Time Heals A Story Of Redemption

Time Heals

A Story of Redemption and Facing The Past

Luis sat prostrate in his cubby with a thin blanket tangled around his legs. A flickering fluorescent bulb illuminated his refuse strewn studio. Soda cans, old magazines, and leftover takeout were strewn about in uncaring depression. One of many bug infested hellholes in the MegaTower, it was all the struggling young man could afford. He ignored his austere environment, big eyes fixated on the pornography streaming from the flat handheld in his palm.

"Fuck she's got huge titties. Goddamn why can't I touch something like that?" he groaned. Curled up in a heap, the diminutive shape quaked as he stroked his throbbing cock. He was horny. He was always horny. Luis groaned again and pinched his soggy foreskin around the bulbous crown of his veiny junk and looked at it in disgust. Pre-cum glistened in the light of his handheld.

"Fuck you," he snorted. He hated how big he was...down below. Always small in frame he had been picked on in creche school for his abnormality. The worst part is as he got older, his body had not grown into bulky masculinity. Save the jutting protuberance he was a waif, thin in chest and skinny armed. Turning off the porn, he flipped on his handhelds camera. Looking at the image on the screen he beheld elfen features. This too produced a snort of disgust. He was a man! Why couldn't he simply be manly and people see that?

His cock, though momentarily ignored, kept pulsing in unsatiated desire. Streams of pre-cum dangled and began soaking the bedspread. "Shit!" he exclaimed and bolted to his feet. Soft skinned hairless thighs wobbled as he strode to the sink under a flickering bulb. Looking at himself again in the mirror, he was disappointed.

"Man, what have you got? No money, no future, no girlfriend. Nothing. You're a fucking waste of space. Why even bother..." he said to his reflection. Turning on the faucet he dunked his head and pulled a swallow of water in a cupped hand. "I fucking hate you," he said to himself, flicking wet fingertips at the mirror.

He turned to apprise the sum of his efforts, knowing the declaration would change nothing. A hot plate sat under a single lonesome pan. Two stainless shelves inset in the studio walls held trinkets and a small fishtank burbled on an end-table by a threadbare couch. Mr. Gulpy, the goldfish gulped at him in supplication for another pellet of food.

Luis sighed again and went to feed the helpless fish. "You're all I've got, Gulpy. I'd be done with this world tomorrow if it wasn't for you," he murmured as he flipped the lid on the tank and peppered the water with a drizzle of protein flakes. Gulpy gulped, then in a swirl of bubbles headed for the shelter of his plastic pirate ship.

Looking at his watch, Luis grimaced. It was three in the afternoon and his shift started at nine. "Guess I'd better take care of this stupid cock," he said at the offending cock. Slumping past blackout curtains to his meager cubby, he tried to bring himself to completion and fall into a fitful sleep.

***

A faint drizzle fell. Luis had trudged the many blocks from his stinking studio apartment through the rain to his place of work. Dodging piles of trash and whizzing motorbikes, he stood clad in a plastic raincoat eyeballing the entrance across a pitted parking lot. Slumbering cars gleamed. Under the golden neon of the sign proclaiming "

Ma Belle Laverie

," a clutter of smoking patrons swapped jokes and jibes. Underneath more neon proclaimed "HOT GIRLS NOW" and a glass dancer bent to her knees before returning upright.

Luis quailed. The front entrance was always a pain in the ass. The bar's owner, Tilde, demanded her staff wear skintight shorts. In his case, this meant that even before he went on shift he had to endure a gauntlet of unpaid ribald remarks over his meaty buns. Better to take the back entrance. Ducking past a car, raincoat crinkling in the dew, Luis sped for the back alley.

"Hey, lemmie in!" He rapped poorly maintained metal with a frantic knuckle. Glancing about he pulled the raincoat tighter. Inside a clatter of pans settled to muffled curses. Hard footsteps strode to the entry and the rusty door opened with a squeal. The looming figure of the club's cook, Samson blocked out all light.

"Whoozat? Wait, Luis? My boy! Come in, come in!" Samson checked his watch. "I suppose it's nearly your shift, come, eat some stew before Tilde sends you to the wolves." Standing aside, he ushered Luis into the kitchen. Sous chefs, prep cooks, and salad tenders scurried about in their white uniforms. For a shitty club on the ass end of town, the food was excellent. Samson ran a tight ship and would proudly proclaim at anyone who asked, "Why, the dancers are the sauce! My food is what draws the guests." Frankly, Luis agreed with that assessment.

