In Memory Read Online Free PDF Page A

I brought you a change of clothes.”
    No response.
    “Noah?” I knocked again, louder this time.
    There was nothing but silence on the other side of the door, save for the spattering of water.
    O pened the door slowly, not wanting to disturb him or startle him (or come off as a pervert) . L ooked around, noticing his pants on the floor. I stepped into the room, keeping my eyes away from the bathtub, where I supposed he was.
    “I’m just gonna put these here.” I said aloud, placing the clothes on the toilet seat. “Okay?”
    More silence.
    Now I was worried. I looked over at the bathtub, all I could see of Noah was the top of his head over the side of the tub through the transparent shower curtain . He was lying down in the shower I guess. Or…
    “Noah?” I approached the bathtub. “Are you okay?”
    His constant silence was getting steadily more worrying. I stood beside the tub, looking down at him. He was still wearing his shirt and boxers, slumped down in the bottom of the tub with the water falling on him like lukewarm rain.
    His eyes were shut and his lips were parted slightly, water droplets bouncing off t hem. M ight have been sleeping peacefully if not for the horrible wounds all over his face. I bent down, and touched the back of his neck gently, a new feeling rushing into me.
    I was safe, secure.
    At peace.
    That must be what he was feeling, and I picked up on it. I smiled, in spite of the situation, and shook him a little, making him open his eyes blearily and turn to me.
    “You fell asleep.” I explained in response to his curious look.
    “Oh…” he said shortly, scooting a little higher. He began to pull his shirt up, picking up from where he left off before going to sleep, I would assume.
    He was struggling, I could tell. Not surprising, considering the depth and severity of some of his wounds.
    “Do you need help?” I asked.
    He surveyed me for a few seconds, his eyebrow tweaking in a way I recognised as his ‘thinking face’. After a few seconds, he nodded, so I reached forward, tugging the bottom of his once-white shirt up.
    “Arms up.” I requested, to which he complied instantly. My eyes took in every detail of his torso as I pulled his shirt off. In retrospect, this was fairly intimate, seeing as I had only really talked to him once.
    More bruises, of course, stamped into his skin. He was skinny, unhealthily so, with his ribs jutting out of his bizarrely pale skin. The bruising pounded a trail of tenderness down his front and sides, disappearing underneath the waistband of his boxers and continuing down his legs. More damage was done to his left leg, his kneecap was amassed with purples and reds, and his ankle was pink and swollen.
    He watched me as I looked him over, with an odd expression on his face, almost apologetic.
    S hook my head to focus, grabbing a smaller towel and placing it over him. He got the hint immediately, arranging the towel over himself and sliding out of his boxers as I busied myself with grabbing the shampoo.
    He exhaled deeply as I returned to his side, a tiny smile flickering on his face. His arms lay limply at his sides as I began washing his hair. As I did so, I felt a bizarre sense of comfort and security; he really transmits strong emotions. I raked my hand through his hair, untangling the thick black strands and rinsing away the dirt and blood. I cleared some of the dirt and blood from his face, revealing pale white skin. Like erasing a marked paper.
    Pleasure. He’s radiating it.
    (I would like to take this moment to praise whoever invented the showerheads that can detach from the wall and be directed wherever you want. They are AMAZING.)
    I rinsed out the last of the shampoo, sitting him up and retrieving a washcloth. I ran over his back with the cloth, gently massaging any areas that weren’t bruised. I did the same for his front, taking extra care around his cuts. Following this, I did a quick check of his legs, making sure there were no cuts before