The Stray

Part 3 - The Kind Man's Kindness

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P.S. I have no clue what calculus entails, so I just pretend I do in this part of the story.

~ Nezumi

The Kind Man's Kindness

I will admit, it was pretty stupid. If I had just given over the dang apple I wouldn't have ended up with a bruised jaw, sprained ankle, and an impressive migraine from the bump on the back of my head. I knew he was way stronger than me with clearly more experience yet I was an idiot and decided 'Hey, I can take him on!'. Yeah, right, in ten years maybe.

Groaning softly I trudge up to the apartment door. It was just dawn and I wonder if the kind man is home?  He is probably asleep, but I needed a place to stay. You aren't safe on the streets when you're injured.

I was surprised when I found the man in question quite awake already, typing on his laptop. Early riser?

The man looks up when I enter, eyes going from my bruised face to my ankle in a matter of seconds. I just ignore the once over and limp over to the kitchen where I lay myself down on the cool tile that is pleasant against my aching jaw and pounding head. I'm far too relaxed to open my eyes when I hear the extremely quiet footsteps move about the house and then finally approach me.

"Hey, Stray." I'm tapped on the cheek lightly, "Stray Kid, sit up for a moment." Grunting slightly I do as I'm told, not even bothering to open my eyes.

My eyes do jolt open when something cool is smeared across my left cheek. I'm met with the man staring at me intently as he is on one knee next to me, a jar of something on one hand and a white substance on the other.

"It'll take away some of the soreness," the kind man supplies.

"Hn," I sigh out, letting my eyes close again as he continues to apply the cream that soon starts to work and relieve the pain slightly.

I don't stop him when he roles up my pant leg and slips off my shoe so he can wrap up my right ankle. Once that's done and he's gentle about setting my foot back on the ground before he walks away. There's a brief running on the tap and the footsteps return.

"Stray."

I open my eyes. The kind man holds out a glass of water and a clay-colored pill. 

"Ibuprofen."

I blink and slur, "Wassat?"

"Helps with the pain. It'll do wonders for your headache."

Nodding in a daze I except the pill and glass. This is the part I realize that I've never swallowed a pill before. "What do I do?"

"Put the pill in your mouth and take a drink of water, don't try and chew. Pills take offal and you'll only spit it back out," the kind man instructs with amazing patients. "Try and take the pill down with the water."

The first attempt was . . . bad. I choked on the pill and ended spitting it across the kitchen floor while the kind man thumped me on the back while I coughed up a lung.

When I was done hacking, the kind man shook another pill from the plastic container and offered it to me for another attempt.

"Eh, I-I don't want to waste your pills, I can just . . ." I went to go for the pill I had spit across the tiles. I'm pushed back by a hand on my shoulder.

"It's not a waste. I'll not have you eating something that's been on the floor either," the kind man says in a sterner voice and held out the new pill again. "Try again."