The Edge of Honour

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Morgan's POV:

When I awoke to see Jet sitting in my sitting room, I almost jumped out of my skin. I had forgotten about his presence and his reason for being at my house. I smiled to myself as I realised that I would most likely never be spending another night in the house. It was my house, but since my grandmother's passing, it did not feel like a home. It was a merely a place for me to rest and a roof over my head.

“We should start packing,” he announced as I walked over and sat on an old faded blue armchair across from him.

“That will not take very long!” I laughed as I looked around the house. The one thing that I desperately wanted to pack were the memories, it felt as if I was abandoning them in the house. My consolation was that many of them would continue to live in my memory, regardless of my location.

Jet rose from the seat and carefully checked each cupboard as if he was expecting to find something. He looked at me with a horrified and shocked expression each time that he realised they were empty.

“How did you survive?” he asked. The curiosity was clear and the shock even more so as he stared open mouthed at the deserted shelving units in the kitchen.

“I had no choice... it has led to me doing things that I am not proud of,” I began slowly. “I have stolen from not just shops, but also from houses, people’s homes. I never took anything other than the food that I would need for that day. It never felt right to me. A boy from the area brings me food once in a while too. Lately though, he is becoming more and more unreliable.” It was a relief to finally tell somebody the truth. I knew that stealing was wrong, but I desperately needed the food. The guilt crept into on me on each occasion, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that I would not have survived otherwise. I hoped that the people who I stole from would understand why I did it.

A long time ago, I had contemplated not eating. I could give up and allow life to take its toll on my starved body. However, in the end I could not go through with it though. Deep down, I knew that the last thing my mother would have wanted was for me to surrender my life.  I needed to be strong and survive. If my survival meant stealing a piece of fruit or some cake that was lying on an open window ledge then so be it. Each morsel of food bought me some time. Every second allowed me the chance to improve my life. That improvement and hope for the future was the only thing that kept me alive.

“I can't believe that you had to go through all of that Morgan,” he said honestly. I could tell that my confession had affected him deeply, but I didn't want his pity. He had already offered me so much. In the few hours that I had known him, I had already found someone who I felt safe opening up to and I had had the best night sleep in months. “You will have full meals everyday now, I promise. The CIA has some of the best chefs in the world.”

“I look forward to it,” I laughed, trying to improve the depressed atmosphere which my tale had created. “I guess that I had better pack up my stuff so that we can get going.”

“Do you want some help?” he asked, clearly unsure of whether or not I would want him to go through my personal possessions.

“There is not a lot so I will be able to do it. It won't take long!” I decided to begin in my bedroom, knowing that the majority of my belongings were there.

With a creak, I opened the doors of my wardrobe; one door was hanging at an angle where the hinge had previously cracked. More than half of the hangers hung unclothed and bare. I grabbed the backpack that hung from one of my bedposts and began to pack the small amount of clothing that I owned. In one of my most desperate times, I had managed to trade the majority of my clothes for a loaf of stale bread. I was wearing most of the clothing that I owned, so my bag remained mostly empty.