A Boy Stumbled Through the Snow

A boy stumbled through the snow. He carried only one small bag, but acted as if it was made of depleted uranium. He trudged through yet another drift as he thought about how he had gotten there. Could he go back? No. Dieing of cold would be better than going back. He pulled his thin denim jacked around his frail shoulders and trudged on. He glared at the ground as he continued along the snowy streets.

It wasn't often that the city got this kind of snow, and the road crews were not prepared for it. All the roads were covered with at least two feet of snow, four in some drifts. It was only a few days before Christmas and the holiday shopping had gone dead. No one could get out of their houses. It was a rousing twenty degrees out and all the boy had on was a tee shirt, a denim jacket, and some jeans.

He continued to plow forward, not noticing how numb his legs were. He made it to the park, he didn't know where he was going any more, so that was a good enough place. He caught his foot on something in the snow and went down. He tried for a moment to get up, but it wasn't worth it. He lay there, ready and willing to die.

*

A man was standing in the snow, watching the park as the little flakes fell. He enjoyed watching something so peaceful. He strolled around in the slightly less voluminous drifts, watching the icy winter day. Suddenly the peace was shattered with the form of a figure approaching the perimeter of the park. It was huddled, and he couldn't make it out well, but it stopped suddenly and fell into the snow. It didn't get up again and the man's heart jumped.

He ran over to the prone figure and found a beautiful young man, wearing clothing that was much more suited to warmer weather, and he wasn't moving. His full lips were blue, and his skin ashen white. The man suddenly felt fear that the boy might be dead and picked him up. He held him like a baby and was overwhelmingly grateful to find that he was breathing, if shallowly.

He took off running, aiming for a tall, old building. Hoping against hope that the boy didn't have frostbite. Hypothermia he could deal with, but frostbite required surgery.

He threw himself into the lobby of his apartment building and ran to the elevator. The boy flopped loosely in his arms. He hit the "up" button and the elevator dinged. The doors opened slowly and he rushed in. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the doors closed and the elevators began rising. He hit his floor number and looked at the boy in his arms.

Even in his half-frozen state, the boy was a wonder. His face was angelic, pleasantly androgynous. He had long black hair that fell to his ears in the front and between his shoulder blades in the back. He had a sweet little nose, pouty lips, and long dark eyelashes. The rest of him was skin and bone. The man could tell that once, this boy had been well built and full of lithe muscle, but now he just looked like a jumble of sticks in a human shaped sack.

The door pinged and he rushed out of the elevator, swung right, and ran down to the end of the hallway. He fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock the door while holding the boy. He finally got the door open and bustled inside. He ran through a few rooms of his apartment, and lay the boy down on his bed. He laid a blanket on top of him, temporarily, and dashed to the bathroom. He got the tub filling with scalding hot water, and went back to see to the boy. The child was breathing easier now, he had pulled the blanket around him, but his clothes were wet. The man peeled away the blanket, then each subsequent layer of fabric, until the boy's once glorious body was completely naked. He tried not to look, but he noticed that the boy's cock was far to big for a kid his age, which the man guessed was a very young looking sixteen.

He scooped the boy up in his arms again and carried him to the bathroom. The tub was mostly full, and steaming. It was too hot, so he added a little lukewarm water to the mix. When it was full enough, he turned the tap off and gently lowered the boy into the water, sure to keep his head out of it. The boy floated gently and seemed to relax slightly, only occasionally a spasmodic shiver racking his body. He was warming up.

The man realized that he was still wearing his parka and snow pants. He took them off in the bathroom, keeping an eye on the boy, incase his head fell into the water and he drowned. He stripped down to long underwear and rolled up his sleeves. He got down on his knees by the tub and cupped the boy's face in his hands.

"Little one? Little one, wake up. Falling asleep right now is a bad thing." He brushed some of his silky black locks out of his face. The lips parted, and his eyes fluttered open. They slowly shifted around until they met his. He was stunned by the emerald intensity.

*

The boy opened his eyes. He looked around at a strange room. He seemed to be weightless, then found a strange man looking at him. The boy realized that the man's hand was on his face, and pulled away. Water sloshed. The boy looked down and found that he was in a tub of warm to hot water. He was naked. He quickly tried to cover himself with his hands, but his hands were too small. He looked at the man again.

