The Boy's Wings

Chapter Five: Pain

Chapter Five: Pain

               As I heard Mateo's voice, my instincts took over. I had jumped to my feet and ran out into the hallway. A man ran down the hallway. His anger gave him strength a power to yank out his gun but as soon as he pointed it at me he tensed, his face showed the pain of the bullet that Mateo fired at him. I could feel it as it hit him. Bullets and anything related made my body shiver. I blinked and the world began to slow down. I saw the man fall to the grown. Mateo was still catching the throw back of his gun, and his face was stern. Thatcher held me as he knew every shot brought back memories, memories that disorientated me. Thatcher's arms were a white wave.

"We need an ambulance at-" Mateo said to his talky. He had his uniform on since the morning, ready for his shift.

"Mateo..." I whimpered, pushing myself out of Thatcher's arms. I went to Mateo and I touched his bicep as I saw the entrance of the bullet that punctured his skin. I felt the moisture of his warm blood on my fingertips.

"I'm okay." He brought me closer to me. Mateo rubbed my back. I was safe and that brought him back to that present moment. I closed my eyes keeping the tears from surfacing.

Later that day after being debriefed by the police and after Thatcher installed a new door to my apartment I visited Mateo at the hospital. He was messing with the controller to his bed.

"Hey." I said awkwardly as I hovered by the door way.

"Hey, what are you waiting for?" He smiled.

"An invitation..." I didn't feel in the mood to be funny.

"Well come in." He questioned my awkwardness.

"Hey." I said again. I felt myself blush. My skin ached in vulnerability.

"You already said that...what's going on Angelica?" He said Angelica in a soft tone, worried he might just scare me away.

"It's been a crazy day." I stated as I began to squat onto the chair. He patted his bed. I stood up and carefully climbed onto the bed.

He held me close to him. I laid my head on his chest. I could feel his chest beat quickly. He rubbed my back with his good arm. Then his heart raced even more. Then I heard a sob. It wasn't mine, but Mateo.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." he laughed. I glanced up at him. He rubbed his eyes to keep the tears from falling.

Mateo gazed at me. He smiled with his eyes glossy and I could no longer keep my laughter in. I laughed. Mateo would always show his emotions even though he hated doing so.

"Can you sleep over at my place for tonight?" He asked.

"I don't think your girlfriend would like that." I knew she wouldn't. She hated anything in Mateo's life that would involve me.

"Don't worry about her-I broke up with her yesterday." He smiled. "She was beginning to suffocate me."

Later that night I tucked Mateo into his bed. As I was turning off the lamp he gently caressed my back. He was high from the medication to numb the pain.

"I don't like that guy." He stated.

"Thatcher?" I asked sitting down next to him. He had said the words as if within the silence of the room Thatcher was hanging over both of us.

"Well, I guess he could be a cool guy...but I don't like him with you. I mean with you." He was confusing himself.

"What do you want me to say to that?" I felt a bit angry; because he could've never been that honest if it wasn't the influence of the drugs. "Huh?" I added as he stayed silent.

"I never want to hurt you..." He said slightly over a whisper "I fucking love you, but the fear man...what if I'm not half the man you deserve?"

"Let's not talk anymore." I turned off the lamp. I couldn't see him nor could he see the pain that was painted on my face by his choice of words.

That week I visited him daily. I would make him breakfast and we would always talk and laugh about anything but that specific night. We wouldn't speak about what he told me that night. He chose to ignore that night like it would have caused damage to our relationship. I began to believe he didn't remember that night enough to talk about it. Maybe he was to high I would try to convince myself. It wasn't until one night when he knocked on my door and Thatcher opened it.

Thatcher and I had worked on a school project ideas page so the students could choose from and share with each other. I had really grown to like that he knew mostly everything about me. I had grown to like that I could never really fear him in the sense of him hurting me. It was a strange friendship. Thatcher was just a history book of my early life. He explained to me that well I'm not really an Angel, like my name would suggest. It was much simpler then I could have ever thought my story could be. I had a purpose.

"Hey Ace, Mateo is here." I was in the kitchen making dinner for Thatcher. Ace was my first nickname that wasn't Angel. Angel was a boring name.

"Hey." I said but was thinking fuck. He was holding a bouquet of roses with a takeout paper bag from Cubano's.

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