Evidence

I considered her, “How do you know?” Heroin, as in the hard drug. I smoked pot with friends. I thought mum knew but I was scared of anything harder like heroin and crack. There’s enough of it going around the estate and we knew families that were drug addicts and my friends and I stayed away from them, our parents’ warning deeply ingrained in the better kids on the estate. Like I said, I wasn’t a straight A student by any means but I wasn’t so bad. My mum made sure of it.

She sighed, “The track marks.” It dawned on me then, the signs on his arms. Hard drugs scared me. I assumed drug addicts were all old and shady men though, not someone with a frail beauty and this young. “Besides, he needs urgent medical care. I.” She hesitated, “I don’t know what happened to him. What those men have done but I can’t take the responsibility.”

I read her face and I knew she was hiding something to protect me. She would have guessed what happened to the boy but didn’t want to say it out loud.

“I am going to call the hospital.” She turned to find her mobile phone.

I believed the boy had passed out but now he mumbled. I wondered if he had heard the whole conversation all along, “No. Police.” His voice was low and croaky. He flopped back after that like he was exhausted to get the two words out. He then struggled to move off the sofa, “M goin.” He couldn’t even talk properly with his mouth and face so swollen and as he tried to get up he fell onto the floor in a heap.

“Fuck!” Here I went again. I tried to manoeuvre him back onto the couch but he continued to struggle and thrash about, trying to get up. I pleaded with my mum, “Please, you’re a nurse. You can help him. He’s hurting himself to try and get away.”

Mum was paralysed for a minute watching the boy fight against me. Then she knelt down and placed her hand on his arm, “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. I’m not promising anything.” On hearing this he all but collapsed into my embrace. I could feel how thin his arms and wrists were; I liked being the one who he held onto, like he trusted me already and he was dependent on my help. I thought for a second that his frail arms would snap if I put any force on them. When he settled back on the couch, he seemed to lapse back into oblivion.

Mum told me to get the first aid kit. She put on a pair of surgical gloves and started with his face, using gauze and saline solution to clean off the blood. I could see then his eyes were swollen shut, his left cheek was puffy and black and he had a terrible split lip. All I could tell was that he was gaunt and pale, his skin almost translucent in the few places that weren’t covered in bruises. The night hum seemed louder than ever as my mum concentrated over him and he laboured his breaths.

She then asked for ice and used it to set his deformed finger in a splint, telling him at one point that it would hurt but he didn’t move and didn’t flinch. I hoped he was just so out of it that he couldn’t feel the pain too much. Or he was simply a very brave and stubborn victim. Mum carefully lifted his T-shirt that was threadbare and ripped in places. There were more ugly bruises all over his torso. The men clearly kicked the shit out of him as he lay defenceless, which made my blood boil. Mum pressed on his chest, “Can you breathe in, please? Does this hurt a lot?” He only managed some hardly audible noises.

Mum muttered to herself, “God help us. I hope you haven’t got any broken ribs.” That sounded painful. She hesitated and turned to me, “Go and get him a pair of your boxers, Jay, and a clean shirt.”

I knew where she was about to treat and she sent me away to spare me the nasties. I was not embarrassed though. I had seen boys naked lots of times when I played sports and we changed together in the locker rooms. But I didn’t argue. My mum had a stubborn streak as bad as me. In my room, I randomly picked out the underwear and top as I reckoned they would be loose on the skinny boy anyway. When I returned from my bedroom with the clean clothes, my mum was speaking to him in a hushed voice that sounded almost calm and soothing. “You need to report this to the police. What they did was a serious crime.” I assumed she meant the beating because I was pretty naïve then.

He pleaded again, like he did earlier but he was quieter now, resigned. “No police, please.”

Mum shook her head. “If I clean you up, I’ll destroy the evidence, you understand that?”

He sagged back on the couch, submitting to being at my mum’s mercy. “Please.”

Mum asked me to help turn him round so he was face down on the sofa. She tried again. “If it’s not the police, do you have relatives, mum and dad, a social worker?”

He shook his head. Ma didn’t look happy but she cleaned his asshole. I might have blushed. Okay, I did know why because I had fantasised about assholes and searched for gay porn online. Mum didn’t know that, so I hoped she didn’t see the colour surging on my face. He was not in a good way down there and it was still oozing. Mum pressed gauzes on it to soak up the blood.

She half turned to me and told me off, “Don’t stare.” Was I staring? Was it bad to want to see what wounds the boy had? It had to hurt quite a bit as my mum cleaned him up but he didn’t moan or move. Since he was now facing down, I could only see his right cheek and eye, which was wired shut.

When mum finished, she said gently to the boy, “I hope you have yourself tested when you get healed up.” He didn’t respond. I was confused about what sort of test she meant but the way she told him, she had assumed that he knew. I made a mental note of checking that out.

 

 

 

 

That night

Jay:

Leyton, London.

It happened when Ma and I were having dinner in the front room. Well, if you grew up in a poor, single parent family in fucking East London, you were lucky to have a sitting room separate from your bedroom. Mum always said that the flat cost her half her salary, and “don’t you complain”. I didn’t. I had a box room, a single bed and I could never fault my mum for feeding me. After all, I was not even sixteen and nearly six feet tall and I ate like an elephant all the time, which was down to my father’s genes apparently. My mum should hate the way I reminded her of my dad because he walked out on her when I was only five.