The man's cheeks had gone pink and he was sitting further away now.

"Who are you? Where am I?" The little boy's voice was raw, but it didn't hurt much to talk any more.

"My name is William Kingsley and this," he motioned around, "is my apartment. I was walking in the park and saw you when you fell. I took you back up here and put you in this bath to try and scare away hypothermia." The man looked to be in his late twenties, floppy brown hair, a very English looking face, and a strong, but willowy build. He reminded the boy vaguely of Hough Grant. "What is your name, little one?"

The boy shifted in the water so that he was sitting, with his back against the head of the tub.

"My name's Logan, Logan Verdenot." He pronounced his last name like viren-ough. He was hesitant giving this away, but the man had probably just saved his life.

"Are you feeling better?" The man, William, inched closer and Logan slid away.

"A little." He said. Logan just stared at the man for a minute, as if William was going to eat him.

"Why were you out there in such little clothing?" The man looked worried.

"I, " Logan figured that he owed his rescuer that much. " I was running away."

"From your house?" The man suddenly felt a pang of guilt. He would return the boy to his family.

"No, from my pimp." The boy said flatly. Will sat there shocked. He couldn't say anything. This boy was a Whore? But he was running away. He didn't want that life.

"Oh my god." The man breathed. He closed his eyes and shook his head. The boy was even underage. "How old are you?" The man asked quietly.

"Twenty one." The boy answered. The man's head shot up. "It's true. I just look young. I really am legal. I'm turning twenty-two in a few days." The boy looked at him worriedly.

"Truthfully?" The man asked. The boy nodded. They were silent for a moment. "Are you hungry." The man queried.

"Yes, very." Logan remembered his last meal. It had been scraps out of a dumpster a day and a half ago. Before that it was bread and water at his pimp's place.

"How does grilled cheese and tomato soup sound to you." The boy smiled.

"Wonderful. I don't have any way of repaying you. Unless, you want to..." He bowed his head. And spread his arms. He didn't want to, he was still sore from the last time he was raped for money. But he knew that nothing was ever for free.

"There is no need for you to pay me. I just want to help." The boy looked up at him. The man smiled. Logan was sure that the food had strings attached, it always did, but he needed food more than decency right now. "Now, you stay in there till it gets cool, I'll be right back." He grinned and walked out of the room. The boy thought about making a run for it, but the smell of grilled cheese wafted in the door and his stomach growled from underwater. He sighed and lay back in the warm water.

*

A short while later, William came back in with a tray of soup and sandwiches. Logan sat up as he set the tray down on a little table he put by the edge of the tub. The water was still warm and Logan didn't want to get out.

"Thank you, Sr." The boy said sheepishly.

"No problem, and call me Will." The boy nodded as he dipped one corner of his half-sandwich in the soup. He took a bite and closed his eyes. It had been so long since he had eaten, not to mention the quality of the "food" his pimp had given him occasionally. He savored the combination of the creamy tang of the soup mixed with the zip of the sharp cheddar and the nutty bread. He chewed it slowly and swallowed. When he opened his eyes again he saw the older man looking at him with wonder and curiosity written on his face. Logan smiled and the man showed amusement and satisfaction with a mess of other emotions on his face.

Logan made his eyes smile. His friends had said he could do that. That was why his pimp had liked him so much; he could make the customers believe he was really enjoying being their fuck toy. He could put a shield of sudo-joy over his torn soul. He was good at it. No one had ever seen through it before.

That was why he was so surprised when he saw a tear come to the corner of Will's eye. He dropped the joy and let the concern show through. Will brushed the drop aside and dipped a peace of his sandwich.

"What's wrong?" The boy couldn't stop himself from asking.

"You've been hurt so much, and you are too good a covering up your pain." He shook his head slightly.

"You saw that?" The boy was worried.

"I read people well." The man offered up. "Some says that's what gives me my gift." He took another bite.

"What gift?" The boy felt as if he was about to be shoved down the rabbit hole.

