Survivng Solitude Part 4
After Aiden's death, we ran from the building. Having no sense of direction, we ran through a forest for a while, before coming across a clearing. In the distance were a few houses and a lot of fencing. Grant and I could possibly stay there for a while, before gathering our bearings and headed home. Unfortunately, gathering my bearings would prove just as difficult as it looked on the trembling lion beside me. We sat down, legs weak and flailing, and took breathers. The vividness of that moment was just gruesome. The way those teeth, stained from previous victims, gorged on his neck. How the blood surged out worse than a popped pimple. The red liquid scouring across the cloth of his blue polo, creating a wet, purple spot. How those tiny fingers clamped and dug past and into his flesh; streams of ribbon-like blood spewed out of each little phalange. His face was the grim reaper in my mind. How his mouthed opened with pain, seeming to gasp for air that couldn't be taken in. Those eyes that stared out into nothing, peeled wide with anticipation of what could happen. All I did, was just sit there, and watch. Watching my cousin, my last family member, die. Of course we will die at some point, but not like that. He didn't have to die like that; saving Grant. Why did he save him? That lion was like a submissive kitten; wanting to be the bait for our escape to Daniel and Chase.
I took a break from looking at the ground, and looked at Grant once more. He just rocked back and forth, hands holding his thighs against his chest.
"Want to talk about it?" I asked dryly. The only response I got out of him was a rapid shake of the head no. That stupid little face of his won't discourage me of getting us back. So, I scooted over to where we were hip-to-hip. Wrapping my arms around his, I rocked with him.
With my head resting on his shoulder, I cooed, "It's not your fault." He sniffled at the word 'fault.' Afterwards, he let out a muffled, vibrated cry, followed by deep breathing. I felt that I had to be the shoulder he needed right now, even if I am using his shoulder as a head rest.
Aiden meant the world to me growing up. We spent summers together up in a treehouse; talking about how to improve the tree house or just simply enjoying each other's company. One time, when I was thirteen, him being fifteen, I was bringing over napkin wrapped sandwiches aunt Bianca made earlier. He was already in there, and the curtains were shut. The treehouse was small, roughly 18m2. The bright yellow box was roofed by construction tarps, decorated with three windows and a hatch door beside where the trunk met the floor. A ladder was nailed into the trunk, so we could get up easily; however it wasn't easy with one arm. The second I entered that little box in the sky, a musky stench hit my face. What was worse was what I saw in front of me. Aiden was sitting stark naked and with something that looked like a red glow stick was dumped on a sausage. The red thing glistened in the dim sunlight, speaking the sound of a smacking mouth each time his hand moved up and down the glossy thing. My eyes were wide with awe of what it could do. I do know I have one, but never thought of using it like that. He motioned me to come sit by him. I did so eager to see what would happen.
"Take off your pants little kid." He said with a voice much deeper than mine. This was eccentric to me as I did what I was told. My member was soft, resting on my small stomach. On that day, he taught me how to tug the snug bug. He even said his dad taught him, and he wanted to teach me, anyways.
"We should get moving." Said Grant, yanking me from my nostalgia. The bright blue skies that were once in my mind faded into the darkened blue gloom of a morning without the closest person to me. The wood turned from neat and bright, to dark and charred. Reality came hurling back, but I had a sense of purpose now. To get us home, even if it kills me.