Old Wounds: Little Battles Part 7

"Hhhhere," he said once more, quickly moving his hands away once the item was close to me.

A matching hat and gloves sat on the table and I looked back at him, quirking an eyebrow.

In answer to my silent question, he said, "I-i-it's c-c-cold outssssside and I d-d-didn't know if you hhhad a hhhat. I d-don't w-w-want you to get sssssick."

I didn't know how to feel about Elliott buying me winter outerwear. On the one hand, it was considerate, and on the other, he was getting way too vested in me. I would probably end up ruining him, despite his claim that he was already ruined, and then after he was gone from my life I'd still have these stupid gloves and hat to remind me that he knew what my favorite color was.

But none of that was his fault.

"Thanks, Elliott."

He finally looked up at me and smiled. After quickly returning it, I busied myself with my glucose monitor.

d.a.m.n, it was cold, but we were in the woods just outside my house. There were even a few of those little flowers sticking up out of the snow, and the stream had taken on a crystal look. The feel of the place had changed somewhat with the change in weather, but it was still the peaceful and calm spot Elliott had shown me.

"Now what?"

I looked up and was greeted by something cold and wet hitting my shoulder. "What the h.e.l.l was that?"

When I finally found him, Elliott's lips were curved in a s.e.xy way. "Did you just throw snow at me?"

He shrugged and nibbled his lip a bit nervously. I wondered if he thought I was going to get mad at him or something. It was actually kind of cute the way he looked, I just wish his eyes weren't trained on my boots. I didn't want to drag out my reaction. He was obviously worried that I wouldn't be happy with him. I'd never had a s...o...b..ll fight in my entire life, but I wanted to try it out. I reached down quickly and scooped up some of the fluffy white stuff and packed it together.

I wasn't a good aim and I ended up hitting him in the side of his face.

"Sorry, Elliott, I..."

I was cut off by another s...o...b..ll grazing my left ear.

That was the beginning of my first s...o...b..ll fight.

After I grew tired of getting hit by s...o...b..a.l.l.s and having snow fall down into my coat and s.h.i.+rt, we made a snowman. He was kind of asymmetrical, had no face, and was crazily proportioned, but I guessed he fit in with the rest of us weirdos.

Afterward, I lay back in the snow and looked up at the gray sky. The woods behind us were quiet and the snow continued to fall down and tickle my face. I was aware that Elliott had lain down next to me.

"D-d-do you liiiike the ssssnow now?"

I smiled. "It's all right." It was simply awesome, but I couldn't bring myself to show that much excitement in front of him. This unique feeling I had when I was around him felt wrong and strange.

My teeth started chattering involuntarily and I felt him take my gloved hand. He stood up, pulling me up with him and even though our hands were covered, I felt something pa.s.s between us.

It was a scary connection and instinctively, I pulled my hand away then wiped at my face with my fuzzy gloves.

"Y-you're c-c-cold."

I nodded. Without saying anything further, Elliott grabbed my hand again and started walking back to the house.

"That was fun."

He smiled at me, his eyes brighter than I'd seen them before. "I-i-it'll p-p-p-probably mmmelt tomorrow, b-but..."

"It was fun for today."

I stirred the big silver pot on the stove, making Elliott chili as I'd promised, while he sat at the table, his hand wrapped around a coffee mug as he looked at the peanut b.u.t.ter and apple slices I'd set down before him.

"You're not allergic, are you?" I asked. His brow furrowed and I gestured to the plate. "To nuts or whatever."

He shook his head. "N-no," then nodded toward the green, leafy b.a.l.l.s on the counter that didn't go with chili, but I didn't care.

"W-why do you liiiike B-Brussels sprouts?"

Why did he need to know that? I mean, who asked why someone liked a certain vegetable?

I answered, "Because they're good for you," but that was a cop-out answer, and I knew it. It felt cheap and hollow, and not at all the answer he deserved.

I sighed, knowing this s.h.i.+t with Elliott was already too deep for my own good, but I was powerless to change it now. "Because at first they're green and chewy and slightly bitter, but when you get down to the center of it, they're actually kind of sweet."