"I'm a writer. Some say I'm gifted. Some say I'm gifted because I see into people. I can see their stories more fully than if they had actually told me. So all I need do is look into a rough idea of a person and they become a story." He shrugged and took another bite. Logan looked at him for a moment then took another bite of his tomato-dipped sandwich.

"So, what's my story?" He asked after a second's deliberation as to weather or not he actually wanted to know.

"You, hmm. You are harder than most. I don't know your beginning, but it was comparatively happy. You occasionally want to go back to it, even if you hated it at the time. Since then you met someone, became indebted to them, you began to work for them and they became your pimp. You've worked for him for a while. He's abused you, not fed you, and defiled you. You hate it, but you can't do anything for some reason. You feel dirty, you hate yourself, and you don't let any one in. You let a few people in once, but he's taken them away from you. You've almost gone crazy with your lot in life. You wanted something better, you tried to get it, but lost your way and ended up falling in the snow in a park in the middle of the city." He dipped his sandwich again and took another bite while the boy stared at him aghast.

He had just been read like a book. He had only known this man for a few minutes and Will already knew more about him than most of Logan's friends.

"Well then." Logan took another bite of his food. Will chuckled deep in his chest. They continued to eat in silence while they both pondered the man on the other side of the table.

Will wondered why this boy was so hard to read, why did he want to hide, would he open up. Why did he want Logan to open up? He may have been good at reading others, but he himself was a mystery. He looked into his soup, trying to read his soul in the red swirls. He wanted to know this boy. He wanted to help this boy. He wanted to help him be all he wanted to be. But he didn't know how.

Logan thought about what would come next. He frankly didn't know. He didn't even know what he wanted to come next. Did he want to stay with this man for a while, or did he want to move on? Would the man let him stay? Would he want to stay? What would he do here? What if he moved on? Where would he go? How would he get money, food, shelter? Surely staying here, in this warm apartment, with this kind man, and his good food, would be better than sleeping in a box in an ally having nothing to eat but food and having to sell himself to get money. But what would staying here involve? Would this man take his payment the same way that Dirk (the horny bastard that had been his pimp for so long) had? Would he throw him out in the snow? He just didn't know.

They both ate their food, and when only a slimy residue was left in their plates, Will stood and picked up the tray.

"You might want to get out. If you could flip that switch when you have it'll drain. There are towels in the cabinet and an extra robe on the back of the door. I'll go put these in the dishwasher and make the guest bed for you, you should get some rest."

Logan was speechless as Will took the tray and moved the little table back into place. Logan was welcome to stay, and he didn't even have to share a bed with the man. He was dumbfounded. Just as soon as he had gotten over shock he got out of the cooling water and flipped the mettle tog that Will had indicated and watched as the water began to slide out of the drain, a soft wishing sound whiling around him as the water ran through the pipes in the walls.

He got out one of the big white fluffy towels and wrapped it around himself, encased in the luxurious fuzziness, the rough threads reminding his skin what life felt like. He scrubbed himself all over with the towel until he was pink all over. He was in a better place now, but the contamination of where he had been had soaked into his skin. He scrubbed a few layers of flesh off and felt much better, ready to absorb new, more pleasant experiences. He put on one of the Terrycloth robes and tied the sash tight around his frail body. The robe dragged on the ground around his ankles. He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes.

Silence.

That was a rare thing for Logan. Not outer silence, the quit of the inside of a room still had the hum of the outer world. But inside, he was quiet. There were no voices. He was Skitzo, he had contemplated it, once, but he had decided that it was just his thoughts voicing themselves, a constant buzz of inner conversation, as if his body was filled with a calm cocktail party where all the guests were himself over and over again, talking to the others in polite conversation about the world outside. They had kept him sane. They allowed him in there with him, in that room to chat with them, like an old friend, when he was being defiled or hurt. He would retreat and spend some time chatting with his inner friends and not caring what happened on the outside.

Then there was the music, a constant flow of soundless melody that drifted through his body. It was silent. He couldn't feel the harmonies thrumming though his body, the echoes of the fine music in his soul. It changed with his mood, he feelings, his thoughts. He looked deeper within himself and coaxed the music back to life. It was faint, but a sweet tune thrummed through him. He nodded and opened his eyes.

