The call to my boss the next morning to explain my newfound situation was taken not badly per se but not great either. Taking in vets from time to time was nothing new for me. Taking in a vet who was unregistered with the VA was unusual though and my boss expressed concerns.

Dylan protested from somewhere in the background of the call. I assured both of them that there wasn’t a need to worry. The lad was obviously spooked, possibly sick, but hadn’t actively tried to hurt me. He needed a low stress environment to decompress and get back on his feet. 

“It’s a good thing you do, Maeve. Not many people are so open to… well, opening their homes to complete strangers who could be mentally unstable,” my boss said.

I paused in pulling on a shirt at his tone.

“I know where you’re going with this,” I replied suspiciously. “Give me a day or two with him before you send someone to do an evaluation.”

There was a sigh over the line. I could hear Dylan listing the cons of waiting in the background as I looked through the pairs of pants hung up in my closet.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“He’s feverish. Give me a day or two so he’s not contagious.”

I could clearly picture the frustrated look accompanied by a head shake that he’d be giving me had I been there in person. Disappointment, frustration, and resignation all rolled up into a weary expression.

“I don’t like it,” he finally said. “I don’t like you being alone with some fella we don’t know nothing about.”

“I promise if things get to looking dangerous, I’ll kick him and make a run for it.”

There was a half-strangled hiss over the line. Dylan unsurprisingly was snickering.

“There is that,” my boss conceded with a click of his tongue. “Tomorrow morning. That’s all I’m giving ya.”

With a quick “Thank you” I ended the call. Dylan got enough time to complain last night. I’m in no mood to listen to his complaints about my sanity and the lad’s dangerous, dubious nature again.

One day... I’d get one day to get the lad in my living room feeling well enough for the onslaught of personal questions to come.

Sighing, I left my room to go brush my teeth and wrangle the knots out of my hair. Took some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror to manage the ache that was already starting up in my leg. I reassessed my choice of shorts once I got back in my room.

The lad has a class metal arm. Surely, he won’t mind seeing my basic prosthetic out in the open.

Right?

Already have them on. Why bother second-guessing now, Maeve?

I spotted him standing in a parade rest stance by the window when I walked into the living room. His gaze didn’t stray from its position on the opposite wall in the kitchen. My good morning got no response.

“Would you like a shower before breakfast?” I asked, slipping behind the bar area that separated the living room and kitchen.

No response to that either.

“My name is Maeve. What about you lad?” I asked when I remembered introductions hadn’t been made yet.

He continued to stare ahead as if he hadn’t heard me. I pulled a bowl and glass from one cabinet. Grabbed the milk from the fridge to make myself a bowl of cereal.

“I can’t give you food yet,” I said as I began sifting through packets of vitamin supplement protein powder. “I saw how thin you were last night when I tended to your wounds. We’ll have to work our way up to solid foods I think.”

I found a banana flavored one with extra calcium to stir into his glass of water. 

“How are you feeling? Any pain?”

The continual lack of response – Well, actually his absolute stillness is what pulled at something nervous in the back of my mind. It’s that little feeling that says something isn’t quite right that started whispering as I brought our breakfasts back around the bar to set on the side table beside the couch.

“Come sit lad. You’re alright. This is a safe place.”

Other than breathing, the only movement he made in response was a slight furrowing of his brow.

“Come sit,” I encouraged again.

He immediately stepped toward the other end of the couch and settled on his knees. He clasped his hands tightly behind his back once settled. His stare stayed glued to a spot on the bar. The expression on his face was still blank. Unnaturally blank…

That little feeling of “not quite right” got a little louder at the strange display. I tried to ignore it.

“You don’t have to sit on the floor. You can sit on the couch,” I encouraged, taking a seat myself near the side table so I could reach my cereal.

I took a few bites of my cereal. Tried to focus on the cold sensation of the milk on my tongue to quiet the slow steady rise of anxiety.

