The Skeleton In Me

Chapter Thirty-six

you could say that this chapter took me almost a year to write, or you could say that it took me 2 hrs (bc it took me 2 hrs)

here is another chapter 

Chapter Thirty-six

I stared down at the papers Katie had dropped off. She managed to get me a job as an English tutor, something she used to do when she was my age.

I was nervous leaving Cousins alone for several hours of the day, but I didn't really have a choice. I needed money, especially if we only had a month to stay here.

Living in a motel will cost a lot of money. 

Cousin sat on the bed, his fingers trailing up and down the embroidered threads on the blanket, something I noticed he did a lot. 

He's been acting differently ever since we moved here. We've been here for almost six days, which I had spent cleaning the place from top to bottom.  I never expect Cousin to respond to me when I ask him things, but usually, he will. It's rare, but it still happens. 

He hasn't said a word since our first day here.

I feel like I've been watching him slowly mold back into Cousin Icon, the clown chained to the floor. The unwanted creature who slept alone in a boxcar, with a blindfold over his eyes.

I don't know why he's morphing back into his old self, but it terrifies me. I can't help but wonder, did I do something wrong? Did I say something, or touch him in a way that brought back traumatizing memories? Should I stay away from him?

These questions stick to my brain like unwanted constant reminders, and I can't help but think of them every time I look at his face.

"Cousin?" I look up from the papers regarding my new job, and stare at him. He blinks at me, his finger pausing on an embroidered flower. "You do know what this means, right?" I lift the papers up. "I'll be gone a lot, eight hours a day, five days a week."

He says nothing, so I continue because I don't think he understands, or maybe I just want to hear him say something. Anything at all. "You'll be alright here by yourself, right?"

Nothing, I don't even get a slight nod of his head. His eyes bore into mine, and then, they fall back onto the mattress, back onto the tiny embroidered flowers on the blanket. He slowly traces them, each stem, each petal, he traces the colored thread. 

"You've been different since we arrived here. Are you mad at me?" The words fall out quicker than I can catch them. I didn't mean to voice my feelings so suddenly like that, I hate putting him on the spot. 

His eyes do find mine again, his bony finger paused on the leaf of a flower. I hold my breath, certain he'd finally speak to me, but he doesn't. Instead his gaze goes from me, to out the window, and they linger there. 

I want to stand up, grab his shoulders and shake the words out of him. The last six days, I've done nothing but talk to myself, ask myself questions, it's as if he wasn't here at all.

I knew it had to be because of something, he was doing so good for weeks, and suddenly, he's back to being a brick wall, a silent ghost.

I can not stand it.

I slam the papers onto the nightstand beside the bed, and walk over to Cousin. He watches me approach him, "Why aren't you speaking to me? Why is it that you're angry at me? What did I do? Let me fix it."

His eyes goes from a blank look, to something much more familiar. Annoyance. So I was right, he was angry with me.

"Cousin, please tell me."