Eat Your Heart Out

While she was gone, you set about picking up all the shattered pieces of her teacup. The one thing about your hands was that you’ve done so much with your hands that the skin on your hands is super thick. A teacup isn’t enough to cut the callouses that adorn your palms.  You can’t do much about the tea soaking into the carpet, but at least she doesn’t have to risk injuring her precious white hands. Once you make a neat little pile and scoop it up into a napkin, you find the now greasy bag of old waffle and scarff that down, hoping she wouldn’t mind. You’re a man of massive appetite who hasn’t had much to eat in the last month.

You rise to help her up on her feet. You keep a hand covering most of your face. Making eye contact with her is difficult. You don’t think you can stomach seeing that look of terror again.  “You don’t need to lie. I know what I look like. I’m disfigured. I’m an ugly fright. Nothing impressive about it save fer how hideous it left me. I mean, I wasn’t much of a looker before, but someone decided to make sure no one else would want to look at me again”. As much as you want to, however, you don’t move towards the door. You just sort of stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

You flinch when she draws your hand away. You remember smashing several mirrors back before you mysteriously wound up in this city, drinking your nights and days away. You remember the torture so clearly. The searing pain, the fear and anger. The flashing of teeth and hideous laughing. The blood....You remember being at death’s door.  Her touch is so soft, so gentle. Now that you’ve washed away so much of the grime, you can feel more of her touch, her tiny fingertips. You want to look at her but it’s still difficult. Her voice makes it seem like she’s not contorted in horror but you can’t shake the image out of your mind. “I.....could stay for breakfast. Thank you” you mumble. You surrender to her wishes. You need food, after all. 

You see the horror was over her face and dread sinks in. She drops her teacup. Your tongue drops into your throat. Quickly, you cover your face with one hand and take a step. Your shitty shoes are still outside, you could make due with what you have. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I’ll….I’ll go” you stammer, backing up more. You quickly turn and hunch over, trying to shield her from your face. “Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry” you blurt out, trying to wave her away. Your one chance at a hot meal and a bed, and you blew it. You know damn well that you don’t have a place in this world anymore, Hearts. Not with a face like this.

He starts heading for the door and you quickly go after him, tripping on the way and falling right on your face, gladly you didnt cut yourself with the pieces of broken chins on the floor. “D-dont go!…i-i-im sorry! Mr…ouch..” What an enmbarrasment, you didnt mean to make him feel like a freak but it was a shocking view. Mostly you felt sorry for whatever made him reach that point.

You pause when you hear her hit the floor. Damn your chivalry. You turn, covering your entire face with your arm but leaving enough room to peek with your good eye. You bend down and offer a hand to her to help her up, still keeping your face hidden. “Are you hurt?”

Your jaw drops. “MISS! You….you didn’t BUY these, did you? That’s….that’s so very generous! How….oh” you stammer, taking the clothes. “Th-Thank you”. You close the door and just…stare at the clothes. It might be a tight fit, but at least it’s something. “Thank you,…so very very much”. You find the razor that she provided with the clothes. “I’ll be a bit. I gotta break this razor in”

You take the razor, wash your face a little more, and take the shaving cream that she purchased for you. You lather your face and begin working on hacking away at your beard. The hair is coarse and thick, and you nick yourself several times.  You keep hacking away but once you had gotten a lot of the beard removed, you stared at yourself. You hadn’t looked in a mirror in quite some time. You touched the tear in your face, the mass of scars. You look hideous. The beard was able to hide so much....and now you’re about to subject this sweet, beautiful woman to the horrors that is your visage. Your heart sinks. You finish up your shaving, now baby smooth in the face, and you style your hair with a comb. You try on the clothes, a tight fit as you thought, and you quietly open the door, expecting the worst.

You took your time. The water was horribly brown for a time. You squat down the best you could in order to try and clean the tub as you cleaned yourself. You scrubbed until you were pink and raw. You finally finish the shower as she’s knocking on the door. “Yeah, I’m just finishin’ up. I’m sorry about the clothes. If you wanna bring me a garbage bag I’ll tie the suckers up and we can toss ‘em or wash ‘em. They’re not exactly real clothes anymore. More like tissue-thin rags”

You travel a short distance through town, following close behind her. You protested at holding her hand, stating that you felt the absolute worst at dirtying her hand. It was bad enough you were going to leave a stain in her shower with how filthy you were, and that you had no money to repay her for her kindness. Life as a Bridge Troll isn’t exactly a lucrative one. You discretely bite your lip in worry at the stares that you’re getting. She can say what she wants about her reputation, but a pristine woman like her being followed by a hulking scary homeless man is going to raise questions. You try to glue your eyes to the ground but that just put your vision in sight of your benefactor’s posterior. And you felt horrid shame for even DARING to look at her like that. This was going to be difficult.

You appreciate the quaint appearance of her apartment. You could feel your heart racing a bit. There’s always the fear that you’re imagining all of this. You stop short at her doorstep when she invites you in and you look down. “Miss, I would rather die than mess up your carpet OR your slippers. Do you have…I dunno…some old newspapers that you haven’t thrown away? I’ll make some makeshift shoes in order ta get to the bathroom. Yer bathroom is already gonna be suffering through my grime, I’d hate ta put the rest of yer apartment through that.” you say, standing firm in the doorway.

You shake your head. She’s too kind. “Any mess I leave I wanna make sure I help you clean up. It’s the least I could do. I could use a razor ta shave if you have one. This beard has gotta come off, it’s filthy” you say, touching the matted mess that hides the majority of your face. You step out of your hole-ridden shoes and try and tip toe through her apartment. You see little dark spots get left behind you as you move and you grunt unhappily. Her pristine world being sullied by your filth. For shame, Hearts. You manage to get to the shower and strip naked behind the closed door. Your clothes want to cling to you and it’s horrible. You’re covered head to toe in filth. But the shower is a godsend, and you make sure to work her soap nearly to a nib in washing yourself until you’re sparkling clean.

