The Skeleton In Me

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Throughout the week, I notice that Cousin is able to walk for longer periods without rest. Each day we are able to go further without him nearly passing out on me.  

We haven't seen Mr. Father, or anyone from the circus, but I don't let my guard down, as I know doing that will only lead to potential trouble.

I sit on the motel bed, listening to the merciless rain beating down against the roof. This was only our second time staying at a motel, all other nights we find a tree, or hidden spot to sleep. At this point, I'm so used to the hard ground, that a bed isn't even desirable anymore. It's no wonder Cousin never uses it.

He hasn't said much to me all week. I notice, though, that is skin is gaining color, and although he's still unacceptably thin, he walks slightly more normal, like it isn't a foreign action to him.

I just don't know how to get him to talk more.

I urge Cousin to take a bath, and this time, I don't have to help him, though I sit in the room with him, I turn my back, and let him bathe himself.

Since I can't remember when the last time I've bathed, I refuse to go another night without washing the grime off of my body. Not wanting to take my eyes off of Cousin, I tell him to sit on the floor of the motel's bathroom, with his back facing the tub, which was where I was sitting when he was bathing.

I get into the warm, soapy water, and weeks of dirt and whatever else I've captured while on the run, slowly breaks from my skin.

The water and soap covers my naked body, so I tell Cousin he can face me, if he wants to.

He actually does and leans his back on the cabinet under the sink. I rest both my arms on the side of the tub, and we stare at each other. I have soap in my hair, but I don't care. I want to sit in the water for as long as possible.

His hair is still wet from the bath, and he's wearing new clothes that I bought him a couple days ago. The previous outfit I had bought him was already filthy and torn up from sleeping on the ground. I was tired of seeing him in torn-up clothing.

"We should be home within the week." I tell him, my eyes outlining his face, "My sister is going to kill me once she realizes what I've done."

His eyes narrow slightly, and I quickly correct myself, "She won't actually kill me." I explain, "It's a figure of speech." He doesn't look like he understands, though I can't really read what he's thinking, so instead I say, "My sister is one of the nicest people I know. She'll love you." I end it at that.

I watch him lean his head back, his eyes never leaving mine. For someone who is so scared to be stared at, and avoids gazes at all cost, he sure does like to glare at me. If I didn't adore him so much, it'd concern me.

His eyes were so dark, but when the light in the room reflected on them, I could see the faintest bit of brown. They were unlike anything I have ever seen, and I could stare at them all day. The fact that Mr. Father would advertise Cousin as a beast, a non-man creature with knives as bones, and pure black, soulless eyes. It is no wonder everyone was scared of him. From the crowds, and Cousin's abused demeanor, he did look like an animal.

And yet, looking at me now, all I see is a mistreated, unfortunate young man.

I do not fail to see how exhausted he looks. It's not just a physical exhaustion I see, it's mental, too. He is so tired, and I'm scared that his exhaustion will not heal in enough time, and he will give into it before it's too late.

I try to think of something that could make him happy, but nothing comes to me.

Taking a deep breath, I plunge into the soapy water. Scrubbing the filth out of my hair. When I emerge, I wipe the water from my eyes. I have to do a double take when I look at Cousin, because the narrowed, furious glare he had been giving me was gone. Replaced by an unreadable expression.

I want to ask him what he's thinking, but I don't. Instead, I say to him, "You keep staring at me, but I know you struggle to stare at others. What is it about me that you are so confident around? Not that I'm complaining."

He blinks a few times, and I run a hand through my hair, untangling it. He doesn't answer my question no matter how long I wait, so I sigh, merge into the water one last time before, telling him to look away, as I climb out of the tub, dry myself, and put on clothes.

We leave the bathroom, and I sit on the bed. My hair is still went when I lay down on the edge, staring at the ceiling. The bed is soft underneath me, too soft, I feel like I'm being swallowed by blanket and mattress.

I don't know what Cousin is doing, until I see him in the corner of my eye. I can barely believe it when he sits down on the opposite bed. He's touching the mattress with his hand like he's never touched a bed before.

I sit up, and I can't stop myself from staring at him. I didn't think he'd ever have the desire to sleep in a bed, and now, it looks like he's putting in the effort.

I don't want him to see how happy I am, so I don't mention it.

He notices me staring at him, and he stares back as he says, "You don't like to be stared at."

He says it with absolute certainty, and I don't know what he means, so confused, all I can muster is a, "What?"

"I stare at you; you don't like it."

I think about it for a moment, I want to give him an honest answer without scaring him, "I don't mind you staring at me." I confess, "I don't like it when other people stare, but you I don't mind."

I see him swallow, and look back down at the mattress, for a while he doesn't respond and because I'm impatient I can't stop myself from speaking, "Do you not like it when I stare at you?" I ask him because I desperately want him to keep talking to me.

He doesn't look up when he immediately responds, so quickly that I barely grasp it, "I don't care." His voice is hard again, like he had momentarily forgotten that he hated me, and suddenly remembered. He gets up from the bed, and retreats back onto the floor, and I don't allow myself to get upset, because at least that was an effort he had never made before.

He just needs more time, I assure myself, he'll open up eventually.

Though as for hating me, I'm not sure he will ever stop.