He continued into the rest of the house. It was an elegant, homey feeling place. There were earth tones and big soft looking chairs. Almost every wall had stacks and stacks of bookshelves on it. Logan explored timidly through different parts of the one-floor apartment. He came upon the kitchen, the most modern room he'd seen so far. It had every amenity there was for a kitchen. Apparently this man prized comfort, quiet, books, and food, some of the best things to prize in this world. He went through a few more rooms and finically found Will. He was in a room that was un-characteristically sparse in books. This must be guest room. The bed was easily a queen, but obviously designed for sleeping rather than more energetic activities. This man was not sex-crazed, a good sign. Will stood up from being bent over the bed, folding down the fresh sheets he had put on it.

"Hello. Good, you are up. I'm afraid that I don't have any pajamas that would fit you. Come, lie down, you need some rest. It's early, but you look you could sleep anyway. Come." He held out his hand and Logan approached carefully. He turned and took the robe off. Will took it and draped it over his arm. Logan pulled up the blankets and slipped between the soft cotton sheets. He lay his head on the pillows and pulled the blankets up to his neck. He took comfort in the soft, clean warmth of the cocoon and sighed. He looked up at Will. The man was looking down at him with something in his eyes. It wasn't lust as Logan first dreaded, but neither was it pity. It was something like a satisfied feeling that a brother or father had when they knew their bother or son was happy and they had made it so.

Will reached down and brushed a strand of black silk off of the boy's face. The boy didn't flinch. He didn't feel threatened. He didn't think this man would hurt him. His inner song grew louder and soared with a tuneless melody that seemed to create a knot in his chest. Will smiled and his eyes glistened. Logan smiled back. Will caressed his face again and turned to go.

"Wait?" Logan's voice came out before he knew why. "Thank you." He said quietly.

"Your welcome." Will said over his shoulder. He bowed his head and walked out of the room. Logan closed his eyes and was swallowed up by the music.

Will went to the solarium, as he liked to call it. It was a room with tall west-facing windows. Through them he could see the sun setting over the city. The sky was bathed in oranges and golds, turning slowly into purple, with white and blue clouds fringing pink on the edges. He leaned his back against a bookcase and watched the golden orb draw its rays below the curve of the earth. He rubbed his leg and reached into his pocket for his pills. He swallowed one and closed his eyes, feeling the tingling replace the ache in his leg. He took down a book and turned to the page that a scrap of paper marked. He red a few pages, re-marked the page and set it back. He sat in a soft leather chair and closed his eyes.

He tilted his head back and let the knowledge in the books seep into him. He always took pleasure simply letting the souls of the authors and the characters that were embedded in the books, ebb into him and give him peace and wisdom. He sat there for a while, breathing the knowledge of the ages. He cleared his head of everything and let his bones settle into the accommodating leather.

When he opened his eyes the room was pitch black and the stars were twinkling above the city. He stood and walked to his room. He opened and shut the door, stripped down and slid into his warm covers. He was soon asleep, dreaming of a world without pain.

*

Logan woke with the sun in his eyes and the smell of bacon in his nostrils. He turned his head and saw a yellow room. His eyes focused and realized that the wallpaper was a mass of yellow and a few pink flowers. The sheets were pink and yellow as well. The furniture was a pale cream color and the mirror on the far wall showed that he matched it perfectly. He slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood on shaky feet. He was naked, but there was a blue robe lying on the back of one of the chairs and he put it on. It reached the middle of his calves and he tied the sash. He walked gingerly towards the smell of food. He came upon the kitchen, and in it a bustling cook.

"Ahh! Good morning. I'm glad you're up. I whipped up some breakfast for the two of us." Will was smiling and Logan rubbed his eyes. He shook his head and nearly fell over. Will caught him and set him down in a tall chair by a plain wooden table that looked like and oversized cutting board. "We need to get some food into you before you collapse." Will pushed a plate of eggs, pancakes, and bacon in front of the boy and handed him syrup and utensils. The boy stared for a moment then attacked the food vigorously. The man laughed. He had to admire the boy's gusto, no matter how distressing the cause.