N K Smith - [Old Wounds 03]

by Weight of the World (epub)

  I dropped his hand and let him open the door. He sat on his bed, scooting back carefully so as not to spill his coffee, and I followed him to the center. It was strange how my body just moved into his. It was odd how perfect I felt with him, as if my body was molded specifically to be held within his arms.

  “W-w-will you g-get in trouble ffffor c-c-c-coming to see me?”

  I doubted I would. “Maybe.”

  We leaned back against the headboard, both sipping our coffee, our bodies pressed together. My eyes found the foot of the bed. Scattered across it were books about religion and god. There were several copies of the bible lying open.

  I had no clue what to do because I wanted to ask him about them, but I thought maybe it would be rude to push him like that when he was clearly having some kind of issue with it. My fingers tightened around my cup when I thought of that little-boy-Elliott from the picture he’d shown me. I was simultaneously depressed and pissed off that anyone would whip him for not being able to control his stutter.

  After our coffee was gone and our cups were abandoned on his night stand, I started talking about whatever came to mind, just to fill the verbal void. It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable with the silence, but I wanted to work up to a point where I could ask him what the hell was up with the god books and the hand biting and the sedation.

  But my words were just misplaced ramblings that meant nothing and rang false, and before I could stop myself, I asked, “Can you name all of the disciples?”

  His chest rose as he sucked in a deep breath, causing my body to move. I didn’t look at him. I stayed still, even as his voice sounded next to my ear.

  “Judas, Simon, Thaddaeus, Thomas, James, son of Alphaeus, Bartholomew, Phillip, John, James, son of Zebedee, Peter, Matthew, and Andrew.”

  It was off-putting and weird that he didn’t stutter. I wondered how many of those criss-cross marks on his back had led up to his ability to say all their names without stammering.

  I wanted to see his back again.

  “D-d-do you w-w-want to hear the books of the B-B-Bible too?”

  Even though in a sick way, I did, I started to shake my head, but he was already speaking.

  “Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, First Samuel, Second Samuel, First Kings, Second Kings, First Chronicles, Second Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, The Song of Solomon, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Lamentations, Ezekiel, Daniel, Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi.”

  Damn, that was crazy. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could think of anything, he continued. It took me by surprise because I had thought he was done.

  I wished he was done.

  There was nothing about this I liked.

  “Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, The Acts, Epistle to the Romans, First Corinthians, Second Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, First Thessalonians, Second Thessalonians, First Timothy, Second Timothy, Titus, Philemon, To the Hebrews, The Epistle of James, First Peter, Second Peter, First John, Second John, Third John, Jude, Revelation.”

  I didn’t like him reciting that shit like he was a show pony. It wasn’t right.

  “That’s hhhhow they’re lllllisted in the K-K-King JJJJames v-v-version. D-d-do you w-w-want to hhhhear the …”

  I shifted, twisting around until I was face-to-face with him. I was sitting on him now, but it was completely different than when I had done it before. I wasn’t turned on in the slightest. My sole focus was him and I couldn’t stop staring at his eyes. Today they were such a murky hazel.

  “You know that your father was screwed up, right? You know that he wasn’t right. You’re not wicked, Elliott. You’re the best person I know.”

  Although he never moved his eyes from mine, there was a part of him that just went vacant. His mouth was slightly open, but it was his eyes that tripped me out. I didn’t know if he was hearing me or even seeing me. I put my hands on either side of his head, my thumbs stroking the deep dark circles under his eyes.

  “You’re not wicked.”

  It seemed incredibly important for him to know this. Nothing was right in the universe if someone like Elliott actually thought he was wicked. His dad was messed up. His dad was more screwed up than Helen, because at least she didn’t use an invisible almighty god to justify the fucked up shit she did.

  I couldn’t even imagine what that level of fear did to a person. Thinking that the master of the universe, or whatever, hated you for no discernable reason?

  Just when I wished he would speak, he did, but then I wanted him to stop. What he said was nothing more than programmed bullshit.

  “Blessings are upon the head of the just: but violence coverth the mouth of the wicked.”

  I wanted to tell him to shut the hell up because that shit wasn’t helping anything, but I stopped myself from being harsh. “What does that even mean, Elliott?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “You’re not wicked, pain isn’t cleansing, and pain doesn’t bring purity, it just brings more pain.”

  His eyes dropped to his hands in his lap. I took them carefully into my own. They looked raw and painful and I wished that he would stop hurting them.

  “Suffering produces endurance,” he whispered, “and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”

  That bullshit must have come from the bible too because Elliott didn’t stutter or draw out even one word.

  “No, it doesn’t,” I argued. “Suffering produces pain and endurance just makes you tired.”

  “I’m ssssorry, Soph-phie.”

  I hated that he could say shit from the bible without stuttering, but my name was something he could only stumble over.

  “D-don’t be mmmmad.”

  “Stop it. I’m not mad.” I stroked under his eyes again and his lids fluttered closed. “I worry about you though.”

  “I’m o-okay, Soph-phie.”

  He was most definitely not okay. I’d never witnessed something as screwed up as some kind of automatic biblical response to shit.

