Hey my readers. I'm sorry for the LONG delay in updating. This chapter
has been in the works for awhile and I just finished it up. I know it's
short, but I was confused for a long time about where the direction of the
story I was going. After some long thoughts, I've decided in what
direction I do want it to take.
Enough of that and thanks to everybody who reviewed the last chapter. You are all greatly loved and appreciated!
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody mentioned in this story; they own themselves. If you sue me, you may get a dollar; I don't know, I haven't counted the change on my dresser recently.
Thanks so much for all reading and I hope you enjoy it. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. __
From Here to Heaven __ Chapter Six __ Hunter: Simmering __
"He's an emotionally distraught kid," Shawn said, gazing down at the sleeping form surrounded by blankets.
"Let's leave him here," I said a little more quietly. "He needs to sleep." Nodding at me, Shawn tiptoed out of the room. I remained for a moment more. He looked so weak where he was, his thin body wrapped in Shawn's comforter. His chest rose smoothly with each breath, but I remembered too clearly when he had struggled when I had first laid him on Shawn's bed. The thought hurt me more than I thought possible.
"Hunter!" Shawn quipped from the door. "Come on!"
With one last look at his form, I left the room and shut the door with a slight tap. Shawn looked at me wearily and started to speak but I shook my head and pointed down the hallway toward the kitchen. There was no need to start a ruckus and wake him up while he slept. When we entered the living area, Shawn flopped down on the couch and I took a seat in the beat armchair. For a moment, we just looked at each other.
"So," I said finally, softly. "What do we do?"
"What do you think?" he said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "He's going to school. We don't have his transcripts or anything, but it'll be easy to pass it off. He'll have to work on that knee of his, but I think it could be good for him."
"You know that's not what I'm talking about." I tested each word, wondering how I should say what I was about to. "He's obviously . . . emotionally distraught, like you said. He's been through bad stuff. It's not just going to go away."
Shawn raised an eyebrow at me. "So you care now?"
I felt the first stirrings of anger. "Of course I do."
"That's a surprise," he said sarcastically. "Because frankly, I was starting to wonder. And you can bet Chris never even thought you cared. You treat him like dirt, Hunter. You treat him like he's lower than a human."
"I do not!" I said indignantly. "Of course I don't! I do care about him. I found him with you, didn't I?"
The blaze in Shawn's eye did not go out. "Hunter, please. Today you acted like he was some spoiled little brat who I keep wasting my money on. You act like he's a kid I'm just keeping for the weekend. Like you can treat him like dirt because he's a kid that I just pulled off the streets. Obviously the system damaged him. You're treating him like he's already gone off the deep end."
"I do not!" I went to my feet. "I do not, Shawn!"
"Stop your crap," he snapped angrily, getting to his feet as well. "You know it! Ever since we found him you've treated him like that! I thought it was going to go away, you'd accept him eventually. But you know what, I'm tired of waiting. I never said anything because I thought it was going to go away. But he's not going anywhere and neither are you. I want you to stop treating him like that!"
"I'm treating him like he should be treated!" My voice was low, but it could not have been more dangerous if I had been yelling. "He's been through hell and I'm trying not to treat him like he has! You're the one sucking up to his every need!"
"To his every need?" He was yelling. Shawn had never been one to conceal his emotions like I had. "I'm treating him the way he should be treated! I'm treating him like he's been through hell and I'm helping him out of it!"
"You're treating him like a baby! You're treating him like he can't do anything right and you have to correct it!"
"I may be doing that," he shouted furiously, "but at least I'm not treating him like he's some stupid drug dealer who's lived the perfect life up until now! I'm not treating him like he's some fucking idiot! Do you know what he thinks of you? Have you ever looked into his eyes? You're hurting him! You're hurting him the way you're treating him! You're not treating him any better than any of his other foster families have! You might as well be hitting him!"
He turned away, seething, and I stared at his back.
I couldn't be treating him like that, could I? No, he was just lying. He saw his own defeat at my hands and he was making penance for it by making me look bad. I hadn't wanted to hurt Chris.
