Union

19.

Roel
George moves from foot to foot, or foot to shoe. He always does this, he'll see someone with no shoes and give one of his away. It doesn't matter how many times I tell the old man to look after himself first he never does. He won't accept anything but a pre-paid card and the money I can force in his pockets.
Growing up there wasn't an adult who gave a fuck about me, apart from George. The man who lost his entire life because he tried to save my cursed soul. Trying to get him to see reason for the millionth fucking time, my voice comes out harsher than I intended. "There is a penthouse waiting for you, take it. Or I'll lock you in it myself." Something sparks in his eyes giving me a small glimpse of the man who tried in my childhood. His voice has the same stern fatherly edge, not admonishing but correcting you. "Speak with respect, I taught you better."
I know he's not going to accept anything from me, the first thing I bought was an apartment for him. But he refused and has done for the last two decades. When the dick stopped George from being able to get any other job he refused my offer to work for me. Giving up the argument that will get nowhere, I look down at his feet and tell him. "Wait here, I've got a bag for you."
Maria is staring right at me with fear on her face, it softens as she looks over my shoulder and she gives a small smile. Anger boils inside of me, not at George but at the dick who caused all of this. His greed knowing no bounds and ruining as many lives as his venomous presence could reach. Ripping the door open with more force than necessary Maria flinches and I feel like a bigger dick. I always keep a bag for George in the car, it's kitted out with supplies to make his life a little more comfortable even though he won't take the hand I offer. Pulling it from under the drivers seat, Maria grabs my arm and there's genuine fear in her voice. "Don't hurt him."
That anger I was feeling is nothing compared to the gutting she just gave. What kind of dickhead does she think I am? Hurting people isn't an issue for me but I'm not a weak pathetic fuck who needs to have vulnerable opponents. I'm a man with fucking principles. Biting my tongue I leave her in the car so I don't say something I regret.
George hasn't moved as usual and takes the bag from me. "There's extra this month, I know you've been buying everyone else food. Use the phone in the bag instead of giving it to someone else and I'll drop off any supplies you need." He looks insulted at my order but agrees, we both know the minute he sees someone else without what he has it'll be gone. Discreetly handing him extra cash, I make sure there's no one following him. Homeless people aren't animals, they're fighting for survival and they need money to do that. Most of them band together creating their own community but George was attacked when one of them found out he had cash, I won't repeat my mistake again and let them see.
I keep watch as he leaves until he turns the corner and try to calm myself. Maria already thinks I'm fucking scum, for the first time in my life I feel disappointment. I learnt at a young age not to expect anything of anyone and for some fucked up reason I assumed she didn't think I was a bad person.
Getting back in the car she gives me an apologetic smile and tries to explain herself making it worse. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said you were going to hurt him. But you shouldn't give him money, he'll spend it on drugs." My laugh is bitter and dark. We were high together but thats fine because we'll sleep our intoxication off in a comfortable bed. The people who use concrete for a mattress shouldn't have that privilege. "Have you ever slept on the street? Seen unimaginable things, the worst of the fuckers who walk passed us right now acting like they're better than everyone else?" My tone is harsh, the words firing like a whip and she shakes her head slowly. "Don't judge what a person does to survive. If anyone needs to get high to be able to face the horrors of reality why wouldn't it be them?" Understanding slowly sinks and she relaxes slightly, there's still fear in her eyes and I fucking hate it.
Joining the traffic I wait for the anger to lessen and keep my voice gentle needing her to listen but not out of fear. "Maria, don't ever accuse me of hurting someone under my care ever again." She flinches at the sound of her name but she nods accepting it. Leaving it behind, I relax and try to get the feeling back that was in the boutique. "Any preference for lunch, engjëlli?"
Stealing a look at her, Maria has wide eyes like she's never seen me before and shakes whatever thoughts she's having away. The fake bullshit comes back and she straightens her shoulders looking away from me and directing her words to the road. "I feel like Italian." So do fucking I.