  “Have you read the whole bible?” I asked before I could really think about the consequences. I felt compelled to know more.

  With his eyes still closed, he shook his head.

  “Have you read any of the bible?”

  He nodded.

  “Have you read most of it?”

  To this he sighed and opened his eyes. “Mmmmost of it.”

  “Do you want to, like, um, talk about that shit or something?”

  I didn’t know what would be better. I didn’t honestly know if I wanted to know. It would be another complication in what was already a complicated relationship, but I wanted to be that girl for him. I wanted to be the girl who could help him the way he helped me.

  If I tried really hard, I could save him for once.

  But I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to ignore it, but I didn’t want to push either.

  Very slowly, he shook his head, looking up at me sheepishly. I smiled at him, hoping to show him that I was okay. It would be just like him to worry about how I was feeling while he was dealing with seriously heavy shit.

  I sighed and leaned into him, pressing my head into his shoulder as I hugged him. My hands moved from the side of his face to his hair. He had such nice hair. It was silky but thick and it felt wonderful as my fingers weaved through it.

  “I’m going to make you an awesome lunch. What are you hungry for?” I asked against his neck.

  “I-I d-don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” I smiled and moved closer. “What’s something you’d like to eat?”

  “I-I d-d-don’t know.”

  “Well, what tastes good to you, Elliott?” I
thought it was a fairly simple question and the fact that he couldn’t tell me what he would like to eat was distressing. He shook his head and sighed. How the hell could he not know what tasted good to him?

  I thought about how he’d answered the favorite food question. It was Kate’s Thai curry. Dr. Dalton’s ex-wife seemed pretty domestic and apparently made great food. I might have been able to replicate it, but I’d never made Thai food. Even if I knew what kind of Thai curry she used to make for him, I wouldn’t be able to eat it with him. It would hurt my tongue.

  I pulled back and moved my hands down to his. I felt like I was becoming obsessed with Elliott telling me something he wanted to eat. I needed to know that he hadn’t turned into some fucking robot who couldn’t think for himself because he’d get whipped. Elliott was a thinker and I couldn’t stand the thought of him shutting down like that.

  Especially because I had been mean to him.

  “Elliott, what can I make for you?”

  I wondered if his silence was because he truly didn’t know or if he was sedated. I couldn’t tell, so I asked. “Did Dr. Dalton give you…?”

  “N-n-not t-today. I-I’m b-better today.”

  “We can have breakfast for lunch. Do you like French toast?”

  When he nodded, I quickly tugged him up, desperate for a change of scenery. His room had suddenly become intense. Well, it had always been intense, but now it held so many secrets about both of us that it was almost too much to be in there. My fork story was in there, our little dance was in there, telling him about Chris Anderson was in there.

  Now he had shown me his scars and didn’t stutter when quoting the bible in there.

  The scars on his back were harsh and hurt me to look at, but I found the internal ones, that automatic bullshit response without stuttering, that programmed shit, harder for me to handle.

  His eyes were vacant, like Elliott wasn’t there anymore.

  After I had the first few pieces of bread on the griddle, I pulled him to me. He had just been standing there, his eyes fixed on the sizzling butter. I touched his hands carefully before running my fingers up his arms to his face, angling it down to force him to look at me.

  He hadn’t shaved again.

  “You need to stop hurting yourself, Elliott. I needed your help with breakfast but you can barely hold a spoon with those hands.”

  His lips were pushed out just a little. A wrinkle played at his brow but his eyes were still murky.

  “I want you to play the violin for me and you can’t do it with hands like these. Please? Please, don’t hurt your hands anymore.”

  He moved closer, his hands sliding around my lower back. Elliott rested his cheek on the top of my head. I couldn’t pinpoint when exactly things had changed to where this kind of contact was something I could handle, but I knew that it had.

  He felt good to me and I wanted him to feel good, too. He liked soft things like hugs and fingers in his hair. I wanted to give him those things.

  For a moment, I let myself think about how hot Elliott was going to be playing the violin. It seemed like such an intimate instrument, even more than the piano or the guitar. Every time I’d seen people playing the violin it was fairly passionate.

  Thinking about passionate Elliott made for a passionate Sophie, so I stopped thinking about it because it wasn’t the right time for that. He was hurt and hurting.

  I turned in his hold and flipped the bread when I smelled the pieces getting close to burning. I let him hold me like that until I had to move. I collected plates and refilled coffee cups. They had no agave nectar, so I ate my French toast with just a little butter.

  It didn’t matter what I ate, as long as Elliott was eating something good.

  After lunch I waited in his room while he took a shower and changed. I just looked at the books on the bookshelf, not wanting to explore the religious shit on his bed. Once he was dressed and his hair was dry, we went out to the greenhouse and quietly looked at the plants. Although I pretended to look at the plants, I was looking at him. I didn’t give a shit about the brussels sprouts.

  It wasn’t until we were in the greenhouse that I couldn’t squash down my sexual thoughts anymore. The intensity of Elliott’s room hadn’t followed us out here and I couldn’t keep my natural thoughts suppressed forever. I hadn’t had sex in a really long time. I didn’t include what happened with Anderson. I didn’t define that shit as sex because there was absolutely no gratification on my part.