I had never wanted to hurt him. I had treated him exactly like he needed. He needed what tough love we could give. If I had to follow that philosophy, I would. I hadn't wanted to hurt him- but by showing him how badly he could be treated, he would rise above it. I never treated him sarcastically. I never treated him like he was inferior. He was my polar opposite, true, but he needed to be taught his place. He needed to learn how to deflect water and I was teaching him how to do it.
"I'm leaving," I said shortly. "I have to go to work tomorrow."
"Of course you do," Shawn said in voice that struggled with its cool. "Of course you have to feed yourself. Don't bother coming by tomorrow. You might just upset him more."
"I'm coming by tomorrow," I said, turning away. "I want to see how he is."
"Don't bother," he repeated.
"He's emotionally distraught," I said, stamping to the door, grabbing my jacket. "He needs all the help he can get. You're not the only one who cares about him."
"Damn good you are at showing it," he snorted.
I went out the door without answering, shut it so loudly I heard a cry from Shawn's neighbor, and hurried down the stairs.
I'd be back tomorrow and I'd kill Shawn if I had to do it.
__
There was a slight creak at the door.
"Shawn!" I hollered, pounding, waving my bag of slightly cold hamburgers. "SHAWN! Open the door! Open this damn door or I'll open it MYSELF!" I was mad. My hand was burned from a grease basket that someone had left on too long and now the burn was smarting. All in all I was in a bitter mood.
The door opened and my mood changed.
"I swear, you're impossible, you-"
I stopped.
In front of me, leaning on one leg heavily while he seemed to fight to keep his balance, was Chris. He looked paler than he had even yesterday and there were dark bags under his eyes like he hadn't gotten enough sleep- or he had been crying. His eyes were tired and seemed to be glazed over from something that I could only guess was pain. But when he saw me, they sharpened.
"Hi Hunter," he said, reproachfully. "Shawn's not here. He went to the store to buy some aspirin. He left a few minutes ago."
I nodded, wondering if it was a good thing that Chris was alone in the apartment all by himself. We stared at each other.
"Do you want to come in?" he asked awkwardly, holding the door open.
"Yes," I said, walking in. "I brought you guys something to eat. It's cold, but it's food."
He seemed taken aback and I remembered his actions yesterday. "I guess thanks."
"Nothing to it," I said simply and walked toward the kitchen while he shut the door. "Why the hell are you up anyway?"
"I'm practicing walking," he said almost defiantly. His voice was strained.
I was going to ask him if he was alright, but decided the better of it. He would only think I was babying him. "How are you doing?" I asked instead.
"I can get from the couch to the door." He hobbled painstakingly toward the couch. I could see the pain dominating his features, but he was trying not to show it. "And I can get to the kitchen and the bathroom. I think I'm doing okay." He fell silent and I caught the look of shame on his face. Why was he shameful? Because he was better and was flaunting it? I didn't know, but it surprised me. However, I kept that hidden.
"Well, at least you can walk," I said as a-matter-of-factly as I could muster. "You should be thankful for that, kid. There are a lot of people who can't."
"Yeah, I know." His voice was a little resentful as he settled back down on the couch. An awkward silence elapsed. We had never been together often. Whenever I was here, Shawn had also been present. I knew how to act with Shawn, but without him I felt lost.
"What store did Shawn go to?" I asked, just to break the silence.
He contemplated as he dragged his leg upon the couch, wincing but quickly dashing it away. "I think he went to Wal-Greens, but I'm not sure. He said he'd only be a few minutes, a half an hour at the most."
"What did he need the aspirin for?" I said absentmindedly, taking out the hamburgers.
"He was buying it for me." He suddenly paused and sucked in his breath, holding it. I looked at him in surprise and his head was low; he was looking at his thighs and he was rigid.
"Are you okay, kid?" I asked, concerned. Was the pain really that bad?
His head shot up and there was fear on his face. There was also confusion. "He bought it for me," he repeated and his eyes went back to my face.
