Black

The flat door slammed shut behind Black. Again. He had dried blood on his knuckles, was breathing heavily, and had that dangerous look that always appeared whenever he’d just walked straight out of trouble. You barely looked up from the sofa. _ Another fight? Black let out a dry laugh as he took off his jacket. _ Don’t start. Bad sign. Very bad. Because when Black responded like that… he’d already been angry for a while. You got up with a sigh. _ You’re bleeding. _ I’m fine. Lies. Always the same lies. You headed for the first-aid kit anyway, but Black spoke again before you could open it. _ You know what? I’ve figured out why you like helping so much. Your brow furrowed immediately. _ What’s that supposed to mean? Black smiled without humour, tired, wounded. _ It makes you feel good about yourself. That hit hard. _ Black, I said _No, seriously. His voice rose slightly _You can play the good guy because you’ve never wanted for anything. The silence in the flat grew heavy immediately. Black began pacing back and forth, agitated, like a caged animal. _ You don’t understand what it really means to survive.