You travel a short distance through town, following close behind her. You protested at holding her hand, stating that you felt the absolute worst at dirtying her hand. It was bad enough you were going to leave a stain in her shower with how filthy you were, and that you had no money to repay her for her kindness. Life as a Bridge Troll isn’t exactly a lucrative one. You discretely bite your lip in worry at the stares that you’re getting. She can say what she wants about her reputation, but a pristine woman like her being followed by a hulking scary homeless man is going to raise questions. You try to glue your eyes to the ground but that just put your vision in sight of your benefactor’s posterior. And you felt horrid shame for even DARING to look at her like that. This was going to be difficult.

You appreciate the quaint appearance of her apartment. You could feel your heart racing a bit. There’s always the fear that you’re imagining all of this. You stop short at her doorstep when she invites you in and you look down. “Miss, I would rather die than mess up your carpet OR your slippers. Do you have...I dunno...some old newspapers that you haven’t thrown away? I’ll make some makeshift shoes in order ta get to the bathroom. Yer bathroom is already gonna be suffering through my grime, I’d hate ta put the rest of yer apartment through that.” you say, standing firm in the doorway.

You feel tears trying to escape your eyes. This woman is an angel and you in no way deserve to catch the light from her radiance. You gingerly close your big hand around hers, being as gentle as possible. “Okay. Okay you’ve convinced me” he smiled. You help her back up the slope, keeping the bag of pancakes with you in your free hand. You’re leaving behind your makeshift bed of newspapers, cardboard, and a raggedy blanket full of holes, but you won’t be needing it anymore. “You lead the way, Miss NB. I’m sorry my hands’re so dirty”

Your every instinct is to lie. You could do it. Maybe she doesn’t know. She doesn’t HAVE to know. You’re in a new city, no one else knows who you are. Hearts Boxcars is a common name nowadays, right? Oh, you sigh. You cannot bring yourself to lie to a woman. Especially someone so pretty and who has done something so kind. “We ain’t ever…met in person, no. But we did speak through th’ net, yeah. Wasn’t exactly in the best of places then, but I guess I’m doin’ even worse fer myself now. Didn’t think…if we were ever gonna meet, that it’d be in this kinda circumstance.” and you shuffle your foot in the dirt. What she must think of you. First a bitter and lonely drunk, and now you’re a starving homeless bum. Way to go, Boxcars.

You’re thrown off by how excited she sounded, and then thrown off even more by her proposal. You look shocked. “I....I couldn’t, Miss NB. Look at me, I’m a mess. The last thing I would wanna do is mess up yer apartment. And what if someone saw you bringin’ me home? I don’t want to tarnish yer reputation.” you stammer. “You’re so very generous. More than you’d ever need ta be. But....” and you pause. No one else has offered you this kindness before and it WOULD be a chance to clean up. “...are you sure about offerin’ such a kindness ta me? I couldn’t bear ta burden you”.

“I…thank you. I love pamcakes” you force a small smile. You’re not sure that flashing your sharp teeth would be the best right now, scaring this poor woman away. You reach out to take the bag. Your hands dwarf hers. You could hold both of her hands in just one of yours, it was incredible. And she was so very pale compared to the tanned complexion of your skin. She was a bit of a marvel. You take the bag and look inside. Sure enough, wonderful smelling pancakes. It’s been so long. You smile a little wider and nod to your savior. “Thank you very much, Miss.”

The smell of the pancakes is somewhat intoxicating. Luckily you haven’t lost all of your manners and you don’t immediately start digging into them in the presence of a woman. But they’re enough dull your senses so that you respond “I’m Hearts Boxcars-” and you stop short. Your eyes widen a bit. Nervous Broad? You had spoken to this woman a few times through text back when your phone was still in your possession. Oh gods. You feel a huge wave of shame wash over you. Oh hopefully she doesn’t remember you. Then at least you can pray she won’t have an excuse to think even less of your pathetic life as a homeless person.

You did notice, a huge man staring from the other side of the window. Looking strong, but with sadness on his eyes,not on his best days for sure. You wonder if the poor man was hungry, given the fact that you havent touched your waffles yet, it was supposed to be a celebration breakfast but you had no appetite. When you finally gather the courage to offer him your food he is already gone, your ahoulders drop in disappointment, why you always wait until the last second?. You ask the waitress to bag them to go and you proceed try to find him, he was huge, he cant be that hard to find, although with your dress, a bit tight on your long slim legs and the huge heels you are wearing wont allow you to run on his direction.Asking around for the enourmous man make you go to the city bridge. “Uhm…s-sir?”

He had just started making his way down the slope in order to go under the bridge when a soft voice broke the mundane silence. He froze where he was, just in case it was a cop. He slowly turned his head. That firey red hair caught his attention again. The woman had followed him. He stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment. It had been far too long since he’d said anything to another person beyond “spare some change”. He opened his mouth, moving his jaw and tongue in tandem but nothing came out. Looking frustrated, he coughed. “Apologies, Miss.” he managed to get out.

You look at her, then to the bag. You wore a face full of caution before, but your eyes soften. It was natural for her to be stuttering around him, he must have been a scary sight to behold. You cough again and wave your hand. “No, no. It’s fine. I AM very....I am quite hungry” you manage to force out. Your stomach, while still large, is turning knots just looking at that bag and imagining what might be in it. “That’s very kind of you, Miss. Thank you”