A Little Less Pain

23

    I sucked in my breath, pausing my movements. What could that possibly mean?
   "I don't understand." I bit my bottom lip and went back to the vexing circular motions as I scrubbed his bicep. I glanced at his face quickly, my hair becoming a makeshift shield. His neck was tilted backwards and his eyes were shut.
     "Why are you doing this?" His mouth barely moved as he breathed out the words. I wouldn't have heard him if I wasn't so close. My hand paused over his collar bones, as if stopping all movements would assure his clarification. What did that mean? Helping him?
As if not leaving him in a drunken stupor at the party is some magical deed.
"Doing what?" I asked lamely, going back to cleaning his tanned skin so I could look somewhere other than his face.
"I thought you were mad at me. Austin said when girls ignore you, then you did something." He was hardly actually speaking. It was coming out jumbled in mumbles and incoherent breaths. I stood up straight and took a step away from him. Any distance to separate us. I didn't respond, instead taking initiative to observe his body for any wounds, anything to excuse me from the conversation.
"Hadley?" He questioned, groaning and lifting his left hand to his forehead and as I pulled his right arm towards me. Above his elbow was a forming bruise, the skin lifted ever so slightly to form a welt. I lightly brushed the pad of my thumb against it and he flinched, slightly pulling away from my grasp.
"What happened?" I released him and started moving to the door to get an ice pack from the kitchen.
"Oh? I'm not... sure?" He tried to pull his arm closer to his face, and I decided to leave before I had to intervene.

The entire kitchen was pitch black- except for the light above the oven. I was practically walking on my toes as I went to the freezer. An ice pack was jammed in between two frozen pizzas, both I assume are Jesus's. I gnawed on my lip and shut the door as slowly as possible, thankfully only producing a small suction noise as the rubber collided. I went and pulled a hand towel from a rack and quickly walked to the stairs. My bare feet luckily creating no creeks as I paced up them.

The bathroom door was still open slightly, the light illuminating the hallway. I shimmied inside and shut it, dimming the light so it was only a low glow.
    "Sit up." I walked towards Jesus, gripping his shoulders and forcing his bent forward back, straight. He moaned, blinking quickly as if the hardly activated lighting was too much. I placed the towel on the forming bruise to create a barrier and then pressed the icepack over it.
     He finally peeled his eyes open fully, and the look was so quick it almost was unnoticeable.
     "I don't want us to hate each other." He almost whispered, his eyes metaphorically locking me in. I scrunched my eyebrows together. Where did this come from?
    "I don't hate you?" I tore from his gaze, observing the way his eyes were blinking- too fast. His throat dips as he swallows roughly, and I realize that I should've grabbed a water bottle as well. I looked to where my hand was holding the bag, being able to see the dark blue towel beneath because the bag is translucent, just like Jesus seems right now. I looked up again, his eyes following every movement I had made and now watching my face intently, as if I'm some puzzle that needs to be solved. When did I think of him as such an enigma? When did he become more than just some teenage boy?
       When his eyes finally finished scanning my face, he met mine. The alcohol he consumed made his whole being different. Maybe this is why he seems more approachable now. Being intoxicated seemed to make him more innocent, in every sense but literal, and when his lip started to tremble- I realized that he was trying to hold back tears.
    I wanted to step back, to make a shield for myself. This was too intimate, too close to be to Jesus. I crouch down slightly, and at the height similarity he lurched forward and clutched onto my shirt and buried his face into my neck. Suddenly the tears seep through and slide against my skin, cold and shameless. I wrapped my arms around his trembling frame, which almost seems too tight- as if I'm trying to bundle him back together. I've never seen Jesus cry, not like this. Not like he's cracked like a spine of a book.
    He continues crying and it's painful to hear, but nothing I feel right now compares to the turmoil he does.
      It feels like it's been hours, crouched onto the floor and holding his weight flush against my body. His lips tremble against my bare neck and I shiver, trying to keep composure because right now he needs whatever strength that's around him.
    Where did this come from? I carefully slide down to the floor, and he moves along with me, slipping off the toilet and sitting in front of it. I sat next to him and let him pull me against his side. I don't know what to say, how to help. I've never felt more lost around another human being before.
      After another couple of minutes, his sobs become less erratic. He loosened his grip on my back, but pulled me even closer. I pressed my nose against his shoulder. He smells like smoke and whiskey and the world is kind of spinning the longer I inhale.
    "Thank you." Is the first thing he says, after what felt like hours of dense silence. The temperature in the bathroom seemed to rocket. His arms felt so warm- so scalding. As if I was surrounded by fire and it hurt.
    I moved away, suddenly aware of our proximity. He reached his arm behind him, and I followed his movements. The ice pack and towel were long discarded onto the floor earlier. The ice nearly completely melted, practically transparent. I glanced back at Jesus. His cheeks were red and his eyes were swollen, but the cold look was back. I bit my tongue, feeling almost disappointed.
       He stood up, and reached out his hand to me. I accepted, assuming that he would try to bury this moment. He stumbled slightly, the alcohol still coursing in his veins. He tried to compose himself, to act like he wasn't just completely broken.
    "Here." I wrapped my arm around his waist and led him to his room as quietly as I could. It suddenly felt harder to breathe. Like the air had been sucked dry of oxygen. I helped him sit down on his bed and moved away, fleeing from his room and shutting the door. I leaned against it, squeezing my eyes tight.
    The best thing to do is just act like nothing happened. Everyone breaks down, its none of my business. He's not some mysterious enigma. He's just a boy.