  Elliott was so sexy. Everything about him was just so … so … shit, there were no words as to what he was. My overly- lusty thoughts came back, but I gave him his space and didn’t go too near him while I was thinking about him and his sexy facial hair and wounded hands. I feared that if I were close enough to smell him, I wouldn’t be able to control my nearly overwhelming desire to touch him.

  He was just so gorgeous. Even depressed and sullen, he was gorgeous. I could look at him all day. I knew that he knew I was staring at him because he was breathing a little quicker than normal. One of his hands kept curling and uncurling while the other was clenched tight and pressed against the side of his thigh.

  His lashes were so unbelievably long. I wanted to feel them brushing across my cheek, my neck, my stomach, my thighs.

  And those lips!

  It was almost a shame that he wasn’t more experienced with girls. It seemed like a travesty that more females hadn’t experienced the softness of them.

  Almost was the operative word, though, because if he’d had any more experience with girls it would have driven me crazy.

  I wanted him. The fact that he was denying me, keeping me from what I wanted, made me want him that much more.

  Elliott moved, turning away from me and sitting down on a bucket. My fantasy of our naked bodies together stopped and I watched him pull a stray piece of greenery away from the base of a stalk.

  At some point I had just accepted that I could no longer stay away from him. Physically, his body seemed to pull mine closer. Mentally and emotionally, I felt driven to give him what he needed.

  I thought about yesterday, about getting high, about Jason’s mouth on mine. Now that Elliott and I had stepped over the invisible line, it wouldn’t be right for me to keep things like that from him. I was in no way wanting to disclose to him what I’d done, but I couldn’t see how some of that could be avoided, especially since I’d allowed Jason to kiss me even after I considered myself Elliott’s girlfriend or whatever.

  But who the hell knew if I was supposed to come clean with that shit now? He was so … down already.

  I couldn’t just put it off though, or else I’d never tell him. He needed to have the information because it was vital to our whole relationship. Honesty was the one thing we always had.

  Slowly, my body moved closer to his and I sat down on the bucket next to him. I took one of his hands into both of mine, my fingers avoiding the open wounds his teeth had created, and focused on the little patches of skin that were still smooth and unmarred.

  “I’m sorry that I was mean to you on Friday.”

  Elliott looked at me, but didn’t say anything for a while. When he did, his voice was soft. “I t-told your ssssecret.”

  “I still shouldn’t have been so mean.” I looked away, focusing my eyes on the small little Brussels sprout buds in front of me. “I got high.”

  Elliott sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You t-told me. Robin ssssays that r-relapse is a p-part of r-r-recovery.”

  “Jason kissed me,” I said quickly. “Nothing happened, though.”

  I looked at him and waited. He had no reaction.

  “I kissed Jason back.”

  Still nothing.

  “Elliott,” I said with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  Again he had no discernable reaction. I nudged his leg with my knee.
“Be mad at me.”

  “R-r-relapse is a p-p-part of r-r-recovery.”

  “Stop.” I didn’t like the words he used because I wasn’t an addict of anything. He needed to get upset with me. I’d broken his trust, but he wouldn’t show me that it hurt. “Don’t be all forgiving and shit. Be mad at me!”

  “For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you don’t forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”

  “Stop it.”

  “And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving each other, just as God also in Christ forgave you.”

  “I want you to be mad,” I said, squeezing his hands carefully, but firmly. “Don’t give me that bible bullshit, Elliott. Be mad at me.” When he didn’t respond, my hands tightened and the crease on his brow deepened. “It’s okay to be mad. What I did was wrong. I hurt you. Be mad at me.”

  “I don’t w-w-want to be mmmmad, SSSSSS-SSSSS-SSS,” he said, giving up and finishing my name with a sigh.

  “But I …”

  It seemed that I was desperate for him to have some kind of appropriate reaction to his girlfriend kissing someone else. It wasn’t right. I wasn’t proud of it and if I could take it back, I would. But since I couldn’t, I needed him to be upset with me. I needed him to make it difficult for me to get back in his good graces. I needed him to release some kind of emotion about it.

  “You n-n-need af-fff-affection that I c-c-can’t give you.”

  That was not what I wanted to hear from him. It wasn’t true. That was bullshit. That was his need to make my screw-ups his failures. I shook my head now, willing him to look at me. I wanted his eyes to meet mine, his soul to connect with mine.

  “I need the affection you can give me, Elliott. I’m sorry about Jason. It won’t happen again. With Jason, it’s only ever been … physical.”

  His eyes flashed up and locked with mine, but only for a moment. When he lowered them again, he said, “I kn-know.”

  “Be mad at me.”

  “N-no.”

  His stubbornness on this issue was pissing me off. I wanted him angry with me. I deserved his anger but he wouldn’t give it to me. It made no sense that he wouldn’t be visibly upset. All he was doing was being quiet and subdued as if he was sedated and I didn’t want that. I wanted him to be fiery.