Chapter 9

“Oliver.”

The named boy opened his eyes for a couple of seconds without recognizing the person in front of him. Chrystal moved away a little, seeing how he slowly began to recover consciousness.

“You fainted after eating,” she said as she saw the confusion on his sore face, “you had a fever.”

Oliver was surprised to see her, not knowing how long he had been asleep. He was sorry for causing more trouble to the girl with strange reddish hair. He wanted to apologize, but his mouth was so heavy he could barely swallow his own saliva. His whole body ached for more rest, he felt worse than a few hours ago… or was it days?

“Drink.”

The girl passed him a clear glass with water. Oliver stretched his arm with great effort; however, his hand could not support the weight and slipped to crash with the floor. Oliver let out a gasp and forced himself to get up quickly to pick up the glass, trying to get the words out of his mouth.

“I'm-I'm sorry.”

Oliver could feel every cell in his body tense up: sweat trickled down his forehead and back If the girl had been nice enough to let him spend the night at her house, he was sure she would drag him away now.

“Nevermind; I should have thought you weren't strong enough.”

Chrystal watched dumbfounded as he awkwardly picked up the glass; the look of terror on his face had paralyzed her. She crouched down to his level and stopped his clumsy movements as she saw how small shards dug into his palms, drawing his attention to the cuts on his wrists. She understood a little of what was happening to the boy, or so he thought. Oliver stopped his action and cringed, waiting for the blow or a scream, but his wrists were grabbed gently, and he closes his eyes tightly.

Chrystal took a closer look at Oliver's wrists: they were also full of bruises and scratches as if he had been handcuffed for a long time. She had seen similar marks on his ankles, and wasn’t able to stop a shiver from running down her spine at the thought of what kind of life the person in front of her had.

“How did you hurt your wrists?”

The question made Oliver's eyes open, and he glanced down at his wrists. He hadn't had time to look in detail at all the injured areas of his body, but he wasn't impressed to see how bad they looked, so was the rest of his physiognomy. What should he answer her? He didn't think telling her the truth would work because he himself didn't have a good understanding of his life.

Not receiving an answer, the redhead let out a sigh; it was clear that it was a delicate subject and that the boy needed professional help.

“Forget it; it's none of my business. I'll get another glass and... bandages.”

For the second time in the day, Oliver was amazed by the girl's attitude; she hadn't hit him or insulted him when it was clear he deserved it, she was... she was really nice to him. He took a seat on the couch where he had spent the night and allowed himself to feel the softness of the furniture, understanding why he fell asleep until today: it was comfortable.

When Chrystal returned, she instructed him to drink water through the straw so he wouldn't exert himself too much and went about disinfecting the wounds on his wrists and hands by bandaging them as she had done with his feet.

“Did you take the pills I left you?” she asked, unable to stand the silence.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.”

The boy didn't know how to thank her for all that she did for him; he wasn't as afraid of her as he was that night when she almost led him to his death. He gave a little jump when he felt Chrystal Daly's cold hand on his forehead. His eyes connected with hers. He took a little while to lower his gaze, admiring the almost invisible freckles that adorned her nose.

“Sorry, you still have a high fever... this should help.”

Chrystal handed him a different pill and waited for Oliver to swallow it with some tea she had made minutes before waking him up.

“I... ”

“You must be hungry; I got soup and vegetables. Can you get up?”

He was going to tell her that he didn't want to be an annoyance to her and that thanks to her care, he could go on, even if that wasn't true, but when he heard there was food, all opposition was erased from his mind and without thinking he accepted the girl's food. He was starving, and if he wanted to join his friends, he needed all the strength he could get.

Chrystal couldn't hide her surprise as she watched Oliver eat the plate like a beast, spilling soup on the T-shirt she had lent him. The boy looked like a caveman eating so carelessly that she couldn't resist asking him to eat in a more normal way.

“Amm... Oliver?”

The green-eyed boy finished his plate when the redhead's voice called out to him. He wanted more but wouldn't dare ask for more than his portion. He waited silently for Chrystal's orders looking at the bandages in his hands, still savoring the soup.

The young woman didn't understand why he was acting that way, he had to go through something horrible to make him behave so strangely- If he slept another night at her house, she needed to get enough information out of him to trust him for another day. Noticing how he was left wanting more, she got up from his chair to take Oliver's plate and refill it. Then, she placed it back in front of him, as the boy waited for instructions patiently.

“If you're going to spend the night here, I need you to answer a few questions, okay?”

Oliver nodded without looking at her, feeling a little nervous.

“Okay, first: this is a spoon” he took the cutlery and placed it in front of him so he could see it, “it's used to eat liquids, like this.”

Chrystal showed him the correct way to eat the soup, making sure the boy paid attention. Once she handed the silverware back to him, she watched as Oliver repeated the same motions and spooned the soup into his mouth.

“If I answer her what she wants, maybe she can tell me how to get to The Gold Star.”

“How old are you?”

Oliver almost spits out his soup at the sudden question. Maybe it seemed a simple answer, but time in that place was so strange that he never quite knew how long it had been... But despite that, Oliver knew. Mr. Craig made sure to remind him how long his mother had been dead.

“Sixteen.”

The young woman looked surprised. She swore he was younger than her, but they were the same age.

“Where do you live?”

He took longer to answer the second question; he really didn't know how to answer it. Underground? In a cell?

“You ran away from home, didn't you?”

“It wasn't my house; I just lived there,” answered, looking down at his soup. He didn't have a house like Chrystal Daly, he never did.

The redhead could not continue with her interrogation, she did not find it prudent to continue asking him questions that were probably more delicate. She deduced that the place where the chestnut escaped from was responsible for all those bumps and cuts.

>>Please, help me<<

Was he being chased that night, by his parents, by a gang? Chrystal remembered a little better what happened when she met him. He was shaken and trembling with fear; it was the first time their eyes met. If he were being chased, hospitals or shelters would be the first places they would look for him.

-Handcuffs.

Chrystal looks at Oliver, noticing that he looked into her eyes for a few seconds, letting doubt and fear show in those emerald ones. He looked like a scared and helpless dog... no, he looked like those triplets that brought out laughter and gray hair in her.

“Excuse me?”

“You asked about my wrists; the metal of the shackles sometimes digs in too deep and causes bruises and cuts.”

Chrystal held her breath as she listened to him; she was not prepared to hear something like that. She had thought the boy had tried to slit his wrists, but shackles? Was he in prison? Or was he treated as a slave? Kidnapped? Yes, maybe he had been kidnapped and had managed to escape.

Oliver, for his part, didn't know what else to do; she looked dismayed, but that was the truth. He was afraid she would rat him out and turn him into Craig. Chrystal got up and collected the dishes, then returned with a glass of water and another pill.

“This should break your fever; you should rest.”

Although Oliver wanted to ask Chrystal a question, he didn't; he was hoping for the fever, heaviness, and pain would subside too so that he could move on.