Old Wounds: Little Battles Part 19

I looked down at my hands in my lap and felt powerless as lines of Scripture ran through my head. I wished the words would fade because they hindered more than they helped, and although I didn't want to, they slipped out of my mouth without my conscious mind's permission.

"I, even I, am He who blots out your transgressions for My own sake; and I will not remember your sins. Put Me in remembrance; let us contend together; state your case, that you may be acquitted."

I looked up to see Sophie openly gaping at me, her brows knit together as her eyes danced about my face. "What the f.u.c.k is that? And how can you say that s.h.i.+t without stuttering?"

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before drawing in another. "I-it's a B-B-Bible vvvverse ab-bout ffffforgiveness."

She looked at me expectantly. "And?"

I shook my head. This was not the right time to have a conversation about Bible verses and stuttering. I felt the panic rise and realized that perhaps the conversation was too far gone to stop. I hadn't meant to say anything and definitely not Scripture. Now that it was out in the open and I hadn't stuttered once, questions were out there too.

My chest felt tight. Too tight. I wished that I could breathe and behave like a normal person instead of what was happening to me now. My hands were fists as I struggled for breath, my eyes shut as tight as my jaw was clenched. It felt like forever since I'd taken in enough oxygen.

Suddenly there were hands in my hair, and the soothing touch triggered the chemical reaction needed to calm my brain. My chest relaxed as my fingers loosened up. My jaw went slack and my thoughts righted themselves.

"Do you like omelets?" As I slowly opened my eyes, I nodded, my panting breaths slowing to manageable gasps for air. She put her face close to mine, her lips near my ear. "I would hold your hand, Elliott, but I'm afraid I'll hurt you." I breathed deeply and then she was gone, putting a pan on the stove and pouring in oil. "So if you could only listen to one song for the rest of the week, what would it be?"

Her question shocked me; it was so different from what the current tension level called for, but I slowly recognized it as her way of easing that tension, and returning us to safer topics.

"Ar-are you going to w-wear those all d-day?" I pointed again to the red, sparkly horns.

She smiled at me and took a sip of her coffee before answering. "I was thinking about it." She shrugged, and her smile made me feel honored that she had given it to me. "Maybe I'll go out after dark to get some candy I shouldn't eat. I'll be a true rebel h.e.l.lion then, skipping out on my grounding to go trick-or-treating."

"W-why do you get upset w-when people t-talk about your d-diabetes?"

Sophie placed her mug on the table and sighed, then pushed her plate away. I had hoped she would've eaten everything she'd served herself. It was more than evident that she'd lost weight since moving here, and I suspected that her drug use was the cause. I hadn't meant to cause her to stop eating breakfast by asking her a question. It was stupid.

I was stupid for asking.

"Because no one's ever cared. It's ridiculous for people to suddenly be concerned about what the h.e.l.l I eat or how much insulin I use. I've managed to stay alive for seventeen years, most of them without the help of anyone's super-diabetic coaching techniques."

"B-b-but you hhhaven't been able to mmm-mmm..." I couldn't say the word "manage" so I started a new sentence. "You've hhhhad ssssseveral t-times w-where you..."

"Those were times I forgot to eat."

"H-h-how do you fffforget to eat?" Didn't her stomach remind her when she needed to feed herself?

She stood and gathered her plate, and went back into the kitchen. As I finished my omelet, I heard running water and then some very loud crinkling. When she returned, she came to my side of the table and leaned back against it, looking down at me.

"You can trick-or-treat with me. Here," she said, holding out something silver and circular. "It's a halo." I carefully took the aluminum foil ring from her hand, and smiled. "Next year, you can dress up as Faramir. All I'll need is some scraggly hair and a loincloth, and I'll be all set as Gollum."

She touched my jaw. "I like this," she said, dragging her fingers against the scruff on my face, and I remembered that I hadn't shaved since Sat.u.r.day morning.

"I've n-never t-trick or t-treated," I said, hoping that she would keep touching my face just a little longer.

"Me either," she said quietly. "I got to pa.s.s out candy a few years though." She shook her head. "Helen always had a party on Halloween and she wouldn't buy me a costume. Why didn't you go?"

"I-it's the D-Devil's hhhholiday."

Sophie just rolled her eyes.

It was amazing how comfortable, and yet uncomfortable, I felt doing something I'd never done before. The newness of it made me nervous, but Sophie was right beside me, which was calming.

"Then just pull it all together with the fork, if it doesn't hurt too much. Normally, you'd just use your fingers, but seeing as how you've gone and broken a bunch of them, you have to fumble around with wooden utensils."

