The Bruise
Mutt had made it through the rest of Friday with relative ease. He had finished his home work before dinner, and his parents hadn't questioned the tentative use of his bandaged hand. For a brief moment Mutt wondered if his father had spoken to his mother. If he had that would explain why she wasn't on him about his hand. He had gone to bed around eleven, too exhausted to stay in his parents company any longer. His parents had accepted his reasoning of wanting to get as much sleep on the weekend as he could get, and allowed him to go with no questions asked. He lay awake for several hours, staring at the ceiling. His shoulder was throbbing and no matter how he was laying, he couldn't seem to escape the discomfort. He finally dozed off around four in the morning.
Mutt woke to the sound of thunderstorms. Squinting he realized it was only eight in the morning, and unfortunately for him, he could not roll over and go back to sleep. Even if his shoulder wasn't causing him discomfort, which it was, once Mutt was awake, he stayed that way. He could not remember a time when that was not the case. He yawned, rolling onto his uninjured side, content to just lay in bed and listen to the rain fall for a while. After an hour, he got up and began to change, pausing to eye the bruise on his shoulder.
The bruise had turned ugly shades of red and black, and had spider legged across his shoulder and around the arm. He had never seen a bruise quite like that before, and found himself having to rip his eyes away. He pulled a shirt over his head to mask the damaged skin before shaking his head tiredly. Four hours of sleep wasn't much to go on, he'd just have to make due. He looked a little forlornly out at the storm. He had wanted to work on his bike today. Even though his motorcycle was under the overhang, he knew his parents wouldn't let him outside to work on it.
His parents were sitting in the living room in compatible silence. His father was grading papers and his mother was reading a magazine. He greeted them around a yawn falling into the closest chair. His mother looked up briefly, telling him there were eggs and bacon on the stove. He was about to shove himself back up to his feet to eat when his father spoke up.
"I moved your motorcycle into the garage," he told Mutt, glancing up at him. "I thought you might want to work on it today."
"Thanks Dad," Mutt said sincerely. He and Indiana did not always get along, but there were small moments like this that made them think maybe it would all work out. Indiana tried to hide his pleased smile when Mutt called him Dad. Normally it was old man, or pops; Dad was far and few between. Meanwhile, Mutt shuffled into the kitchen, content to eat breakfast and then go work on his motorcycle.
He spent Saturday working on his bike, he couldn't remember the last time he had really worked on it. He missed working on bikes. Maybe after the new terms grades came in his parents would let him start working part time at his old bike shop. The owner had kept his position open if he ever wanted to go back.
He spent Sunday morning and the early afternoon with Oxley, and found his parents waiting for him when he returned. His mother informed him she had a friend in the next town over who was about to have a baby any day now, and her husband had just walked out. She would be gone for a few days to help her. He had nodded letting his mother smother him with a hug and kiss before watching her leave. After she was gone, Mutt turned to his father.
"I think I'm going to go start on a project," he said glancing towards his door. The project wasn't due for another six weeks, but the sooner Mutt got it out of the way, the sooner he could do other things. Indiana nodded, watching his son retreat into his room. There was that sinking feeling again that Mutt just wanted to be away from his father. Indiana sighed thinking perhaps he was just being overly sensitive and moved to the den to work on his own papers. He had been working on them all weekend, it had been a dismal display at best for the most part. After two hours, Indiana had finally finished his own work, and glanced at the clock. Startled he realized it was almost seven in the evening. Marion had not left any instructions on what to do for dinner, so Indiana decided to have takeout.
He knocked once on Mutt's door to ask what he wanted
and received no answer. Frowning slightly, Indiana knocked again, a
little harder. Still receiving no reply, he pushed open the door and
found Mutt asleep at his desk. His head was
resting in the middle
of a thick book, and his bandaged hang was curled around a pencil
still. A slight smile tugged at Indiana's lips, half of him wanted to
let the kid sleep, but he knew if he did that Mutt would be up at an
insane hour in the morning.
"Kid, wake up," he called, but Mutt barely stirred. Indiana sighed, moving further into the room. "Mutt?" Still nothing from the sleeping youth. Indiana grabbed his shoulder to give him a shake. He recoiled as if burned when Mutt did the last thing he expected. His son let out an almost unearthly howl of pain before tilting sideways in an attempt to get away and toppling out of his chair and onto the floor.