Plonking down on a low stool, he eagerly accepted the steaming bowl that Samson ladeled. It was probably the only thing he'd have to eat today and the shift would run long. Digging in, he muttered plentiful thanks. Samson stared at the diminutive lad and chuffed. Whirling a string on his apron, he turned back to a sizzling fry pan.

"You need to eat more, Luis. No good will come of you if you stay skinny as a bone. Before you leave tonight, I'll pack you a leftover box," he called over his shoulder before refocusing on the incoming orders. In his heart, Samson knew Luis couldn't afford food beyond what the MegaTower replicators provided. "Garbage protein bars! They have no understanding of what it takes to feed the soul," he thought with an irritated rattle of the pan.

Luis shrank in his plastic and shoveled stew as fast as he could. He did not know what the chef thought, but he was appreciative of the gesture insofar as he could see beyond the dipping spoon.

***

Thumping bass rattled Luis's teeth. Clad in tight spandex briefs and neon yellow suspenders, he struggled with the weight of a tub full of empty glasses. The night was popping, the club was full, and shrieks of drunk, horny party-goers filled his ears. On a glowing stage bimbo titted sluts writhed and strutted in time to the beat. Shelf-like asses twerked and dipped, pencil thin thongs carved accentuation into glistening buttocks with clefts as deep as the Marianas Trench. Hooting men threw bills as the strippers as they spun, promising lusty encounters of hot sex should the gleaming bimbos pay them any mind.

Luis tried to move his way through the throng.

"Excuse me, pardon me. Sorry, I have to get through here. Sorry," he trilled, trying to make headway against the tide. After much labor he eventually made it to the bar. Setting his load down with a clatter he sagged.

"Excuse me? Are you okay?"

He jolted. He'd bumped a customer! After being so careful! Quivering he turned and spied the inquiring being. Clad in a shimmering black leather duster, the figure loomed on a bar stool. She held a beer and gave him an inquisitive look. "You okay there, short stuff?'

He gasped and shrank again. "I'm, I'm okay. Sorry for bumping into you, I just need to get through to the bar and it's...so busy!" He stammered out.

The red haired vision shrugged and gestured at the world at large. "We all have our place, Shorty. You need me to make room, lemme know." She took a gulp of beer. Her coat fell back momentarily, exposing thickly corded arms. White tendrils of scars traced up her knuckles into the gloom of her sleeves.

"Riviera! Get to work, I'm not paying you to chat up the customers. That's the girl's job, not yours!" a sharp voice rang out. Luis, already feeling as small as he possibly could, shrank once again.

Tilde Laurent, proprietor and bartender of

Ma Belle Laverie

peered at him over the stainless steel bar. Emerald eyes narrowed as she gave him a scathing glance. "Get it in gear, man. We have twelve tables that need clearing and I'm in the weeds. I need ice and more beer!" She slapped a cooler behind the counter before spinning off to mix a drink for yet another needy customer.

The leather clad beer drinker gave him a knowing look and shrugged. "Better do as she says. Let me know if you need help, it looks like you're really struggling with the crowd." She downed the rest of her beer and pivoted on the stool. Bass thumped and the dancers twirled.

Luis brightened. "Actually...yeah I could." Hefting the tub of glasses with all the strength he had he set off for the kitchen. The figure watched him try and bumble his way through the crowd. Setting her glass down she cracked a wry smile. Unfolding herself from the seat, she chased after the waif, coat flapping.

"MAKE WAY. MAKE WAY!" She boomed over the noise of the beat. In her wake, Luis was drawn like a meteor in the gravity of a welling sun.

***

It was around four in the morning. Behind the club, thumping music thankfully finally extinguished, Samson and Luis sat on buckets having a smoke. The night had gone well, generally speaking.

Samson inhaled and blew a great gout of smoke at the heavens. His bare dome, ensconced in a tiny fez glistened with sweat and cooled slowly in the air.

"Luis, what are you doing here?"

Luis started. He had been mulling the fantastic creature who had spent the night carving her prow through the crowd and making his entire universe easier.

"What?" He quivered. His spandex itched and it was a little too chilly for yellow suspenders.

Samson burned his cigarette to a glowing ember with his inhalation. "Lad, I've seen a lot of boys come and go. But you're too smart for this. Go back to school, build something better than what we do."

Luis slumped on his bucket. What was life anyway? He was all too prepared to die, only the responsibility of Mr. Gulpy preventing him from finding the nearest bridge to take a short dive off of. Shit sucked ass in his world and very little mattered. But the lingering thought of the valkyrie earlier that evening paused a cynical outburst.