"What?" I asked annoyed. "Chris, what's wrong?"
"There's nothing wrong with me," he answered quickly and lowered his head again. "I just thought . . . never mind."
"What did you mean?" I demanded, dropping the burger I was holding. "You thought what, kid? I'm getting impatient."
"Nothing," he mumbled, his head sinking even further.
"Chris!" I said sharply. "Tell me what's wrong, you little shit."
He trembled and suddenly I went back to the night before.
I remembered how I had lifted my hand and shifted so I could rub his back. I remembered him flinching away, jerking away hard . . . like I was going to hit him.
And now he thought I was going to yell at him. He thought I was going to scream and hit him, just like his old foster families had done.
I felt a wave of shock hit me.
He thought I was just like his foster family.
He felt exactly like Shawn said he felt.
The shame hit me so hard I felt like I was burning. I stared at his trembling figure, at the way he tried to fight off the fear but was failing and didn't want me to look upon his shame. His shame, if brought on by the fact that he couldn't conceal his fear from me, was nothing compared to my own shame.
"Chris?" I asked softly.
"There's nothing wrong!" he yelled suddenly, blazing. "Okay, look, Hunter, there's nothing wrong." He stopped and when he spoke again, he was forcefully calm. "There is nothing wrong. I was going to ask you a question, but I stopped. I'm sorry if I offended you." His voice was cool. A moment ago he had been screaming. And now he couldn't care more.
"Chris," I pressed. "Chris, please, I'm sorry-"
The door opened.
I looked up in surprise as Shawn came striding in the door, holding a plastic bag weighted with a few items. He saw me immediately and stopped, his mouth about to open. I opened my own mouth to speak.
"He brought us something to eat, Shawn," Chris blurted and we both looked at him. His eyes were round and tired, but there was a glinting edge to his gaze. "He only came by a few minutes ago. He hasn't done anything."
"I wouldn't do anything," I said silkily to Shawn, moving out of the kitchenette, brushing my burnt hand on the way out, causing it to sting. "I just wanted to bring you guys something to eat. It was free."
"It was free because it was sitting for twenty minutes," said Shawn scathingly. "A minute under and you would have served it saying it had just been made."
I clamped down sharply on my anger. Fighting had led to the situation we were in and it would not lead us out. Angry words added to Shawn's own would only make the situation worse.
"Well, you have you answer," I said, as cheerfully as I could. "You can probably just zap them in the microwave and they'll be as good as new."
He regarded me with cool eyes. "If you made them, I'm sure they are anything but."
The anger hit me so fast that I opened my mouth to speak without realizing what I was going to say. It was only at the last moment that I regained control. With great difficulty, I said, "I don't cook; I'm just your average cashier. I do know Joanie, though, and she's a good cook. Don't you think so, Shawn?"
His gaze turned smoldering. "I know Joanie as well as you do," he snapped. "Quit playing games. What are you doing here?"
I was slightly taken aback by Shawn's anger. He was a calm man, gentle and caring by nature and religion. He and I had been at odds before, for our friendship went long back, but now I could see the anger radiating from his face through his eyes and body. He was angry at me, almost the angriest I had ever seen him.
"I'm here because I want to be," I said. "But if you want me to leave, I will."
I glanced at Chris; he was watching the exchange between us with disquiet on his face. He was disturbed that we were fighting. I didn't blame him and I felt the shame again flutter at my insides and I cringed.
Shawn didn't say anything. Instead, he angrily shoved past me into the kitchenette and threw the bag onto the countertop. He jerked the bag of hamburgers toward him and glared inside it, as if it were all the whole cause of his problem.
It was a problem I didn't wholly understand and it made me angry, though I successfully suppressed it. It was obvious he cared about this kid. But he was going to throw our friendship through the door? I cared about Chris too; wasn't it obvious? I had stuck around this long and I had been paid nothing in return. Didn't he see that I did care? Why was he treating me like I was so violent? He had told me he thought I was treating the kid like dirt. I understood that, at least now. But he was being angry about it. He was acting like he was the only one worthy of caring.
