Lashes
Delmar stared with his head cocked on one side, eyes following the criss-cross marks with quiet interest.
"Hey Pete?"
Pete grunted in reply, not moving. He was lying on his side with his back to Delmar and the fire, the flickering glow sending lashes of light and shade across his tall, curled up body.
Delmar persisted with the same curiosity.
"What're them marks on your back Pete?"
There was a pause, as Pete reached around, wondering how Delmar could see his back when he was wearing a shirt. Realizing that the bottom had slid up slightly, he tugged it back down hard.
"Well I don't know," Delmar answered sincerely, frowning a little at the obvious discomfort he had caused, "but they sure look painful."
Pete sighed heavily, before turning over to lie on his other side so he could face his companion. The brightness of the fire burned the back of his eyes and made the intense black irises flicker, the scowl they were set in only adding to the ferocity.
Delmar almost fell off his log as Pete glared right at him. He never could get used to that look when it pinned him down.
"They's whip marks." Pete answered finally, keeping his eyes on Delmar to see what reaction he'd get. Never one for extreme reactions, Delmar just nodded slowly, mouth open a little in thought of what exactly Pete's explanation meant.
"Can I see them proper?"
Pete's eyes narrowed slightly, suspicious as ever. "Why?"
"I never seen none before." Delmar shrugged innocently. Patting the ground in front of him, he smiled encouragingly. "Come sit here in front of me, I promise I won't hurt you none Pete."
Silence fell around them as Pete stared, summing up the situation, gaze switching between Delmar's honest expression and the hand he was tapping on the leafy ground. Looking put out, but accepting grudgingly, he crawled over to the other side of the fire and sat down, leaning back against Delmar's log. Long fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, he yanked it off and clutched it in his hands, pulling his knees up and resting his arms and head on them. Delmar stayed quiet, blue eyes troubled as they ran up and down the angry slashes all the way down Pete's curved back.
"Gosh Pete," he murmured, "they look real nasty. Do they hurt?"
"Course they hurt. I cain't even sleep on my back no more."
"Can I touch?"
Pete turned his head to look up at Delmar with a frown. "Why? You said yourself, they look real nasty."
Delmar didn't answer, just looked down at him with such a curious and bemused expression he just sighed and turned around again. Taking this as consent, Delmar reached out and let an index finger touch the very edge of one of the smallest gashes. The bump of aggravated skin felt hot and he pulled back, instead resting his hand on Pete's shoulder and squeezing softly.
"Maybe you should see a doctor 'bout it..."
Pete lifted his head back off his knees and shook it, his spine and shoulderblades clearly visible even through the damaged skin. "Doctors're cold blooded killers. No doctors, Delmar."
"I promise Pete." Delmar swore, surprised but not about to argue. "But you know, you's awful skinny. You want me to catch you a gofer or somethin'?"
Pete actually smiled as he watched the fire burning. "You're all skin an' bone too, Delmar. If we find a gofer, we gonna eat it together."
"That's mighty nice of you, Pete."
Delmar beamed as he reached over and picked up the discarded shirt, handing it back to Pete and watching as he put it back on, the scars disappearing as if they had never been there at all, even though he knew they would always be lurking just under the cotton.