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The man, so it should be said, dressed to the nines, impressively made his way into a cold and inhospitable building. Despite the second month of spring, when everyone is at the peak of flowering and birds are singing with might and main, all the joy bypassed the building. Smell. Oh, that smell of concrete walls and dusty rusty grates. Along the endless corridor, faces hungry with restrained lust burned Martin with their eyes. Others licked their lips and showed characteristic gestures with an ambiguous purpose in relation to him. An eyebrow arched on his face in disgust and awareness of his own situation.
A hard look is directed forward and a hasty confident step. A few moments later, he is already standing in front of the thick iron bars, like a zookeeper in a zoo.
Aaron sat with his arms wrapped around his legs and kept his eyes on the stone wall. He was not going to turn around right away and continued to stare into the void, right up to the moment when Martin announced his presence.
"Y-you here?" – the guy's eyes lit up in a childish way and his mouth opened slightly, like a child who saw a coveted toy behind a shop window, and his heavenly eyes were running around, vividly examining the visitor. In response to his stupid question, Vale only had to smile warmly and nod. He entered his cell. A pitiful sight that does not cause any positive impressions. Martin patted him on the shoulder:
"How are you?"
"As you s-see", – a faint smile flashed on his face, then disappeared as quickly as the morning mist. He sighed and looked away from the extinguished gaze. It was difficult for him. Very difficult.
"I see you're coming out soon, don't doubt it, Stampler", – Martin said.
Aaron never ran out of thoughts, and they were all completely different. About everything, about anything, they replaced each other one by one. His head was unbearably buzzing and splitting, it became a completely normal condition, as if something else could not be. He could feel the frost penetrating through the prison uniform. His gaze darted from side to side, biding his time. The hour when Martin Vale happens. His mouth opens slightly to swallow more air because his head is about to explode. The incoming blood is pounding in the temples, and the heart is beating at a frantic pace. Memories come to Aaron, piercing his mind with a poisonous arrow that gradually poisons his brain. Just a moment before finally going off the rails of adequate existence. His hands are shaking violently, but he hides them with the sleeves of a large shirt, probably this will not help in any way. The arrow pierces deeper, and long-forgotten, dust-covered memories from a correctly not fun childhood come to the surface.
***
The boy stands guiltily in front of the tattered chair, hiding his hands behind his back. Inhaling and exhaling is all he can hear. The flickering of the TV barely illuminates the room. The volume is at a minimum: only uncomplicated dialogues in a cheap Spanish TV series are heard. In general, he himself would like to live the same life: friends, relatives and a warm home. Of all this, he had nothing. The cross was put on him by the Lord himself: he absolutely fucked up about some sinner from Kentucky. He was never worthy of even a mention of God's farewell.
It's amazing how such a boy could dream of any friends at all. Do you need support? You're a god damn weakling, you've never needed anyone. Spit on everyone, as the Lord ordered in a nightmare and get out of this damn state in all four directions. Become a drug addict, a drunkard and stay in a local Los Angeles brothel – no one gives a shit because no one needs you and will not need you. Don't even dream about it.
He turns his gaze to the window, covered with a broken and dusty blind. There is a view of a large house in which the windows are lit with warm light. He can see people in them, they are fussing, everyone is doing their own business. The lady who cooks the pie, and there are her lovely two children. They rush and their silhouettes flash from one window to another. On the floor below, the head of the family sat on a chair hiding behind a newspaper. And there must be Grandma watching TV with a smoking pipe in her mouth. Aaron couldn't even dream of such a thing. The eyelids are heavy with accumulated tears and they flow down the hot cheeks of the boy. He sobs, looking at his dream, his desire. His impossible desire is happening in reality right in front of his house. So close, but so far away. And from this it becomes unbearably painful in the chest.
"Little asshole... Are you here again? Get out before I fucking kill you, damn it!" – a voice from the door jamb responded in a menacing tone, interrupting a sweet dreams.
His father. He was far away, but the boy jerked at an unexpected loud voice, which reeked of poisonous fumes. He furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose, but did not answer. As soon as he turned his eyes to the house opposite, his father was there. Hit. Pain. Dark. Unintelligible screams cut into the hearing through the white noise. Aaron runs. The attic was only one safe place where he could go, so he rushed there and began to cry, casually wiping his tears with his fists. The light through the houses opposite was still burning with a warm light.
"Aaron? Are you in the clouds again?" – Vail's voice suddenly pulled him through the haze of painful memories. Stampler shook his head and cleared his throat. In response to this, he mumbled something like "doesn't matter" or "whatever". Indeed, everything that happened had no meaning in the present course of time.
Martin licked his lips and said: "Boy, if something's wrong, tell me everything". This time his tone sounded convincing. It didn't look like he was joking. Which is very unusual for a person like Martin. Narcissist, narcissistic egoist with a God complex. Of course, it would be worthwhile for him to show interest in someone other than himself. Looking at those faded eyes, it's hard not to feel pity or sympathy. An alien warmth enveloped Vale from head to toe when he saw how Aaron was suffering. The desire to help immediately flared up. To share this fate, if only he did not experience all this burden on himself. "I do not know what this guy is doing to me", – this phrase appeared in his thoughts all the time and he didn't knew the answer for it.
The man's hand reached for Stampler's shoulder. The latter automatically twitched at this insignificant gesture. Aaron slowly raises a guilty look through his eyebrows and lowers his hands, which have managed to take a fighting position. How pathetic. The empty eyes look at him expectantly, then the lashes droop down in resignation.
"I'm sorry", – Martin says. He feels like a hunter who is trying not to scare off stupid wildfowl. He has to behave as carefully as possible. And it's just unbearable.
"No, no, it's fine", – Aaron denies. His gaze wanders in all directions, just not to meet him. He puts his hands on his neck and sighs. He doesn't know. He doesn't understand. It's hard for him. For once in your life, stop being a wimp. Stop clinging and burdening people with your existence. Stop causing nauseating pity. For once, start behaving like a real man. Unpleasant thoughts again engulf his mind in a thick fog.
***
"Will you be my good boy? – the fumes of cheap alcohol are in the air again. – I can't hear you".
His tone gradually changes. Aaron feels a firm hand on his thigh. This time he came back late and has to atone for his sin. Hands are still stroking his legs. A lump of hatred rises in his throat. He's sick.
"Fuck you!" – Stampler suddenly exploded. Wadded legs with difficulty began to retreat back. He swallows a lump of hatred, realizing what he has just done.
"Oh, you son of a whore. Who are you hanging out with late at night, you fucking faggot?" – his father's face was contorted with true anger. Without waiting for any answer, he got up from his chair and smacked his son in the face. Acute pain. Aaron stands for a moment in disbelief, and blood flows down his face mixed with bitter tears.
"It's none of your business, you old bastard" – he snaps and runs out into the street as fast as he can, grabbing a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from the table with him. That night he ran for a long time because he fought back. He's lost everything he's ever had. Then Aaron shed a lot of tears.
***
Martin hugged the guy, and he, in turn, returned to reality. He was scared and barely restrained himself from crying. His head was completely empty. With trembling hands, he reached out to the man in response and in an instant he felt something that he had not felt for a whole lifetime – sincerity. At that moment, he didn't care about anything else. There was only this moment and Martin Vale.
"I'll always be with you"