The hostile silence stretched on. Chris watched as Shawn started to fumble with the food I had brought and I sulked out of the kitchen and picked up my jacket, preparing to leave. I had come to make amends, had been treated to my quiet epiphany, and still hadn't made amends.
Something burned in my heart, in my still burned hand.
I put the jacket down, turned around, and started to walk over to the couch.
Chris's eyes, who had been watching me, suddenly snapped back around toward Shawn. Like he had been sneaking glances at me. Like he didn't want me to know that I was the object of his gaze.
I stopped where I stood, one foot resting on the floor, the other poised to continue my tread.
Shawn dropped something in the kitchen. It dropped with a clattering sound, metallic sharp, hurting my ears.
I didn't need this. God knew I didn't need this.
I picked up my jacket, turned around, and walked back out the door, slamming it shut. For a moment I just stood there, my back pressed against the wall, breathing hard.
Shawn was my best friend. He was practically a brother to me. I didn't want to lose him.
And the kid . . . didn't want to accept him. Didn't want to realize that Shawn was serious. Didn't want to accept the fact that I did care about him.
So I didn't.
It was easier, really, to put everything on hold. Leave it all burning on the back end of the stove, let it heat for a long while. I'd do that. I didn't have to deal with this now. I didn't have to deal with the painful realization that my best friend did not only belong to me now. Things would smooth out. In a few days I would see him again. We'd go out and I'd buy him a drink. In a few days he would listen to me and understand me. In a few days I would listen to him and try to understand his decisions.
I didn't need to think about the kid yet. I cared about him, yes. But I didn't need to think about him.
Yeah, put it all on the back burner. Let it simmer for awhile. Let it simmer and when I was ready, I would return and shut it off and it would be cool. It wouldn't explode or anything, if I left it too long. Everything would be alright again.
I started to descend the stairs, to go back to my car, and my burnt hand smacked against the railing. I drew in my breath sharply and looked at the skin. It was still red, raw. When I got home I would need to apply ice to it.
Someone had left the grease basket on too long. It had simmered for too long and when I had opened it, it had burned me.
Cradling my hand, I finished descending the stairs and got in my car.
__ Again, I hope you enjoy it. On a side note, "Chase Away the Moon" will be updated when I can find out where I put the last chapter. (Grins sheepishly) I know I had it somewhere, but I can't exactly remember. I'm sorry for the delay in that too.
I hope to update again soon, so please check back.
Enough of that and thanks to everybody who reviewed the last chapter. You are all greatly loved and appreciated!
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody mentioned in this story; they own themselves. If you sue me, you may get a dollar; I don't know, I haven't counted the change on my dresser recently.
Thanks so much for all reading and I hope you enjoy it. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. __
From Here to Heaven __ Chapter Six __ Hunter: Simmering __
"He's an emotionally distraught kid," Shawn said, gazing down at the sleeping form surrounded by blankets.
"Let's leave him here," I said a little more quietly. "He needs to sleep." Nodding at me, Shawn tiptoed out of the room. I remained for a moment more. He looked so weak where he was, his thin body wrapped in Shawn's comforter. His chest rose smoothly with each breath, but I remembered too clearly when he had struggled when I had first laid him on Shawn's bed. The thought hurt me more than I thought possible.
"Hunter!" Shawn quipped from the door. "Come on!"
With one last look at his form, I left the room and shut the door with a slight tap. Shawn looked at me wearily and started to speak but I shook my head and pointed down the hallway toward the kitchen. There was no need to start a ruckus and wake him up while he slept. When we entered the living area, Shawn flopped down on the couch and I took a seat in the beat armchair. For a moment, we just looked at each other.
"So," I said finally, softly. "What do we do?"
"What do you think?" he said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "He's going to school. We don't have his transcripts or anything, but it'll be easy to pass it off. He'll have to work on that knee of his, but I think it could be good for him."