“Sit on the couch, lad.”

He was up and moving before I could get my spoon back up to my mouth. He settled on the far end of the couch on the edge of the cushion, hands still clasped behind his back, gaze now planted somewhere above the tv. I held out his glass, but he didn’t turn to take it.

Something is wrong. Very wrong. Whatever this is… Whatever this posture means…

I don’t want to think about what this posture could mean. This is probably some kind of trauma response.  

Is that what this is?

He’s stiff. His eyes are blank, expression seemingly calm, but there’s a rigidness to his posture.

I was careful not to crunch too loudly as I ate more of my cereal. When I finished with it, I picked up his glass again. His eyes didn’t even flicker when I moved to stand in front of him. It felt like he was seeing through me rather than seeing me.

“Are you thirsty?” I asked, holding the glass out. “You should drink at least a little of this.”

His jaw moved. Or at least, I think I saw it move. He didn’t speak or move to take the glass though.

Alright. Maybe in a bit. I really should check those stitches with the way he’s straining his arms.

I traded his glass for the first aid kit. Waved for him to stand. He didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

“C’mon. If you don’t want breakfast yet we’ll change those dressings, and you can get cleaned up first. Stand up.”

Eerie.

That’s the word that popped into my mind when he suddenly stood up at the suggestion. That anxious voice shoved any other thoughts away with sheer volume. “Something is wrong!” it shouted as if I hadn’t already figured that out.

Hesitantly, I obeyed the panicky voice in my head that said to try that again. Told him to sit down to see what he would do. The response was immediate. He sat back down and assumed the same position as before.

“Would you like me to tend your arm?”

He only responds when… I am direct. Like he can’t understand the words unless I’m direct.

He’s feverish. Breathing isn’t quite steady. Are his hands shaking? Well, his right is shaking, not the left. I couldn’t see that when he was standing by the window. Didn’t notice it when I was eating.

I asked aloud “Did someone dose you?” as the thought struck me.

There was that slight sign of confusion from earlier. A small dip between the brows. 

“Did someone force drugs on you, soldier? Did whoever hurt you make you swallow something or stick a needle in your arm?”

He blinked at the questions. Very slowly lifted his eyes to look at me.

The response settled my nerves somewhat. He was seeing me now. Not just through me.

“I know someone hurt you. Did someone drug you? Answer me, soldier,” I prompted, trying to keep the panic from my voice so that he would stay calm.

A vet with a cold was one thing. A vet who’d been drugged and could turn violent at the drop of a hat because of withdrawal was a completely different issue.

A roughly spoken “Confirm” was my answer. It was spoken calmly, his voice scratchy, his volume just above a whisper.

Yes. Yes, someone drugged you. Someone beat you and drugged you and you must have gotten away or you wouldn’t have been in the alley. Someone hurt you and-

“You poor sweet lad…”

I lightly placed my hands on his flushed cheeks to check his fever. His breath stalled momentarily at the touch. I felt the hot prickles of oncoming tears as his eyes widened in that frightened, skittish gaze from last night.

“You’re gonna be alright, lad. You’re alright,” I hurried to say. “I’m gonna call the hospital. They’ll check you out and get everything sorted.” I quickly blinked to clear the sudden blurriness in my vision.

He grabbed my wrist when I tried to leave his side. Held on tight enough to bruise with his metal hand. The lost look in his eyes broke my heart further.

“I won’t let em take you, and you don’t have to be alone alright?” I reassured him, running the fingers of my left hand through his sweaty bangs. “I’ll be there the whole time. You won’t be alone.”

His grip didn’t ease up. I bit the inside of my cheek to distract myself from the steady pain. Kept my voice as even as I could.

“I’ll be with you lad. I’ll be with you the whole time,” I repeated, setting my free hand more firmly against his shoulder. “Even through the parts that might hurt or be scary, I’ll be with you. You’ve got me in your corner. I’ll let nothing happen to you alright?”