort to move.
“Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.”
The boy muttered the words, stroding over to a large mirror in the corner of the room.
What he saw completely shook him, because what he saw was different from what he thought.
In front of him stood a boy of maybe 15 or 16 with pale skin, it was so pale that it almost seemed fragile to touch.
Long eyelashes fell over blue eyes that appeared as if they held the depths of the ocean.
Pitch black hair fell of his youthful face, stopping just short of his thick and straight eyebrows.
A long and sharp nose, luscious pink lips, with a jaw that looked like it was sculpted from marble.
A hint of a Adam’s Apple, showing the boy was still going through puberty.
The boy fell to his buttocks, bewildered.
“Who the fuck is this?”