Jojo woke up with a start, his body drenched in sweat, his disoriented mind desperately clinging to reality. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like the only sound on earth, and in his confusion, he felt terrified.
His naked body, tangled in his blankets like a straitjacket, was trembling. The sticky sensation covering him indicated he was sweating far too much. He felt deathly ill, his entire being screaming that something was wrong, and the young boy was certain it was because of that nightmare.
But… what was that nightmare about?
Georges sat up on his blankets, placing a hand on his forehead, his breathing heavy. He could no longer recall the details of his dream. All that remained was a strange feeling of disgust and horror.
And a cold sensation in his right hand, contrasting with the warmth surrounding him…
The young boy felt his heart tighten.
"Wow, man, you look really sick."
Jojo was startled to realize he wasn't alone and sat up, feeling his irrational emotions gradually fade with this simple realization. Sitting on his bed, a familiar, slender face emerged in the dimness of the room, where closed windows and doors blocked out the daylight. Someone had clearly been there in the few seconds before he woke up, seconds that had felt like an eternity.
Jojo focused his gaze on the familiar silhouette, confused because his half-asleep mind struggled to put a name to this person he was sure he knew.
"Hmm…"
"…"
As Jojo let out a slight groan in an attempt to focus, the person facing him sighed softly before moving abruptly. There was a blurry black flash, followed by a dull sound and a sharp pain in his skull.
"Ow, damn it, Daniel!"
"You awake now?"
"For fuck sake," Jojo muttered, rubbing his head, his eyes welling with tears. He felt the person who had hit him get up from the bed and heard a metallic sound. Sunlight flooded the room as he kept his eyelids shut, groaning louder. The sudden brightness burned his retinas.
When he reopened his eyes and his vision adjusted, he could fully take in his surroundings. The room was a dull, unremarkable color. Two beds, Jojo's and Daniel's, took up most of the space, one on each side. There was barely room to move, just a narrow path separating the wardrobe that held their personal belongings from the beds. That small path led to the door.
Now standing in front of him, Daniel Carvalho looked at him with annoyance. His eyes, always sharp and chiseled, gave him a mature air for his 14 years. His skin was dark, and his short, neatly faded black hair, slightly spiked, was impeccably styled. His fine, proud jawline enhanced the serious demeanor that Jojo had learned not to take too seriously over time. Because, despite being intelligent and thoughtful, Georges knew his friend could pull off the worst mischief in the world.
But for now, there was no hint of amusement in his gaze.
"Come on, get your bitch ass up!"
"Let me sleep, asshole," Jojo muttered, resting his head on his curled-up knees.
"Sorry, Jo," Daniel said, the ever-present vein on his temple pulsing slightly as it did when he was annoyed, "but Inès told me to wake you up, or you won't get breakfast. Plus, she'll come wake you up herself."
He let out another groan. He wasn't keen on testing Inès's patience. She was Daniel's mother and, for the past three years since his parents' death, Jojo's adoptive mother. They weren't truly related, but the Carvalhos had done everything to gain custody of him, and Jojo felt eternally grateful to them.
The young boy mumbled a "I'm coming" and began to get up, his eyelids sticky and yawning so wide it felt like his jaw might unhinge. Once on his feet, he towered over Daniel, who shot him a sour look.
"You're growing like a damn baobab," Daniel grumbled, his tone furious.
Jojo could only laugh awkwardly. Daniel was self-conscious about his small stature, so comparing himself to Jojo, who was already nearly 1.70 meters at 13, must have stung.
Jojo grabbed his toothpaste and brush from the wardrobe and headed for the door. Daniel followed behind.
The central courtyard of the house was bathed in the bright sunlight characteristic of early mornings. Jojo turned to Daniel.
"What time is it?"
"10 a.m.," Daniel replied in a flat voice.
"Wow, 10?" Jojo exclaimed, shocked at having slept so late. "Where's Pierre Alex?"
"He's out, and you're damn lucky for that," Daniel shot back with a disdainful huff. "If he were here…"
Jojo didn't need him to finish the sentence. If his uncle had found him sleeping this late, he would've been in for a rough time.
The boy shivered at the thought and headed to the back courtyard. Two basins and a bench sat on one side, surrounded by dirty bowls and dishes, some still crusted with remnants of last night's meal. Jojo sidestepped them and leaned over the tap in the back. In this position, the branches of a caïlcédrat tree outside the house provided welcome shade.
Jojo splashed water on his face to wake himself up and brushed his teeth. Task done, he filled a bucket with water and carried it, with some effort, to the bathroom on the other side of the courtyard to wash.
The mirror at the entrance greeted him, and he could see his reflection. He was much taller and stockier than most kids his age. His skin was a dark hazel, and his jaw was firm. His black hair stood in curls in an atypical low fade, and his round eyes had a unique shape that gave him a captivating gaze. His muscles were prominent and moderately defined, despite the only sports he played being a bit of soccer mixed with some roughhousing—like any good kid from Keur Massar.
In short, his physical growth was above average.
Jojo looked at the palm of his right hand. The pale skin was bare and unmarked, as usual.
Jojo ran a hand through his hair, sighing and messing it up further. He had a bad habit of examining his body whenever he could. He didn't know why, but he was afraid something might appear on him. A scar… or a mark.
Or maybe, deep down, he already knew.
Jojo shook those thoughts away and went to wash up before returning to his room. He put away his toiletries and quickly dressed in a white t-shirt and gray pants before heading to the living room, where only the sound of the TV could be heard.
He barely crossed the threshold when he heard an irritated voice from the side.
"Georges Badji, next time, I'll wake you up with my belt since you love sleeping so much."
Sitting in her usual armchair, Inès shot him a dark look as he arrived.
Georges struggled to hide a strange, faint smile of satisfaction on his lips. Everything was fine; nothing had changed.
It was just a dream, after all.
And now, an ordinary day like any other was about to begin.