The Skeleton In Me

Chapter Thirty-One

 bexley makes him :) even if he still isn't sure what that means

Chapter Thirty-One

I opened my eyes to see the waving treetops above me. The sky was a light blue, and everything smelled wet and new. My head pounded, and my body felt as though I had been hit by multiple cars, and left for dead.

I slowly turn my head, Cousin was sitting beside me, his eyes were intently on mine, and I realized that he was coated blood. 

His face had blood splatters, and his hands and clothes were covered in a thick layer of dried blood. Was he hurt?

Panic seized my being, and I forced myself to sit up. Everything went black for several moments and there was a loud ringing in my ears as I waited for my bruised body to adapt to a sitting position. 

I was so damn sore. Not just sore, a part of me was numb. I glanced down at my hand, seeing a large, blue bruise all the way up my arm when I had landed on a rock in the water.

It hurt so bad, it didn't hurt at all. Numb. I was numb to it.

I forced my attention back to Cousin, and examined him more thoroughly, "Are you hurt?" I managed to say, even though my tongue was dry, and I was desperate for something to drink. Every breath I took felt like a punch, and I don't think I had any broken ribs, but damn I felt like the physical embodiment of a bruise.

He blinked at me, "You are hurt."

"You're covered in blood. What happened? Was it the dog?" My heart was pounding, and I reached out to observe him. He can't be hurt. If he was hurt I couldn't help him, I don't even think I can stand. I don't cry. I refuse to let myself panic. I must be calm, even if every fiber in my being was on fire.

"Yes." His voice lowered to a whisper, as he shifted to avoid my touch, "The dog."

"Oh my god." I say trying to see where the bite was, while desperately attempting to look like I was definitely not in pain. I don't want to scare him any further. "Where did it bite you?"

"It didn't."

I pause. "It didn't?" 

He slowly shook his head. That's when it hit me. The blood wouldn't be dry like this if he was wounded. A wound that produces that much blood wouldn't dry out quickly on it's own.

I stare at him, and for several seconds we say nothing. He has never been violent before, and yet; "Did you hurt the dog?"

He says nothing, but there's a defiant look in his gaze, a look that is challenging me to question him. "I killed the dog."

"Oh." My heart was racing, my fear of him being hurt was still wavering in my mind. "Are you sure you aren't hurt?"

He stares at me so intently, and oddly honest, "I am not hurt."

I'm grateful he dared to even answer me. That's the most he's said to me in a while and I was happy for it. As long as he was okay, I knew things couldn't be that bad.

I won't dwell on him claiming he killed the animals. I won't think about that until later. My next step was to figure out just how long I had been out. "Do you know how long I was unconscious?" I ask him, but he doesn't respond, he only continues his staring, as if he were thinking of a million things that were not the answer to my question.

Ok. That's fine. I examine my surroundings. We were beside a creek, the water was rushing wildly, and that would explain why my clothes were so cold and wet. 

"Did it get dark?" I ask him, praying he'd respond.

He blinks at me for a second, and then nods once.