"You know that's not what I'm talking about." I tested each word, wondering how I should say what I was about to. "He's obviously . . . emotionally distraught, like you said. He's been through bad stuff. It's not just going to go away."
Shawn raised an eyebrow at me. "So you care now?"
I felt the first stirrings of anger. "Of course I do."
"That's a surprise," he said sarcastically. "Because frankly, I was starting to wonder. And you can bet Chris never even thought you cared. You treat him like dirt, Hunter. You treat him like he's lower than a human."
"I do not!" I said indignantly. "Of course I don't! I do care about him. I found him with you, didn't I?"
The blaze in Shawn's eye did not go out. "Hunter, please. Today you acted like he was some spoiled little brat who I keep wasting my money on. You act like he's a kid I'm just keeping for the weekend. Like you can treat him like dirt because he's a kid that I just pulled off the streets. Obviously the system damaged him. You're treating him like he's already gone off the deep end."
"I do not!" I went to my feet. "I do not, Shawn!"
"Stop your crap," he snapped angrily, getting to his feet as well. "You know it! Ever since we found him you've treated him like that! I thought it was going to go away, you'd accept him eventually. But you know what, I'm tired of waiting. I never said anything because I thought it was going to go away. But he's not going anywhere and neither are you. I want you to stop treating him like that!"
"I'm treating him like he should be treated!" My voice was low, but it could not have been more dangerous if I had been yelling. "He's been through hell and I'm trying not to treat him like he has! You're the one sucking up to his every need!"
"To his every need?" He was yelling. Shawn had never been one to conceal his emotions like I had. "I'm treating him the way he should be treated! I'm treating him like he's been through hell and I'm helping him out of it!"
"You're treating him like a baby! You're treating him like he can't do anything right and you have to correct it!"
"I may be doing that," he shouted furiously, "but at least I'm not treating him like he's some stupid drug dealer who's lived the perfect life up until now! I'm not treating him like he's some fucking idiot! Do you know what he thinks of you? Have you ever looked into his eyes? You're hurting him! You're hurting him the way you're treating him! You're not treating him any better than any of his other foster families have! You might as well be hitting him!"
He turned away, seething, and I stared at his back.
I couldn't be treating him like that, could I? No, he was just lying. He saw his own defeat at my hands and he was making penance for it by making me look bad. I hadn't wanted to hurt Chris.
I had never wanted to hurt him. I had treated him exactly like he needed. He needed what tough love we could give. If I had to follow that philosophy, I would. I hadn't wanted to hurt him- but by showing him how badly he could be treated, he would rise above it. I never treated him sarcastically. I never treated him like he was inferior. He was my polar opposite, true, but he needed to be taught his place. He needed to learn how to deflect water and I was teaching him how to do it.
"I'm leaving," I said shortly. "I have to go to work tomorrow."
"Of course you do," Shawn said in voice that struggled with its cool. "Of course you have to feed yourself. Don't bother coming by tomorrow. You might just upset him more."
"I'm coming by tomorrow," I said, turning away. "I want to see how he is."
"Don't bother," he repeated.
"He's emotionally distraught," I said, stamping to the door, grabbing my jacket. "He needs all the help he can get. You're not the only one who cares about him."
"Damn good you are at showing it," he snorted.
I went out the door without answering, shut it so loudly I heard a cry from Shawn's neighbor, and hurried down the stairs.
I'd be back tomorrow and I'd kill Shawn if I had to do it.
__
There was a slight creak at the door.
"Shawn!" I hollered, pounding, waving my bag of slightly cold hamburgers. "SHAWN! Open the door! Open this damn door or I'll open it MYSELF!" I was mad. My hand was burned from a grease basket that someone had left on too long and now the burn was smarting. All in all I was in a bitter mood.
The door opened and my mood changed.
"I swear, you're impossible, you-"
I stopped.
In front of me, leaning on one leg heavily while he seemed to fight to keep his balance, was Chris. He looked paler than he had even yesterday and there were dark bags under his eyes like he hadn't gotten enough sleep- or he had been crying. His eyes were tired and seemed to be glazed over from something that I could only guess was pain. But when he saw me, they sharpened.