He tapped his cigarette in a discarded soda can. "I don't know, Samson. I'm what, twenty? Twenty five?" He shook his head. Time had become fuzzy after his Mom had died and the uncaring world had begun grinding him underfoot.

"I can't afford school. And look at me, I look like a girl. Nobody takes me seriously. Universal Basic Income barely covers my apartment. The replicators are disgusting. I...I don't know what I want. What would school even do?" Luis wrapped his head in his arms in futile frustration.

Samson nodded and took a drag. Putting a burly hand on the lithe young man's shoulder, he gave him a squeeze. "Time will tell, lad. Till then, I'll make sure you have a full belly." Luis stifled a sob.

Cigarettes writhed smoke into the dusky humid air. Up the alley, a bottle clanked. The men stiffened, the emotional vortex shattered like so many motes in the wind. Out of the gloom a redheaded figure emerged.

"You boys gotta light?" The valkyrie strode into the dim cone of light, waggling a cylinder between knurled knuckles.

"Sure," Samson said. He shuffled in his apron and produced a lighter. Flaring it, the redhead leaned in. Dipping her head in thanks, she heaved a great sigh of relief.

"Can I talk with the little guy for a minute?" She asked, waving her cigarette.

Samson stilted momentarily. Luis was...special. He needed protection. Standing, the swarthy chef adjusted his apron. "Only if you promise to be nice." He fixed her with a stare full of retribution should the woman misbehave.

She met his gaze. "I spent the evening making sure he could move through a bunch of sweaty dipshits instead of buying overpriced booze at the bar." Sucking on her smoke momentarily, she flicked it into the darkness of the alley. "I'll be good."

Samson, briefly mollified though still full of distrust, looked down at the huddled form of Luis. "You gonna be okay, lad?" he said.

"Yeah. I'm okay." Luis choked out. Wiping a tear, he leaned back and heaved an expansive breath. Looking at the sky, he took a puff. "I'm okay."

Samson nodded and gave the woman a glance. "I'm getting a leftover box. You have five minutes." He adjusted his apron once more and entered the kitchen with a bang.

Crickets chirped. The redhead sat on Samsons abandoned milk crate in a swirl of leather coat.

"I'm Nemera," she said, peering across the alley at a chittering rat. It nuzzled a discarded protein bar wrapper then scampered off to better foraging.

"I'm Luis," he said, eyes to the sky, desperately trying to see the infinite beyond the oppression of the murky haze of The City. They were so far down in the depths of the MegaTowers, it was a wan hope. Stars were a myth as much as hope was.

"Why did you help me?" he said, as much to the sky as to her. He drew a tentative drag. The ember glowed and lit his elven face in dusky red.

Nemera shrugged. "It seemed like the right thing to do. You're tiny. I'm big. Nobody else on the floor gave a shit. Your boss seems like an asshole. The kitchen guy seems...nice-ish." She leaned on her milk crate and stared at the ground.

Luis giggled. "He is nice. And she's an asshole, you're not wrong." He looked at the cloaked figure perhaps for the first time. In the light of the flickering alley lamp, he took in her broad shoulders and how her skin seemed sallow in the hard blue shade of the alley's illumination. Her strong jawline churned as she chewed at some internal anxiety.

The kitchen door banged open. Samson swarthed out with a bag of leftovers. "Ah! Luis, go home and eat. I will see you tomorrow, yes?" He deposited the bags on Luis's startled lap. Squaring himself with the still seated Nemera, he looked down at her. "What are your intentions with Luis," he spat out.

Nemera stood, kicking the milk crate back gently. She loomed, but not quite as looming as Samson. He was, after all, gigantic. She only mildly less so. Looking up, she assessed the risk and spoke truthfully:

"I'm going to walk him home and put him to bed. And I'm going to stay and make sure he's safe."

Samson glared. Every mountainous inch of him swelled in the early hours of pre-dawn. Lifting a sausage finger he poked her above a leather clad breast.

"Make sure you do. I expect to see him tomorrow." With that, Samson re-entered the kitchen and slammed the door in a puff of curry.

Nemera looked down at the waif. He was not really here, but at a nudge of her toe, he put down the nubbin of his cigarette and stood. "Guess we'd better get started, huh," he said.

Together, they set off into the mist.

**

Outside of his tiny studio apartment, Luis was having an internal freak-out. He hadn't cleaned in months. It was a fucking pigsty in there! Nemera lounged against the doorframe and contemplated his high cheekbones as he struggled with his keycard.