I was completely high. I'd dropped a pill when we got home just to take the edge off. My lips were slightly parted and my eyes were probably a bit gla.s.sy. Every once in a while one of my knees would buckle under me, making me sway as I locked them tight again.

"W-w-why do you g-get high all the time, S-S-Sophie?"

"d.a.m.n!" First, I couldn't believe he could just tell every time I was high, but then I grew worried that maybe Tom could hear what he'd said. I cast my gaze towards the living room where he sat in his recliner watching some kind of sporting event. "Tell the whole world, why don't you?" I hissed. "Why do you get so anxious around people, Elliott?"

I wasn't p.i.s.sed or defensive, but this was my way of letting him know that for every thing about me that was rough and raw, he had an unpolished area of his own.

"W-why don't you like sssspicy f-food?"

I could take that question one of two ways: It could have been innocent, just Elliott wondering about my likes and dislikes, or there was an underlying motive.

He wanted to know because to him everything had meaning.

So I called him on his questions, not directly, but by asking him a blatantly burning question in return. I could see through all of his disguises.

"How can you not hate your mother after what she did?"

This was a game of who would crack first. Somehow we had silently agreed that he would push me and I'd push him right back. Like the night I danced with him, one of us was going to get tired of the s.h.i.+elds we'd built around ourselves and let our guard down just long enough to let the other one in.

The night we danced, it had been me. I had a feeling that tonight it would be too. Despite my unfortunately obvious coping mechanisms of drugs and brashness, I knew that somewhere inside of me, I wanted a friend.

Otherwise, why would I be here with him now?

"W-why do you l-like the color b-brown?"

I shook my head. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"I'm n-not being d-difficult. I j-just w-want to get to know you."

I knew he would keep asking until I told him all of the things he wanted to know. I glanced out toward the living room, and then walked over to the table, sitting down across from him. Working really hard to regulate my breathing and wis.h.i.+ng that I was higher than I was, I stuck out my tongue flat, showing him the deep red circles that were seared into the soft flesh.

"Doctors call it a geographic tongue." I sighed, staring at his hand as it tightened around his coffee mug. "But I wasn't born with it."

"W-w-w-what d-did she do?"

I hated that he wanted to know about all this s.h.i.+t and hating that in order for him to know, I would have to tell him and think about it. "Pepper can burn just like fire. Chili sauce left on the skin for a long period of time can burn a hole right through it. Hot sauce placed on cuts stings like a b.i.t.c.h, and smoked Thai dried peppers stuck under or on your tongue can hurt more than a broken bone or being stabbed with a fork." This conversation taking place at the same time as the meal I was preparing wasn't lost on me.

I risked a glance up at him and found him staring back at me, his eyes incredibly intense. Too intense. I pulled my tongue over my top teeth, feeling the unnatural texture. "Those were made with habaneros," I whispered.

I hadn't been able to eat for a week and when I finally could, even applesauce tasted like s.h.i.+t and hurt like h.e.l.l. I stood again, and went over to the stove to stir the chili.

With my back to him, using as forceful a voice as I could, I said, "Now answer one of mine."

I was growing weary of answering his questions about my mother and if I was going to reveal something to him, he was going to do the same.

"I-I d-don't know w-why I g-get-"

He was going to answer the question about being anxious around people, but that wasn't the one I wanted to know right now. I could figure that s.h.i.+t out on my own.

"Not that one."

I heard him release a rush of air and glanced around. His hands were pressed into tight fists on the top of the table and his jaw was tight as his teeth clenched. I immediately felt bad for challenging him like that. I turned back to the stove.

"I-i-it w-w-was her only w-w-way out, SSSS-Sophie."

I could understand that. Most people didn't blow their f.u.c.king brains out for s.h.i.+ts and giggles, it was to get away from something, but most people didn't do it in front of their young child.

"But she did it in front of you."

