To be given a chance - (BxB)

Chapter two - Listen to the signs

I ask Marie to bring a bowl of soup and two pieces of toast to my office, which is located at the back of the shelter. The lad needs as much food as he can get in him right now. He probably hasn't had a decent meal in goodness knows how long; the clothes he is wearing practically bury him, like a tortoise with an oversized shell.

Giving him a weak smile, I get him to take a seat at the opposite side of my desk.

I carefully hand him a biro, and one of the registrations forms that I take from the top draw. The forms are mainly just for my peace of mind; information about them, makes me understand and get to know the people a little better.

His trembling fingers brush against my knuckles as he takes the pen. I can't help the lurching of my stomach as he fills out the piece of paper, his writing nothing but squiggles as his hands jutter. Usually, there would be a procedure, where I'd have to check their bags... but it seems he doesn't have one with him. No belongings. Though, I might have to ask him to empty his pockets just to be on the safe side. He looks innocent enough. I smile sadly, he looks too innocent to be on the streets. He looks too innocent full stop.

I give a glance at the form, not exactly the best at reading upside down. I squint, trying to decipher the squiggles on the page. After a few minutes of looking constipated, I manage to figure out that the beginning of his name starts with an 'H'. The next few letters are a little easier to make out, the end result of my brain piecing them together eventually gives me; H-A-R-R-Y.

Harry. It's a nice. Simple, but nice. I find myself letting the name silently slip off of tongue. I hate my name. Samuel. I feel like it makes me sound like a condescending prat, which is why I prefer just to be called, Sam. Doesn't help the fact that my father is the only one that calls me Samuel. Maybe that's the reason I don't like it. It's the way he spits it from his lips. SAMUEL! My middle name doesn't exactly fit either... Samuel Luca Royster... if you say is fast out loud, you'd probably get something along the lines of; 'Samuel look an oyster'. If I wasn't allergic to shellfish, I might think it as funny... but I am and I don't.

My attention is turned toward the door as it squeals open, Marie shuffles in with a tray. Harry is still writing out the form with shaking hands as Marie places the food onto the desk. He flinches away, dropping the pen on the floor. His apple green orbs are wide, frozen and clasped on me, scared like a deer in front of the headlights of a car.

"It's alright, Marie isn't that scary... Well, unless you see her in the mornings." I get a shove on the shoulder from the scary lady. He doesn't react. Doesn't move, apart from the few shivers that erupt from his body.

Marie gives me a concerned glance, I nod and tell her that I'll sort it. She leaves slowly, as if not to startle him even more.

I slowly get up from my seat, crouching down to pick up the pen, placing it back on the table. Harry's eyes scan my movements, then he quickly looks away. When he does that, I notice a small purple welt on his jaw, just underneath his ear. No wonder he is so afraid, he probably thinks... I feel sick, why do people hurt other people? There is simply no need for it, especially when the people they are hurting can barely defend themselves.

A few little whimpers escape from his lips. What has he been through? I bite my bottom lip. I have barely known him five minutes and already have the urge to give him a hug. But I don't. I can't, if he gets afraid from someone standing next to him what would real, physical touch do to him?

I move carefully back to my seat at the other side of the desk. I get a whiff of the tomato soup. Gently, I push the tray closer to the curly haired lad. His eyes trace over the bowl cautiously, almost confused, then gazes down to his lap.