To be given a chance - (BxB)

Chapter three - The Hunts

It takes me about ten minutes to walk to my van, that's parked around the back of the shelter. I get out my keys, and unlock the door to the white-ish maintenance van. Sighing, as I sit in the driver's seat.

I feel terrible. I always feel terrible when I have to leave the shelter, but this time it's different. This time I feel guilty.

I had been sitting in my office with Harry, trying to bring him out of his shell a little more, when my Dad had rang me twice, then sent several demanding text messages. The man is extremely persistent, always has been... he's like a cough you can't get rid off, or a weed, that no matter how much weed killer you spray on it, it always seems to come back bigger and stronger.

Every time the phone buzzed on the table, I felt like Harry was trying to make an effort not to flinch at the unusual vibration. It made me rather sad, he was still petrified, yet he had been trying to bury his fear. The few movements I had caught from him were weak shivers that would often pop up out of nowhere.

My Dad isn't a man of understanding. Ian Royster is very... set in his ways, and if the coffee machine is broken, then it must be fixed, immediately. He doesn't care about the people, he doesn't care about anything but himself... and money.

Telling Harry that I had to leave sent my heart into an early cardiac arrest. What little progress we had made, reversed into small quakes of his body, whimpers and sleeve tugging. His apple greens shining with suppressed tears, as his nose tinged a shade of pink. I could tell that he was distressed, but trying not to get himself upset, though the little sniffles and muted whimpers that escaped him made me feel like an absolute monster. He had kept gazing at me with lost eyes, like a child looking for their mother.

I can't seem to rid the guilt of leaving him in my office, alone, while I have to drive into town just to fix a stupid coffee machine. I had asked Marie to keep an eye on him just in case. I may not have known him for that long, but I find myself caring for him a lot more than I care to think. He needs to know that he is safe there, that he can be himself and not be afraid. He needs to know that I would never... That we would never hurt him.

The worst part about leaving him though, was the fact that I couldn't remember the BSL sign for the word; 'leave.' 'I have to leave...' I had to write it out for him, with no reasonable explanation as to why... the dejected look on his face when he scanned the words made me want to sink into a hole and die. No matter how many times I said I would be back soon, he would just shake his head and tug on his sleeves.

Sighing, I turn the keys starting up the van, the engine gurgles and buckles. It is pretty old, pointless really. I'll be lucky if I can get at least another year out of it. The logo on it said 'Royster Hunts' ... the family business van... but the paint of the 'R' had long ago chapped off, now it says 'Oyster Hunts'... so now everyone assumes I go hunting for shellfish, which again is ironic due to the allergy... at some point I'm going to have to paint the R back on, though since the van is a mess already I don't really see the point. Faulty gear stick, rusted rims, and something that rattles every time I push down the accelerator. In all honesty, it probably shouldn't even be on the road. Or on the side of the road. Or anywhere for that matter. The dump, maybe?

She, and I only say she because her exhaust pipe is practically non-existent. Anyway, she at one point was my home. Think of it as a sentimental attachment, no matter how much she is falling apart I just can't seem to... to get rid of her, that and no one would want her even for scrap metal. She's kind of like family. If only she would bloody start. I hit the steering wheel, annoyed, the horn makes a bur noise. I take the keys out, put them back in and turn, repeating the process over until she starts. The engine revs and we're good to go... Finally.