Twenty #2
He nods, not meeting my eyes. Yeah, even if I were thinking of letting him go, he’s definitely not ready.
He’s still unable to say what he wants without being worried how the other person will respond.
He’s still worried about his answer being the wrong one.
I want him to meet my gaze with certainty in his eyes as he says the word, “Yes,” out loud. Either yes or oinking twice.
“You don’t have to say yes if you don’t mean it.”
His lips rub together and he fumbles with his napkin. “I do. I don’t have anyone here during the day that I can talk to.”
“You like having someone to talk to?”
“Better than me making friends with my own shadow and white moths.”
I laugh. “I don’t know. My shadow is one of my best friends. He’s a really good listener and never disagrees with me.”
That earns me a smile from him as he’s peeling back the lid of the container. He sniffs the air, humming. “That smells so good.”
“Your stomach feel better today?”
His hand waves from side to side. “Mostly. I used the restroom again and it helped.” He looks back at the bucket, wrinkling his face. “I can empty it myself to save you the trouble.”
“And how are you supposed to do that?” I cock my head, shoving a spoon in my potatoes and twirling it around.
“I don’t know. Maybe we could go for a walk together.” He rubs at his shoulder, shrinking in on himself. “My legs are cramping a lot lately. Maybe from not moving around much.”
“You want me to take you on a walk and dump your shit out at the same time?” I snort. “And they say romance is dead.”
He rolls his eyes. “I mean . . . I . . . this—”
“I’m fucking with you. This is strictly a place for you to be better. Nothing more than that.”
He nods, and is that . . . disappointment in his eyes? Oh, Blake. Always so full of surprises. Wonderful and addicting surprises. It was clear before that he got attached easily and longed to be wanted, but I didn’t know it was this bad.
“So, a walk, huh?”
“If it’s not too much.” He stirs around his food.
Look at him being considerate and shit. Nothing like he was when I first ran into him when I got back to town.
“I might be able to squeeze it in on the weekends. During the week will be hard. I’m exhausted by the time I get home and have a lot to do before bed.
I also usually run at five in the morning before the sun comes up. ”
“Yeah.” His nose turns up and he puts a piece of orange peel to the side. “I’ll skip the running part.”
I snort. “Not your thing, huh?”
“Not really. I’m not very fast either.”
“I’d try to slow down enough for you to keep up,” I say back.
“Nah. I’ll stick with walking. I’m slow at that too.”
I laugh again. “Oh, and about the bucket, I don’t mind emptying it myself. I’ll do it on my way back to the house.”
He sits up taller with interest filling his eyes. He wants to go back to my room, doesn’t he? But is it for the right reason or because he sees it as a new opportunity to get away? It’s still hard to tell.
“I just . . . I hate that you have to do that when I’m the only one filling it.”
“It’s okay. I’m the one who decided to make it your toilet, and I know the best way to dispose of it.”
“How old are you?” He randomly changes the subject.
“Old enough,” I mumble and shove food into my mouth.
“Can you at least tell me if we’re the same age?”
My fork pauses midair. “We aren’t.”
“Older or younger?”
“What do you think?”
His eyes move from side to side. “Older. You seem like you have your life too put together to be younger than me.”
“Yeah. I’m older. But that’s not really important.”
“You have blue eyes like me,” he points out. I stopped wearing my brown contacts after bringing him here. I guess he forgot I originally had blue eyes, because he never once questioned them. Good.
“I do.”
“I wish I knew more about what you looked like under there.” He scoops up rice with his spoon, sniffing his food before shoving it into his mouth. Does he think I did something to it? It’s a little too late to be worrying about that now.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. To see if it matches the image I’ve made up in my head.”
“What image is that? Describe it to me.”
He makes a pensive face. “Brown hair and a strong jawline. Clean-shaven maybe with a farmer’s tan.”
I scoff. “Hmmm.”
“Hmmm as in I’m right?” The corners of his lips shake.
“Hmmm as in hmmm.”
“So, I’m not right?” He rests a hand on the table.
“You just described half the people in this town.”
“What color is your hair?”
“Haven’t you already decided it’s brown?” I say with a clipped tone.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it is.”
“My head is shaved.” Who am I even describing? Am I giving him a description of my dad? I almost described Hayden, but throwing him in different directions seems like more fun.
“I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“Yeah, it’s easier to manage with the work I do.”
“Is it some hard labor job?”
“Yeah,” I chirp, filling my mouth, hoping it’ll slow his questioning. Not because I’m not enjoying our conversation, but because I’m worried I’ll end up saying too much.
“Like a pipe plant or factory job?”
“Something like that,” I lie. I mean, I can’t exactly give him too much truth, and I don’t know why that bothers me so much. Telling him about myself, and him not judging me but being okay with it, had me feeling not as low about myself as I did before.
Did I need his approval too? Maybe not need, but having someone not push me away after throwing all of myself out there, when that’s usually been too much for others, felt nice. Then he rejected me in front of Hayden at what was going to be our special place. We have a new one now.
“Maybe I should have gotten into that career. Then I wouldn’t have fallen for a fake modeling gig.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’m sure I would have just found another way.”
“I still don’t understand why I’m here.”
“And that’s why you still are,” I push, reaching for my water, and I lie flat on my ass, stretching one of my legs out.
He studies it for a moment and then goes back to eating.
After we’re both done cleaning off our plates, I go inside and put the brownies in the fridge on my way to the mail box.
A stray cat rubs against my legs and I reach down to pet his soft black fur before collecting two packages that came today.
Inside one of them is an MP3 player, and in the other is a mixture of coloring books, coloring pencils, and a Kindle. That way he can choose the books he wants to read himself. I’ll give him access to Wi-Fi only on there, typing in the password myself when he’s ready to download books.
The black cat follows me down the narrow driveway, right on my heels, and I block him from following me into the house.
I shove all of Blake’s new things into a bag I’ve been using to carry stuff into the barn and pack all the brownies into a plastic container.
I grab a beanbag chair from the entryway closet before returning to the barn.
The cat is back to following me again, and I have no idea where he came from. “You gotta stay out here, pal. I don’t need you using the bathroom in the barn and stealing food while my piglet sleeps.”
He meows at me and I laugh, passing him by and closing him outside. Blake mutters something to himself as I’m climbing up the ladder.
“Talking to your shadow until I got back?”
His lips slant and he scoots back to the wall, propping himself up with his blanket lying flat over his lap.
His metal stud gleams, making it hard to look away from his pretty pink nipples.
I lick my lips, trying to shake away the thoughts.
I hated myself for still wanting him after getting free from that tree and first bringing him here.
Now I hate myself for limiting what I can do and when I could do it.
“What’s all that?” he says, pulling me from my reverie, and his eyes ping pong between my hands. “And what smells delicious?”
“A place for you to sit and read for when you don’t want to be in bed all day.”
He places his hands in his lap, his eyes beaming. “And that?” His finger lifts to the bag.