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The tree house wasn't large, but it was cosy enough for the two teenagers to spend hours and hours inside. They wanted to finish it sooner, but in the end, the tree house took two years to build. At first, when they finished building and decorating it, they agreed that they would devote themselves to organising and taking care of the house. They swore to each other that they would make it a tidy, clean, and cosy place. Only the last part was fulfilled.
With the posters on the walls half peeled off, the blankets scattered, the sheets rumpled, the figurines broken, and two potted plants almost dead in the window from dehydration, with all that, that place was the cosiest place they both knew. They both loved spending time there, chatting, relaxing, playing board games, and recently entertaining themselves with the console they had brought four days ago. It was a gift from one of their uncles, of course. The console was old and the games it had were ancient, which would not have been any fun if it weren't for the fact that almost all of them were for two players. And on the rare occasions when they could, they also enjoyed sleeping together. There was a bed in the middle of the little house, a cheap mattress that another uncle of one of them had given him. It was old and had been stored in the storeroom, but luckily it was still more or less functional. They took care of fixing the minor issues it had and provided it with sheets, cushions, blankets, soft toys, and a rather long pillow.
Otis was the wild one, the savage, who loved spending time outside his home, much better than the flat where he lived, and who always smelled of everything he hated with his body, heart, soul, and everything that made him human. It was large and spacious, and it didn't matter, he could be in whatever room he wanted. But as a wild animal, the only part of the house he used to spend a lot of time in was the balcony. He lived on the top floor, and on that balcony he often stared at the familiar and defenceless pigeons perched on the wiring. He felt sad when he remembered how these animals died, run over, from disease, or sometimes stoned to death by some humans. Pigeons are dirty and spread disease, yes, he understood to a certain extent that most people would feel some aversion to them, but what he couldn't understand was why some people found it fun to do such things to them. They don't talk, but they can suffer just like humans do.
His house smelled of perfume, cigarettes, fast food, and air freshener. The smell alone was overwhelming, but with the air freshener trying to hide it, it was even worse. He lived with two pets, a German shepherd named Artie and his turtle Randy.
His father also lived there with him. But to his father, Otis was invisible, so it was as if it were just Otis and his pets. The only times he had spoken to him in the last four years were about the painful distribution of cigarettes and other trivial matters. Usually, their conversations consisted of monosyllables, and sometimes one of them would respond to the other without words, with sighs, nods, or hand gestures. His father used to be very abusive towards them, leaving him very few cigarettes to smoke. Otis tried and tried to change his mind, but he was ignored.
The smell of fast food and perfume came from their father. Many weekends he would return at six o'clock with a bag full of hamburgers, chips and Coca-Cola for his hearty breakfast. He also reeked of women's perfume. Otis was no fool. He had long had his suspicions and talked to him about it, but now he didn't say anything to him anymore. No matter how many times he repeated it, or how he said it—kindly, pleadingly, or shouting—he wasn't going to change his mind. He would do the same thing. He didn't want to give up, but he accepted that he couldn't change him.
Otis spent his time either in the woods or in the city, which was covered in graffiti and full of young people. He enjoyed taking long walks with his dog Artie, playing with him until both pet and owner were exhausted.
Other times, he would go with a couple of friends to play card games, and sometimes just to pass the time and relax. He was mesmerised by the sound and movement of the river running through the forest. It seemed as if even the forest wildlife was aware that his presence was harmless, and so he had never had a hostile encounter with any wild animal. Sometimes he spent entire nights sleeping with his body leaning against a tree.
Today Otis is heading to the tree house. He doesn't know if he'll make it in time; the clock is ticking away the sun's progress; it's half past six. If he doesn't hurry, it might be too late and Ian will be gone. He had to get there before Ian disappeared so he could try out the new video game he borrowed from him.
Ian was the warrior, the fighter. Everyone said he was because since he was a child, no one had taken responsibility for raising him, and he had spent a considerable third of his life in foster homes. But on his thirteenth birthday, he got fed up with that life. He had moved homes about four or five times due to conflicts with other boys and girls in his situation. Of course, Ian hadn't done it on purpose; he was calm, but they had provoked him. At least the last time it happened, the responsibility didn't fall solely on him.
He left everything he had behind. He started working because he had to survive somehow, but he much preferred that to going back there.
He did a bit of everything, performing heavy tasks such as loading boxes onto a lorry, and to a certain extent some of the things he did were even dangerous; on a few occasions he was paid to repair damaged cable systems without even having any protection.
At fourteen, he met Otis one summer afternoon when he was late for work. Kneeling on the asphalt, a stranger helped him to his feet. He couldn't believe it when he felt something plastic against his lower lip.
"Drink."
He was so disoriented that he didn't dare ignore the stranger's command. His skin was burning, his breathing was faltering, his legs were shaking, and he couldn't have been more exhausted in his entire life. His head was spinning and spinning and spinning. He swallowed all the water he needed, and the boy finished pushing him up, and he got up off the ground. There, the now blond boy, whom he could see more clearly, stood before his eyes, raising his eyebrows. His hand was gently placed on his shoulder. The blond boy let one of his thoughts escape through his mouth.
"Are you okay?"