Anyway, this night we were in the sitting room with our dinner hot on the table. It was only October but the sky had darkened early in the late afternoon. A loud squeak cut through the thick blackness outside. We could hear a car stop; a tyre skidded across the road right in front of our place. Two or three men got out and loudly threw something heavy in our front lawn. They shouted to each other incomprehensibly and got back in the car, the doors slamming with brassy bangs.  I called it our lawn but it was a patch of grass that’s basically part of the pavement. That’s why we had all kinds of crap being dumped there all the time. The car sped off, tyre screeching with the friction. Mum and I looked at one another. If you lived in our bit of London, you kept your nose out of other people’s business.

“What the fuck!” I exclaimed and stood up to look out, expecting to see fly tipping in our front garden again. The bastards.

“Language!” Ma never failed to remind me.

Now that the men had gone, I wasn’t afraid to go and investigate. So I lifted the curtains and peered out onto the dark front, my breath misting the window up instantly. I assumed that they had left a bag of rubbish, a piece of old furniture or something like that but it was not. I screwed up my eyes to see in the dark, to make out the shape of the thing that they tipped. I could see a person’s arms and thighs that were oddly white, almost shimmering, in the night.

“Shit, mum. There’s someone out there. They dumped a body.” My heart pounded. Perhaps I grew up watching too much TV drama about crimes and detectives because my mum loved them. I did not imagine it. It was a person – a man – and alarm bells rang loudly in my head. It’s entirely possible that it’s a dead man, around our part of London.

“A corpse?” Mum was a nurse which was a good thing because she sounded curious rather than scared or panicky.

I ran out first. The man, well, a boy about the same age as me, lay there, legs drawn up. My heart thumped when I saw that his trousers were down just below his knees, his bare ass was bloody and his balls were black, like someone literally had kicked his nuts. The rest of him was the same, black and blue everywhere; his face was covered in blood. In the pale yellowy lamplight he looked dead. The boy had only a short sleeve T-shirt in the wintry frost. He had to be freezing. I could make out that he’s pale and his hair colour was light, probably blond. My eyes were drawn back to his ass and the limp penis. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t frightened or disgusted but fascinated by the boy as if the scene put a spell on me.

My mum had come out by then and stooped next to me, watching with weariness. I could practically sense her concern vibrating in the air as she came closer to inspect the boy. She touched the side of his neck for pulse and declared simply, “He’s alive, just.” Thank fuck for the nursing profession, I silently declared, and thanks for my mother’s presence. My mum and I were solid. It’d been the two of us forever so I didn’t have a choice but to be part of the team.

She drew his trousers back up as gently and carefully as she could. Okay, yes. Give him some dignity.

“Come on, we’d better bring him in before calling an ambulance. Don’t want him to freeze to death out here.” Ma asked me and together we lifted him up. I didn’t expect him to be so heavy. As his body uncoiled, I realised he was probably as tall as me, though his arms and legs were very skinny, and his skin was freezing like we were carrying a bag of ice. With much difficulty we carried him through to our warm room.

Ma told me to put him down on the couch. I got a better look at him now, his hair was a bit long, messy and dirty but it was beige blond, and his eyelashes were so long, they formed half-moons over his eyes. Well, his eyes were both black and swollen but I could still make out the blond lashes. His thin arms had these marks on them that were just as bruised as the rest of him. I felt angry even though I didn’t know who he was. Who were the men who did this? How could they beat him so badly? What could he have done to deserve this? I didn’t even know why but I was sure he was a nice guy and he was only my age, so how come these people were so cruel to him?

I turned to see that mum was examining him too but for a different purpose, her eyes running past every exposed wound. She lifted his left hand. One of the fingers looked bent.

“Jay, we’ll have to call an ambulance and the police.” She shook her head.

“Really? We don’t even know who he is and what happened.” I reasoned. I had my fair share of troubles at school but never experienced something this bad. I just gathered that if I were him or if he was a friend, I wouldn’t like the police involved without knowing what went on. Even though mum’s white, I grew up with the black kids in the area and my schoolmates were almost all black, so I didn’t have a particularly strong trust in the police. Deep down, despite the fact that I just met the boy, I knew he’s in trouble and I wanted to protect him. If he turned out to be a mass murderer, which I doubted, we could always do something about it then.

An ambulance, perhaps.

“He’s a heroin addict. We can’t keep him here.” Her brows were drawn down, all the worries clearly written on her face.

YA gay romance: The boy who fell to earth

This is the post excerpt.

Jay Palmer is two months away from his sixteenth birthday. He doesn’t realise how his life will be changed forever when a gang of thugs leaves a badly injured boy on his doorstep. The biracial boy and his white single mum Maggie nurse the stranger. He is sixteen-year-old Aleksander Zukowski or Sasha who has run away from care two and half years ago. Sasha sleeps rough, is addicted to drugs and sells himself on the streets of London to fund his habit. For the first time in his life, he has a reason to change.

Sasha confirms what Jay knows about himself but it doesn’t make it easy for him to come out to his macho mates in a largely black neighbourhood. Sasha already has an uphill struggle to stay clean when his past threatens to throw him back into the abyss. Are the two boys strong enough to stay together against all odds?

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/713795

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16509569.A_Zukowski

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/aleksander.zukowski.353

the boy_1.jpg

The first chapters will be serialised here as weekly posts. Please like or drop me a line if you have any comment or want to know more. A.