Chapter Text
The shop closed with a metal scream, the roll-down gate rattling until it hit concrete. Raph didn’t flinch.
He wiped his hands on a rag already stiff with old paint and stepped out into the humid summer air, the smell of primer still clinging to his clothes. If he wasn’t in need of a shower before, he sure was now. He had stayed late again, finishing up the piece he had been working on all week before locking up. The boss happily let him, enjoying hat he could get home early himself.
Why wouldn’t he? He had a family to go home to, someone waiting for him. Nothing like the booming silence filling his own tiny apartment every time he locked himself in. he didn’t even know why it bothered him so.
It was late afternoon in the Bronx. Sirens somewhere distant and the regular commotion on the streets as people got off work for the day. He briefly thought about hitting up the deli on the corner for a roast beef sandwich; then he remembered how he had splurged a little at the craft store the other day, and decided against it as he started walking home.
He was grateful he wasn’t wearing much more than a black tank top, but the baggy cargo pants and chunky skater shoes was killing him anyway. Walking past someone arguing loudly on the phone in Spanish, he scoffed a little at two kids barreling down the sidewalk on their scooters, way too close to traffic. The sides of the red brick buildings were littered with AC units and neon signs, every inch of the lower levels filled with sketchy stores and cheap places to eat, busy this time of day. A few teens loitered on the stairs in front of his building, smoking something, and he gave them a nod of acknowledgement as he pushed past them and into the dimly lit stairwell leading to a few apartments located on top of convenience store. He smacked the rattly, old door behind him, relieved he didn’t have to run into any of the neighbors he barely even knew the faces of.
After a well-deserved shower, he let out a sigh of relief, drying his bright red hair off in a worn towel. He tied it around his waist and stopped to stare into the foggy mirror he had wiped off with his forearm. He just stared at his own reflection, hoping he would trigger something… Anything at all. This face, it felt so foreign, as if he didn’t recognize himself. His skin was tan, his cheekbones high and nose strong; his clenched jaw was wide, and he had full lips, but the most striking thing about him was his unnaturally green eyes. Acid green almost. People always stared a little. He hated that. It made his skin creep, and he felt as if he was exposed somehow; like he didn’t belong and that he was wrong and freaky to look at.
Playing charades or whatever, but then again, most things felt that way these days. As if he was living someone else’s life, and had no clue what he was doing. In a way it was true, he had no idea who he was or where he came from. Anything before these past few months working down at the auto body shop, he had no memory of. Mind completely blank. As if he hadn’t existed at all.
Sometimes, he felt as if there was something clawing at the back of his mind, and he caught onto a memory, something that could tell him anything about who he was, before it slipped away again. Just out of reach. He had dreams too – vivid ones, strange things that didn’t make sense. About monsters and rats and aliens, crazy shit he didn’t know where to place at all. It didn’t help him figure out shit anyway. Useless bullshit was what it was. He felt anger rise at the helplessness he felt, and quickly shut I down, deciding to focus on something else. His appearance was a good place to start.
He turned to his hair, noticing the roots were continuing to grow out black – it was looking pretty cool though. His low fade mullet ended in a long stand in the back he usually braided or tied into a ponytail, depending on what was most practical. He started braiding it, the movement familiar, something he could do without looking. He pulled some bandages out of the drawer on his tiny, wonky cabinet, and wrapped his hands carefully before leaving the bathroom door open behind him.
After throwing on a pair of boxers, he brought a beer from the fridge; Thank god he made sure his fake id made him 21, so he had one less thing to worry about…
Turning on his Bluetooth speaker, he walked into his tiny living room.
It was sparsely decorated, unless you counted the amount of workout equipment stored in there. Other than that, there was a banged-up coffee table and a tv. He had even bothered to put up a curtain. For now, he let it be however, looking out onto the busy street below as he finished the bottle. playing five finger death punch on full blast, and setting the empty bottle down, he turned to his boxing bag, and laid into it. Like the bandaging of his hands, this was something he knew how to do per instinct. It was ingrained in him, something that just came naturally. Just like his wicked reflexes and strength, making him wonder what exactly he had been doing before any of this. The many scars littering his body also told a story that he knew nothing about.
He did this mostly to unwind; there was something immensely soothing about letting out the pent up frustrations of the day out this way, and he felt as if he connected with something deeper, something from before… all this.
Tiring himself out, he didn’t want to break out too much of a sweat and undo all his earlier work in the shower, and he wiped his forehand off with the back of his hand before he flopped onto the small leather sofa.
It was Friday night, and the sun was setting, the fading rays spilling into the tiny room, and the longing for something he didn’t even know grew even stronger. Another weekend was upon him, and it wasn’t something he was looking forward to.