"Pretty much a shithole in there, am I wrong Shorty?" She chuckled.

He blanched. It was a total shithole and he'd let it get to this point even when he knew better. But what was the point in trying when everything seemed hopeless?

She took his keycard. "This whole fucking block is a sty, nothing I haven't seen before. I told the cook I'd get you home safe dude. Let's go." With that said she slapped the yellow plastic square on the lock-pad. The door slid back and the jingles of the apartment AI waking up hung in the air. Heaps of clothing and trash littered the floor. Luis sagged. He hadn't had time to prepare for guests, but this was just depressing.

Nemera peered past the door frame. "Well that's super fucked up. When was the last time you cleaned, my man?" Shouldering him to the side, she used a stiff boot to move heaps of garbage out of her way. Churning her way through the drifts, she started opening cupboards.

"Ha! Okay Shorty, we're fixing this shit. I got you home safe, but you're not well by any means." She shucked off her jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Clad in a tight metallic skinsuit her muscles gleamed in pale lamplight from above the sink. Hoisting aloft gloves, she whipped a pair at his face.

Squawking in indignation and humiliation, he scrabbled for the limp rubber which had flopped to the floor. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Nemera cackled. "I'm going to unfuck your life, Shorty. Lets get cleaning."

***

It was past dawn when they finished. Huffing in exhaustion, Luis deposited the final load of trash bags into the chute by his apartment. A hulking green vending machine jangled, proming him a bigger dick and fruitful life if only he stuffed a few bucks into its greedy maw. He rolled his eyes and ignored the promises of a two-bit liar, turned, and went back to the apartment.

It had been transformed. Drifts of clutter were gone. The kitchen gleamed. The bathroom reeked of bleach. The lone throw carpet was scrubbed within an inch of its life. The windows were squeegied to translucence. Long ignored shelves were wiped and reset. Even the micro-stove had been set to incinerate the dregs of past pizza. The threadbare couch was repaired and Mr. Gulpy was doing happy loops in his sparkling tank.

Nemera rattled around in the kitchen over a pan of eggs as Luis wobbled in on weary thick thighs. Red rimmed eyes, shot through with bone deep exhaustion only sought a soft place to lay down.

"You know Shorty, your fridge is fuckin' bare. What are you doing with your life?" Nemera asked, depositing an egg onto a tiny sourdough roll.

Luis sagged into the couch. He had no answers. He was a man who had hips like a girl but also a massive hog. This woman had bulldozed herself into his life when he wanted to die. Nothing made sense.

"Nothing makes sense, and I don't know, Nemera." he said, waving a hand at the stained ceiling.

"Hmm. Well you might feel better after some food. Then we can go to bed." She strode over and shoved a jellied egg on crunchy bread under his nose. He inhaled and sank even deeper into the couch. Nothing seemed better than sleep but the toasty scent kept him from slipping off.

Nemera curled herself up on the couch alongside him. She fanned her own egg briefly before taking an immense bite. "I got pseudo-bacon out of the vending machine for you. The cook was right, you're to thin," she proclaimed in a spray of crumbs

At this, Luis snapped awake. He wasn't thin, he was a man! Growling as best he could, he grabbed the plate and began scarfing down the meager meal. Between bites he tried tried to express his feelings:

"Not...Not tiny...gonna be big....Hate being small!"

Nemera stifled a raucous snort. She ran a finger through his short, spiky hair. So engrossed in inhaling the meal he did not notice the metal in her tone. "Oh sweetheart. You're not going to be big. You're going to be mine." She twiddled his ear with an idle nail. Somewhere in the back of his mind, an animalistic terror began shivering up his spine.

He gulped and tried to find water. She passed him a glass from the table and he swallowed with thanks. Putting down the glass, he realized how close she was to him. The smell of leather, sweat, and kerosene inundated his senses. He stilled, prey realizing that he was in the clutches of a predator.

She traced a finger down the back of his neck and beheld his dainty features. It was early in the morning and they had been hard at work cleaning, but she wanted this diminutive man with a passion. Between her legs, clad tight in the metallic skinsuit, a throbbing python began to inflate.

She leaned in.

"Luis, I'm going to fuck you right now and you're going to like it," she breathed.

The last bite of his meal hovered, trembling halfway to his mouth. He couldn't move. Every fiber of his tired body screamed at him to run but he was frozen. Halfway between fear and lust, he wanted more but was afraid of what it would mean.

Nemera moved first. Gently she took the plate and deposited it on the table. Grasping his fingers she looked him in the eye and commanded: