I'm Not From Earth - 3. Three

t h r e e

"Holy fuck, did you get hit by another baseball bat?"

Rover scowled and brushed past his friend, pushing through into the locker room. He had to go home soon -- his ride had to be waiting by now. "Hell no. No way that could happen in a block run."

Somerset grinned. "Well," he reasoned, "anything could happen to you bro. If someone didn't hit you by accident, then how'd you get covered up in blood?"

Rover paused in the midst of removing his shirt. He reached up and felt his hair, and sure enough, it was slick and reeked with the stench of iron. He thought explaining matter-of-factly, Well uhm, I was staring at a stranger that was too far too see, but I imagined him to be a green-eyed sex machine, so distracted as I was, I tripped and fell headfirst and broke a Stop Sign. Oh and while knocked out, I somehow winded up in a tree. Nothing out of the ordinary, Sett. But then Rover thought of a better response.

"Uhm," he said.

"You know what man?" Somerset sighed, fixing a strong hand on Rover's forearm. "You can tell me about it later. I'm taking you to the nurse."

"Sett, I'm fine."

"Ah shut the fuck up man. Unless all that blood's someone else's... which I find hard to believe. You bro, can't harm a fly."

"Dammit, I don't need first aid. Let me change..."

But Somerset had already forced him out the change room and was marching him promptly down the hallway. Rover looked at his friend. His handsome face was void of any traces of the lazy smile he always wore -- the one that blatantly said I don't give two shits. It bore urgency, and Rover was left wondering how seriously he himself was injured. He could feel the blood trickling down the side of his face, but there was no pain. He didn't even have time to look in the mirror. He obviously didn't feel hurt.

"Where did you hit your head?" Somerset asked, as they rounded the corner and entered the empty cafeteria.

"Uhm, forehead I think..."

Somerset pulled open the door to the office. The secretary in the front desk started, her aged blue eyes widening in shock.

"I need to get him to the nurses."

"Of course. You know where." She inclined a single finger down the mini corridor ahead.

They waited in the room until the school nurse arrived from the washroom. She too, recoiled in shock. Quickly and officially, she asked for all the details of his injuries, which Rover couldn't give. She then asked, prodding gently at Rover's bloodied hair, of the source of his pain, which Rover couldn't give as well because, well, nothing hurt.

"You don't feel any pain," the nurse, Ms. Willison repeated flatly. "Any numbness? Heaviness? Soreness? Anywhere? Does it hurt when I do this?" She prodded at Rover's slick forehead. Her chipped nails dug in painfully. Somerset narrowed his brown eyes dangerously, and Rover winced.

"Yeah, ma'am," Rover said, scowling. "You need to like, cut your claws."

The nurse narrowed her eyes, examined him for another five minutes before standing up, her patience thinned, and kicked them both out after taping up a small cut above Rover's brow.

"Sterile whore," Somerset said, sniffing, then turned to Rover, reaching up to prod gently at his head. "Alright, if you don't want to tell her where you're hurt, then for fuck's sake tell me! What did you do to yourself? Did that much blood really come from that little scratch there? "

"Sett, nothing hurts," Rover growled angrily. "A car passed by and covered me in squirrel gore. Now let me go to the washroom so I can it out of my hair!"

Somerset stared for a few seconds, yelped, and retracted his hand as if he had just touched fire. Rover shook his head as his friend rushed into the washroom.

They both cleaned up, grumbling, and Somerset started talking about the disaster date he had gone through yesterday, and how narrowly he escaped from getting raped, but Rover's mind was elsewhere. His friend tried to ask what was wrong as they headed towards the front door, but Rover wouldn't answer.

He couldn't answer. Two men adorned in black, suits and white shirts, stood in the middle of the lounge, figures still and imposing. His father's bodyguards were already here. They stared ahead glassily, like robots.

Rover felt Somerset stiffen beside him, and then a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't turn to say good bye. All he wanted to do was to grab his friend's arm, leap into his car, and to be driven away to a place far from here. But that wasn't an option. The bodyguards gave him no options, and he was further reminded when their fingers twitched at their sides, as though itching to delve straight to their pockets and pull out their guns.

Rover moved forwards, his legs feeling like they didn't belong to him. The guards moved to either side of him -- a daily routine, and like always, Rover felt insecurity instead of safety. He stared at the floor as they guided him to his ride, a shiny black limousine, ignoring the whispers and stares. He was used to them by now, having spent middle school and almost all of high school being gawked at. He briefly wondered why the teachers never said a word.

A slam of doors, the soft rumble of engine, and they were off. As usual, they first passed by the city in all its alluring glory -- towering sky scrapers holding up the blue sky, glasphalt concrete shimmering in the sun, and rumbling music from the clubs densing the air. Rover would always stare outside in wonder, wishing wistfully that he could once again walk the streets -- but today, he was too nervous to even turn his head to the side windows. He kept his head down low, wanting time to stop.

But too soon, the blaring horns of traffic faded and the quietness returned. Too soon, business towers and stores became fields anchored by well off houses and mansions, scarce trees replaced by well manicured hedges and gates. Too soon, they were pulling into the well-lit garage of the house.

His father's house. Rover's home.

*