The Hours We Have

chapter forty-one

A few days later, I meandered into the kitchen in my sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt that I had most definitely stolen from Mikeal's room. He wouldn't notice, and I didn't care. I needed comfort.  

I had quickly discovered that regular clothes were too constricting and painful to be worn over healing bruises and tender skin. Even the smallest brush of fabric over my skin caused an uncomfortable burning sensation. I kept everything covered with arnica cream, which greatly reduced the inflammation and coloration that followed healing. 

Roman's bruises were healing and fading much quicker than mine, though I could only assume his body had grown accostom to it over the years--or something like that. I had never been one to bruise easily, especially with lasting effects on the surface of my skin, and I hated to see the discoloration that speckled my usual tan complexion. 

I yawned and carefully pulled my computer from underneath my arm. I set it on the counter, opening the screen, and then logged into one of my online lecture periods for college. I was practically drowning in the work I had missed in the past week and I had a ton of catching up to do. 

I snuck a glance in the living room to see Finley sleeping on his bed. He had been sleeping most of the days, which was perfectly normal, and Mikeal had taken him out this morning for me. 

I had slept in, which was becoming normal while I healed, but the house was relatively quiet when my older brothers left for work, and Julian begrudgingly went to school on his own for the third day in a row. I think it was the first time he had ever went without his twin because they'd been together since day one. 

When I heard my professor greet the class, I walked away from my computer and pulled open the refrigerator. I was increasingly hungrier these past few days, as I should be with my body repairing itself, and Mikeal had to bring home food for us because Roman and I indulged ourselves through the day. 

Yesterday, I had decided to teach Roman how to bake cookies the proper way. I wouldn't say it ended badly but we may have gotten carried away with the flour. I think there was still flour in my hair and stuck in the cracks of the wooden floor. Mikeal was not pleased but we smoothed it over with our perfectly crisp cookies; which Roman had been so proud of. Even Ezra ate some cookies this time without a complaint, and I would call that progress. 

"What's this?" Roman's voice scared me out of my thoughts and I spun to face him with a racing heart. I had been standing in front of the fridge with the door open, deciding about what to eat today, and I hadn't heard him enter the kitchen. 

"Geez, Roman!" I snapped, "How long have you been standing there?" 

He shrugged, "Few seconds while you've been in la-la land." His eyes drifted down to my laptop again, which was droning on with the voice of my professor, "Are you supposed to be on class?" 

"What's it to you?" I returned, grabbing milk and creamer from the top shelf of the fridge before shutting the door, "Its not your education, is it?" 

His eyes met mine with a toneless expression, "You're not even paying attention. Do you even know what's been happening in your class?" 

"As if you pay attention in class," I retorted. 

"Stop trying to reverse this," He sat down in front of my laptop and leaned closer to the screen, "You should be paying attention." 

I rolled my eyes, "Don't be an Ikea." 

He stared at my laptop for a second longer, his eyes blank, and then he said, "Yeah, okay, I wouldn't pay attention to this either. That professor's voice is so monotone, it's boring, and what the hell are those scribbles? Notes? How are you supposed to read that?"