He swallowed hard, so hard I heard it from across the kitchen. "M-my d-d-d-d, fffather said that the d-demons hhhhad t-taken hhhher." I turned to look at him, wondering if he knew and understood just how messed up that s.h.i.+t sounded. "And that sssssshe w-w-w-was too w-w-weak to..."

His voice cut off, but he was still trying to speak. Maybe this s.h.i.+t should've been covered in an e-mail instead. His cheeks were ballooned out as he tried to push whatever word was in his mind from between his lips. His face was growing red, and Elliott gripped the coffee mug so tightly that I was afraid it might shatter in his hands.

Finally, he took a deep breath. "Hhhe said that they w-w-won."

His dad was a f.u.c.ked-up freak.

But I couldn't very well say that to Elliott. Maybe he loved his dad or believed the s.h.i.+t the man spewed.

Elliott mumbled something and I had to look hard at his mouth to make out the rest. "Then He will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devils and his angels.' "

What. The f.u.c.k?

Was that s.h.i.+t from the Bible?

And more importantly, how the h.e.l.l had he said all that without stuttering once?

He looked lost and in pain, and I seriously thought he was going to break that cup. "Elliott?"

He took a deep breath as if he'd been holding it for hours. Then he finally looked up, glancing at me briefly before s.h.i.+fting to look out of the window. "D-d-d...ssssssssorry."

I eyed him carefully. The entire air around him had changed so completely.

"What are you sorry for?"

He didn't answer. In fact, all he did was release his hold on the mug, so I spooned out some chili for us and told Tom that dinner was ready.

I watched Elliott closely until he left. His face was stoic and unchanging, his eyes dark and cloudy.

I was sorry to be the reason the light had left him.

Sunday brought with it an interview at the Quickshop. The manager had called at nine in the morning and so at a little after one in the afternoon I was sitting in his cluttered office, answering questions about why I wanted to work there.

I was high. Totally blown, to be entirely truthful. My logic was that if I went there the first time higher than h.e.l.l, it would be their baseline data and they'd never know the difference.

Obviously, the interview was probably more subdued than the manager was used to because this new weed of Jason's was smooth, and every time the guy would ask me something, I took a really long time trying to formulate the answer.

"Tell me about a time when you saw something that needed to be done and just jumped in and did it."

His questions were worse than therapy. My mind supplied all sorts of s.e.xual answers to that.

s.e.x was absolutely on my brain. I hadn't gotten laid since I'd kissed Elliott last Wednesday. I'd banged Jason in his car before school that day, but I couldn't really get the details right in my head. I'd been pretty out of it, fairly toasted and sleep-deprived.

I felt like I was going crazy because I wanted to get laid too, and Jason wanted to get laid, but I hadn't done him or put any effort into even trying.

So I was wound fairly tight.

While the rotund man conducting the interview talked to my b.o.o.bs, I kept supplying stock answers that people like him wanted to hear, barely paying attention to the whole process.

I didn't focus until I heard him say, "Since you're underage, the record was closed and without knowing what the crime was, I can't give you a money-handling job."

My brow creased. He was talking about my background check. "That's okay. Stocking's cool too. I don't want to handle money."

He took a deep breath and another long look at my b.o.o.bs for good measure before saying, "Since you're Tom's kid, we'll give you a shot." He paused, his gaze dipping lower for just a moment before he reddened a bit. "Your father's a good man. He's done quite a lot for..."

I tuned him out again. I'd pay attention when he stopped thinking about bending me over his desk and covering it up by going on about how flippin' awesome Tom was.

My first day would be on Thursday after school, provided I got all of the work permit bulls.h.i.+t in line first.

I took the bus to Jace's because I needed to get more pot and I wanted to get high again before heading back home.

"I'm out."

"You're out?" I stared at him. "But I've got money."

"Well, you'll have to save it until my s.h.i.+t gets here."

"When's that supposed to be?" I felt a little panicked. Aiden didn't sell weed.

"Probably tomorrow or the next day." Jason stood, towering over me. "I've got some Reddi-Whip if you want to do some whippits."