"Hi Hunter," he said, reproachfully. "Shawn's not here. He went to the store to buy some aspirin. He left a few minutes ago."
I nodded, wondering if it was a good thing that Chris was alone in the apartment all by himself. We stared at each other.
"Do you want to come in?" he asked awkwardly, holding the door open.
"Yes," I said, walking in. "I brought you guys something to eat. It's cold, but it's food."
He seemed taken aback and I remembered his actions yesterday. "I guess thanks."
"Nothing to it," I said simply and walked toward the kitchen while he shut the door. "Why the hell are you up anyway?"
"I'm practicing walking," he said almost defiantly. His voice was strained.
I was going to ask him if he was alright, but decided the better of it. He would only think I was babying him. "How are you doing?" I asked instead.
"I can get from the couch to the door." He hobbled painstakingly toward the couch. I could see the pain dominating his features, but he was trying not to show it. "And I can get to the kitchen and the bathroom. I think I'm doing okay." He fell silent and I caught the look of shame on his face. Why was he shameful? Because he was better and was flaunting it? I didn't know, but it surprised me. However, I kept that hidden.
"Well, at least you can walk," I said as a-matter-of-factly as I could muster. "You should be thankful for that, kid. There are a lot of people who can't."
"Yeah, I know." His voice was a little resentful as he settled back down on the couch. An awkward silence elapsed. We had never been together often. Whenever I was here, Shawn had also been present. I knew how to act with Shawn, but without him I felt lost.
"What store did Shawn go to?" I asked, just to break the silence.
He contemplated as he dragged his leg upon the couch, wincing but quickly dashing it away. "I think he went to Wal-Greens, but I'm not sure. He said he'd only be a few minutes, a half an hour at the most."
"What did he need the aspirin for?" I said absentmindedly, taking out the hamburgers.
"He was buying it for me." He suddenly paused and sucked in his breath, holding it. I looked at him in surprise and his head was low; he was looking at his thighs and he was rigid.
"Are you okay, kid?" I asked, concerned. Was the pain really that bad?
His head shot up and there was fear on his face. There was also confusion. "He bought it for me," he repeated and his eyes went back to my face.
"What?" I asked annoyed. "Chris, what's wrong?"
"There's nothing wrong with me," he answered quickly and lowered his head again. "I just thought . . . never mind."
"What did you mean?" I demanded, dropping the burger I was holding. "You thought what, kid? I'm getting impatient."
"Nothing," he mumbled, his head sinking even further.
"Chris!" I said sharply. "Tell me what's wrong, you little shit."
He trembled and suddenly I went back to the night before.
I remembered how I had lifted my hand and shifted so I could rub his back. I remembered him flinching away, jerking away hard . . . like I was going to hit him.
And now he thought I was going to yell at him. He thought I was going to scream and hit him, just like his old foster families had done.
I felt a wave of shock hit me.
He thought I was just like his foster family.
He felt exactly like Shawn said he felt.
The shame hit me so hard I felt like I was burning. I stared at his trembling figure, at the way he tried to fight off the fear but was failing and didn't want me to look upon his shame. His shame, if brought on by the fact that he couldn't conceal his fear from me, was nothing compared to my own shame.
"Chris?" I asked softly.
"There's nothing wrong!" he yelled suddenly, blazing. "Okay, look, Hunter, there's nothing wrong." He stopped and when he spoke again, he was forcefully calm. "There is nothing wrong. I was going to ask you a question, but I stopped. I'm sorry if I offended you." His voice was cool. A moment ago he had been screaming. And now he couldn't care more.
"Chris," I pressed. "Chris, please, I'm sorry-"
The door opened.
I looked up in surprise as Shawn came striding in the door, holding a plastic bag weighted with a few items. He saw me immediately and stopped, his mouth about to open. I opened my own mouth to speak.
