Chapter 7

Oliver didn't keep track of how many days he had gone without healthy food and how slowly he was recovering from his last punishment. He was tired, sore, and sick. Maybe, last night he should have slept more instead of enjoying the beautiful, freezing rain. Even so, he had to move forward; he thought that he would regain his strength by eating a little and drinking.

When they left the forest, Oliver had to hold back a grunt because of how annoying the noises, the people, and everything around him was. He felt afraid again; there was a lot of light, and he felt all eyes on him. He had to endure it and adapt if he wanted to be free.

The way to Chrystal Daly's house was tortuous, and the redhead had to help him in the last meters because his feet could no longer support his weight and the pain in his torso.

“I'm sorry,” muttered the green-eyed boy, once inside the house.

“Nothing's wrong,” she answered instantly, “I think you should take a bath first.”

Oliver didn't say anything else. He followed the girl to the small room where the bathroom was. It was a thousand times more beautiful than his usual, the walls were different shades of blue and had square figures, it had a sink, a quiet interesting toilet and a shower with two handles to control the water temperature. The boy was trying to remember if he had seen something similar. He was aware that he lacked many things, this bathroom reflected that when he was permitted to wash. He only had a bucket and cold water, but he was sure that it was not always like that, there was a time when he had been in a bathroom as nice as that one.

Oliver's eyes widen as he remembered the days when he and his mother lived on the surface with Mr. Craig. They had a large, beautiful room where they both spent most of their time. Oliver remembered that the bathroom had a bathtub where he spent hours in the water playing. Why had he forgotten that? His question answered itself as the memories of that night surfaced, and he shook his head to pay attention to what the girl in front of him was saying.

“Maybe this is too big for you,” she showed him a huge black shirt with a bear in the middle, “the pants are adjustable, so I guess you won't have any problems with that part.” She laid the clean clothes on the toilet seat, feeling the boy's gaze on her. “This is the hot one,” she pointed to the left knob, “and this is the cold one,” she pointed to the right knob. Oliver stood, admiring those knobs, trying to guess what their use would be. Had his mother used those knobs? He didn't remember either; when he entered the bathroom, the tub was already ready.

“Just open it like this,” Chrystal turned the left knob, and water began to come out. The young girl wondered if that boy was homeless or if he lived in the forest to be amazed by something as simple as the showerhead in the bathroom. Maybe after this night she should say goodbye to him, she knew almost nothing about that boy, and she still feared he was a bad person.

“I'll go prepare the food.”

When Chrystal left, closing the door, Oliver looked again at the fictitious rain and let out a sigh, missing his mother again. He removed his clothes slowly, feeling how the whole room started to heat up. As he put his hand in the water, he immediately pulled it out: it felt very hot. He turned the right knob and managed to regulate the temperature; he felt in paradise as the drops of water hit his body, relaxing him almost instantly.

He let out a few moans of pain as he carefully ran the soap over his torso and back; the wounds were cleaning, and they burned. The floor was filled with blood, dissolving through the strainer in the center of the floor. He allowed herself to enjoy the bath, spending more time than he used to, until his toes crinkled, and his feet begged for a rest.

The clothes the strange-haired girl had lent him were huge, the black shirt covered up to his thighs, and the pants barely fit him well enough, it was comfortable and warm, but it was huge. He stopped caring about it, knowing that the rags he wore before were much worse than the giant clothes. He looked at the bruises on his cheekbones that covered all his freckles and his hurt chin, his green eyes that had caused him so much trouble, and his runny nose.

>>You are almost identical to your father; your nose, your hair, and those adorable freckles are his. But your eyes, they're just like mine. <<

At some point, Oliver wished to meet his father, to see with his own eyes if it was true that he looked like him, but his father was dead, and the only thing that remained of him was Oliver and his face, which was an identical copy. The brown-haired boy wanted to look like his mother; just possessing her eyes was not enough for him. He hated to look like someone he never knew, his mother was fascinated to see her beloved in her son, but Elliot Craig hated it; he hated to see that face.

>>I'll remove every one of those horrible freckles from your face! And if you ever look at me again, I swear I'll gouge your damn eyes out! <<

He swallowed dryly after that memory and looked down, slowly opening the door. He needed to sleep. He couldn't stay up any longer; his body was heavy and throbbing as if there was no tomorrow. He walked slowly, being guided by the delicious aroma of the food. He looked at the table and the dishes on it; his stomach roared, drawing the attention of Chrystal, who almost knocked over the dishes. She couldn't believe that the boy looked attractive to her with all those bumps on his face and his malnutrition; his brown hair reached below his ear with small waves that, being matted, could not be appreciated.

“The food is ready,” said Chrystal with that characteristic cold tone of hers; she should not think such things. With her hand, she indicated him to take a seat and eat whatever he wanted.

“Actually, I wasn't planning on having more food after yesterday, so I thought I'd order pizza and sushi; eat whatever you like. This is plain water; you must be thirsty.”

She was nervous. She hadn't been nervous in a long time, let alone talking to someone, it was strange. Oliver admired everything on the table even though he didn't know what kind of food it was. He waited for the girl to serve herself, and then he served himself and tasted the food.

It was an explosion of flavors in his mouth. He had never tasted something so delicious in his life: the first slice of pizza vanished in a second, so he took another slice, devouring it in silence. Chrystal passed him some sushi rolls so he could also eat, and without looking her in the eyes, he took them and put them in his mouth. Oliver was eating like crazy, he didn't even notice the chopsticks next to him or the ketchup for the pizza. He was so engrossed in the different textures and flavors that he forgot for a moment where he was. He had never eaten anything like this in his whole life.

Chrystal watched him in silence while she slowly ate her piece of pizza. The boy was really starving; how many days had he gone without a bite? She was a little curious to know more about him. Chrystal believed that all things happened for a reason, and although she couldn't understand why she became an orphan, she wanted to understand why that brunet boy appeared in her life just when she was planning to die.

When Oliver satiated his stomach, he let out a sigh of satisfaction. He had never been full, he still felt quite sick, but the food had strengthened him. Feeling the girl's gaze on him, he shrunk in place, lowering his hands to his lap.

“Thank you. ”

He spoke so quietly that even he doubted if anything came out of his mouth. He should thank her for all she had done for him; he cleared his throat and thanked her again louder.

His head throbbed harder, chills ran rapidly through his body, and his eyesight began to fail him. He fell to the floor with a thud, startling the young woman in front of him. Chrystal immediately stood up, heading towards the strange boy, examining him in a squatting position. She grimaced as she felt his hot forehead and cold hands.

Suddenly a thunder echoed through the lonely house, announcing another storm.