Page 4 of The Road Home
"Dude, you look like you could use them. You're moving like you're eighty."
"I feel like I'm eighty." Orson sighed, realizing he did hurt more than he thought. His legs ached and the more they moved, the more his ass burned. He hadn't seen much blood after the rape, but that didn't mean anything.
"How long have you been out here?"
"On the streets? I guess about three years now. My parents kicked me out when I was seventeen. I stayed in Arizona, but heard things were better here, so I hitched a ride to see if they were."
"It used to be. Right now, they are trying to change everything. Move the shelter, open different programs. If it wasn't a mess before, it is now. It's crazy. If I was you, I'd get in and see about getting on waiting lists, but even then, it takes forever. I've found it's easier to just keep living. It's not so bad here once you get used to it. You'll see when you meet the others later."
Orson wasn't sure he wanted to meet a ton of others, but Harry was right, there was safety in numbers. He couldn't spend nights alone like he had been. It wasn't safe, and he wasn't strong enough to fight anyone off, especially now with his injuries.
"The clinic is across the street." Harry gestured, but stopped walking. "Do you see that building down the block? The large gray one?"
Orson nodded. "Yeah."
"Behind it is a big storage unit place. Follow the back fence to the hole, then slip through. If anyone asks, tell them Harry told you to drop by. I'll be there. That's where a lot of us stay at night. It's out of the weather and we keep each other safe. You're welcome there as long as you don't cause trouble. Get yourself checked out at the clinic, then come over and rest." Harry smiled at Orson as if they'd been friends for years.
"Thanks." Orson wasn't used to anyone helping him. "I really appreciate it."
"We have to look out for each other. Now go get that chin looked at. It's freaking me out when I look at it." Harry gave Orson a pat on the shoulder before turning and walking away.
Left alone, Orson glanced at the small building that housed the clinic, wondering if it was even worth wasting his time going in. He needed to get his arm looked at, but if he didn't, it would heal in time. He just had to remember not to use it for the next few weeks.
He watched the clinic door for a few minutes, seeing a mother and her small child walk out. It seemed quiet and not as chaotic as the one in Arizona had been. There you would have to wait for hours and still might not get seen. Deciding to take the chance, he made his way across the street, hoping there was somewhere to sit once he got inside because his legs were shaking more with every step.
As he stepped inside the air-conditioned building, he took a deep breath as his eyes adjusted to the difference in light. He looked around, happy to find only about six other people sitting around looking as if they were waiting to be seen.
"Can I help you?" a young woman asked from behind a large counter.
"Um." Orson took a few steps to the counter, happy to have it to lean on. "I guess I need to get seen. I think my arm is broken."
The woman nodded. "Among other things." She touched her own chin as she smiled gently at him. "Don't worry, we'll help you get fixed up. It shouldn't be too long of a wait. It's unusually slow tonight. If you want to fill these forms out for me and I'll call you when we're ready. What's your name?" She pushed a clipboard at him.
He stared at the clipboard, trying to figure out how he'd write with his arm broken. He could try to write with his left hand, but wasn't sure how that would go. "Orson Reynolds." He picked up the clipboard.
The lady made a note and nodded, gesturing him to sit down in the waiting area.
He gritted his teeth, moving across the room again and slipped into a seat, thankful it was cushioned.
He stared at the paper on the clipboard, scanning the questions. He couldn't answer half of it. He didn't have an address or phone number. The only part he could fill out was his name. Trying to write with his left hand was harder than he'd expected. By the time he'd just gotten his first name done, he didn't even try for the last. It was easier to let the doctor or whoever fill it out for him. They wouldn't be able to read anything he wrote.
As he waited, he closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep. Thinking about the offer Harry made to join people at the storage unit left him uneasy. While he did want the security of people around, he didn't trust anyone enough to let his guard down around them. He wouldn't be able to rest or sleep. He would always be on alert for the next attack to come.
"Orson?" A deep voice carried through the room.
He opened his eyes and glanced the way the voice came from. His breath caught as his gaze fell on a tall doctor standing at the door waiting for him. His pulse raced as he slowly stood, reminding himself that just because he found a man attractive didn't mean he could do anything about it. There was no way a doctor would want someone like him. They came from completely different sides of life. "Hi." He tried to smile, but his chin seemed to tear open again as he did.
"Hi." The doctor's attention went right to his chin. "That looks like it hurts. Let's get you in the back and clean it up, see how bad it is." He stepped aside, holding the door for Orson.
Orson paused so he could let the doctor lead him to one of the rooms that lined the hall. Once they were inside, he took the first chair he came to without waiting for instructions. Trying to slide up on the exam table would take more energy than he had.
"I'm Doctor Gains. You're?" He reached for the clipboard.
"Orson. Sorry, I couldn't write." He lifted his right arm, then cringed, quickly pressing it to his chest again.
"I'll fill it out for you." The doctor made a few notes, then turned to the clipboard. "Orson, what's your last name?"
"Reynolds. No phone or address." He stared down at his feet again.