Fumbling was right. I could barely hold the thing.

I looked down at the bowl and watched as the flour and water mixed together to form a tacky ball. I had convinced her that my fingers did not hurt much and she should teach me how to cook something. "You ssssshould ssssstudy C-Culinary Arts, Soph-phie. You're r-r-r-really vvvvery t-talented."

She rolled her eyes. "Being able to cook isn't a talent, Elliott, it's surviving with style. Playing piano is a talent. Writing music is a talent."

I nodded. "Yes, they are, but so is being able t-to create ffffood liiike this."

She shook her head. "I'm not creating it, you are. I'm just supervising. And I noticed you only stuttered once when you said that."

But I elongated two words, which was just as bad. "I w-wish you w-would ssssee how g-good you are. I kn-know that you d-don't liiike w-why you have to cook, b-but you could go to school and m-m-make ssssomething good come out of sssomething b-bad."

She didn't respond, and an hour after baking the sweet, chocolate bread, I found myself at my piano with Sophie sitting next to me. I couldn't play anything for her since my hands were too wounded. I didn't exactly know why we were sitting here like this when there were so many other comfortable places to sit, except that it was my piano, and even though I couldn't play, it calmed me.

"I haven't gotten high all day, you know," she stated in a hushed whisper.

"B-but you w-want to?" I ventured.

"Yes." Sophie was nothing if not honest, and I appreciated it. At least she didn't feel the need to lie to me.

"W-w-why d-d-did you get hhhhigh for the ffffirst t-time?" I turned to see her face when she responded. I never wanted to step over the line with her, and I felt that she gave me much more than I gave her. If she looked offended, I would backtrack and go with an easier topic, like she had done earlier.

"Like the very, very first time?" She glanced at me and I nodded as she wrapped her arms around her torso and s.h.i.+vered as if she were cold. "Um..." she hesitated, her voice barely audible, "he said it would relax me."

My stomach tightened and I suddenly didn't want to know, but I still asked more questions, remembering an e-mail she'd sent me. "You w-were t-twelve?" She nodded. "W-w-w-who's hhhhe?"

She still shook and I wanted to hold her like she'd let me this morning, but I didn't know if she wanted that from me right now. "Helen's boyfriend."

"Hhhhe got you hhhigh?" Something ached in the pit of my stomach as she nodded. Then she went to get off the piano bench, trying to run away like she always did. I gently grabbed her slender wrist with both my hands and held back a wince of pain as my broken fingers were forced to move as much as they could.

"Elliott, stop," she whispered.

I immediately released her; I wouldn't be one more person in her life taking away her freedom. She could leave if she wanted to, no matter how badly I wanted her to stay with me. "D-d-don't hhhhide, SSSSoph-phie."

"I'd had alcohol before he held that joint to my lips, but drinking left me incredibly stupid the next day, and it was really easy for people to tell that there was something going on. Pot was different. I could smoke a little and function really, really well. I actually pulled my grades back up because it helped narrow down my thoughts, you know, helped me focus."

"W-w-why did hhhhe w-w-want you to r-r-relax?"

Sophie looked at me for a moment, her face hard but contemplative. "You can't ever unlearn a thing. Once you know, you'll always know. Are you ready for that?"

I felt panicked because I was pretty sure that I wasn't ready for it, but I couldn't possibly not know everything about her. The pain in my chest and the worry in my heart told me that I probably already knew the answer to my own question, so I nodded.

She got off the bench, and pulled her hair back, gathering it up in one hand, giving me a glimpse of her fork scar. Then she let it fall back down, like a curtain closing. "I should go."

"D-d-don't."

"Don't tell anyone I came over. I'd hate for Tom to have to stretch his parental skills too much and extend my grounding period. I hope you like the bread." She backed up as I stood. I felt a little dizzy and somewhat confused by her blatantly obvious attempt at running away.

"You c-can sssstay and ssshare it with me."

Sophie glanced at her wrist as if she wore a watch, and then shook her head. "The bus'll be by soon. I'm supposed to be in school and not...here."

"Soph-phie," I tried again, not wanting her to run away from me anymore. I told her that I wouldn't hurt her, and I wanted her to believe me.

"And you didn't have to move your pills, Elliott. You could've just asked me not to take them."

I fisted my hands as much as the bones and bandages would allow, and it made me s.h.i.+ver in pain. "I d-d-d..." It was no use trying to speak, because there was no way I would ever be able to get out what I wanted to say to her. It had obviously not been a stroke of genius when I moved the pills to the kitchen. Of course she would see them there.

Sometimes my idiocy astounded me.

I followed her quietly through the house as she collected her coat and hat, and slipped on her shoes. I didn't know what to say or do to keep her with me, but I desperately needed to say something, because she would be out of the door in probably less than a minute and that was not what I wanted.

It wasn't until she was actually halfway through the door that I managed to grasp her pinkie with the tip of my finger, urging her to stay without being imposing or intimidating. "SSSSophie, p-please."

"I have to go, Elliott." There was a mechanical nature to her voice; she almost sounded robotic as she slipped her finger free and moved away. "Bye."

She descended the front steps quickly and nearly jogged the path to the sidewalk. It was cold and wet, and I wished that I could have given her a ride home. When she'd been out of sight for five minutes, my body finally decided that it was cold enough, and I closed the door.

I picked up the silver foil halo and the red horns Sophie had laid on the piano and pushed the bench in, then headed up to my room, hoping she'd be online later.

YoSoph: What's up, Elliott?

I had waited for hours until she responded to my instant message of "Are you there?" I hadn't known if she was ignoring me or if she was just busy, but I was thankful when she finally did respond.

EDalton123: Are you okay?

YoSoph: Why do you worry about me so much? Of course I'm fine. It's Damascus, there's not much more trouble I could find, even if I wanted to.

EDalton123: Are you high?

She didn't respond right away.

YoSoph: I told you, all my s.h.i.+t's gone.

EDalton123: That doesn't mean you're not high. There's plenty of trouble to be found in Damascus if one looks for it.

As I read her next reply, I could almost hear her voice.

YoSoph: Yes, I'm high and it's f.u.c.king nice, thank you very much.

EDalton123: I wish you wouldn't do that.

YoSoph: Get high or get annoyed when you ask me about it ALL THE TIME?

EDalton123: Both.

YoSoph: If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

EDalton123: And if wishes were fishes, we'd all cast a net. Just because the chances of catching a fish are slim, doesn't mean I can't happily toss my net out there just in case a fish happens to swim by.

YoSoph: You shouldn't waste your wishes. If that stupid fish floats by, you should use it for something important. I've got some blackening seasoning in case that something important is Creole cooking.

EDalton123: My wishes have never been wasted.

YoSoph: I have to work tomorrow, but maybe Thursday you can come over? Tom's letting me paint my room.

EDalton123: I will definitely come over, but I doubt I could hold a paintbrush right now.

YoSoph: Good thing I'm going to ask you to hold a roller then.

EDalton123: What color are you painting it?

YoSoph: WE'RE painting it blue.

It was my favorite color, and I couldn't help the smile I wore knowing her room was going to be blue on Thursday.

EDalton123: You left your horns here.

YoSoph: I know. Right by your halo.

Wednesday was a long day. Sophie was in school and I was at home with four broken fingers, rendering me useless for playing the piano or guitar. My fingers were aching and sore from typing to Sophie the night before.

I was bored.

Thursday was better. Sophie's father looked at me differently than he had in the past. He stared at my hands for a while before he looked me straight in the eyes. Most people didn't do that. It was strange and awkward, and I quickly s.h.i.+fted and looked away.

When I was up in Sophie's room, I insisted that we keep the door open, not only for ventilation purposes, but also for her father's sake. I had just beaten Chris Anderson's face into several broken bits. His concern for his daughter was understandable, and I was honestly happy that it seemed like someone other than me cared about her well-being.

"Such a p.r.i.c.k," Sophie said under her breath.

"I-it's good that he d-doesn't t-trust me. Hhhhe d-doesn't know me." I was sure she didn't tell him about what Chris had done to her, so he had no reason to think that what I did was okay. For all I knew, Mr. Young could have gone bowling with Anderson's parents every Thursday night or something.

"And?"

"A-and you n-n-need ssssomeone to look out fffor you."

Sophie sighed and rolled her eyes. "Since when?"

I was confused that she always got so defensive when someone mentioned being concerned about her.

"E-everyone n-needs hhhhelp ssssometimes, Soph-phie. P-people can't b-be strong all the time. Ffffffor as b-big and ssstrong as D-David is, hhhhe ssssstill thinks hhis mmm-mmmom w-will change her m-mind about him. Hhhe ssstill needs SSStephen and R-Robin and R-R-Rebecca t-to hhhhelp him get through some d-days." Sophie looked away but I continued, even though I was fatigued from talking so much. "It's o-okay t-to let sssomeone c-c-care about you."

Silence loomed as we began painting, and I worried that I'd said something wrong. I never knew with her. I liked the color she had picked out. It reminded me of a perfect mid-western summer day, where the sky was exactly this shade of blue.