"He brought us something to eat, Shawn," Chris blurted and we both looked at him. His eyes were round and tired, but there was a glinting edge to his gaze. "He only came by a few minutes ago. He hasn't done anything."
"I wouldn't do anything," I said silkily to Shawn, moving out of the kitchenette, brushing my burnt hand on the way out, causing it to sting. "I just wanted to bring you guys something to eat. It was free."
"It was free because it was sitting for twenty minutes," said Shawn scathingly. "A minute under and you would have served it saying it had just been made."
I clamped down sharply on my anger. Fighting had led to the situation we were in and it would not lead us out. Angry words added to Shawn's own would only make the situation worse.
"Well, you have you answer," I said, as cheerfully as I could. "You can probably just zap them in the microwave and they'll be as good as new."
He regarded me with cool eyes. "If you made them, I'm sure they are anything but."
The anger hit me so fast that I opened my mouth to speak without realizing what I was going to say. It was only at the last moment that I regained control. With great difficulty, I said, "I don't cook; I'm just your average cashier. I do know Joanie, though, and she's a good cook. Don't you think so, Shawn?"
His gaze turned smoldering. "I know Joanie as well as you do," he snapped. "Quit playing games. What are you doing here?"
I was slightly taken aback by Shawn's anger. He was a calm man, gentle and caring by nature and religion. He and I had been at odds before, for our friendship went long back, but now I could see the anger radiating from his face through his eyes and body. He was angry at me, almost the angriest I had ever seen him.
"I'm here because I want to be," I said. "But if you want me to leave, I will."
I glanced at Chris; he was watching the exchange between us with disquiet on his face. He was disturbed that we were fighting. I didn't blame him and I felt the shame again flutter at my insides and I cringed.
Shawn didn't say anything. Instead, he angrily shoved past me into the kitchenette and threw the bag onto the countertop. He jerked the bag of hamburgers toward him and glared inside it, as if it were all the whole cause of his problem.
It was a problem I didn't wholly understand and it made me angry, though I successfully suppressed it. It was obvious he cared about this kid. But he was going to throw our friendship through the door? I cared about Chris too; wasn't it obvious? I had stuck around this long and I had been paid nothing in return. Didn't he see that I did care? Why was he treating me like I was so violent? He had told me he thought I was treating the kid like dirt. I understood that, at least now. But he was being angry about it. He was acting like he was the only one worthy of caring.
The hostile silence stretched on. Chris watched as Shawn started to fumble with the food I had brought and I sulked out of the kitchen and picked up my jacket, preparing to leave. I had come to make amends, had been treated to my quiet epiphany, and still hadn't made amends.
Something burned in my heart, in my still burned hand.
I put the jacket down, turned around, and started to walk over to the couch.
Chris's eyes, who had been watching me, suddenly snapped back around toward Shawn. Like he had been sneaking glances at me. Like he didn't want me to know that I was the object of his gaze.
I stopped where I stood, one foot resting on the floor, the other poised to continue my tread.
Shawn dropped something in the kitchen. It dropped with a clattering sound, metallic sharp, hurting my ears.
I didn't need this. God knew I didn't need this.
I picked up my jacket, turned around, and walked back out the door, slamming it shut. For a moment I just stood there, my back pressed against the wall, breathing hard.
Shawn was my best friend. He was practically a brother to me. I didn't want to lose him.
And the kid . . . didn't want to accept him. Didn't want to realize that Shawn was serious. Didn't want to accept the fact that I did care about him.
So I didn't.
It was easier, really, to put everything on hold. Leave it all burning on the back end of the stove, let it heat for a long while. I'd do that. I didn't have to deal with this now. I didn't have to deal with the painful realization that my best friend did not only belong to me now. Things would smooth out. In a few days I would see him again. We'd go out and I'd buy him a drink. In a few days he would listen to me and understand me. In a few days I would listen to him and try to understand his decisions.
I didn't need to think about the kid yet. I cared about him, yes. But I didn't need to think about him.
Yeah, put it all on the back burner. Let it simmer for awhile. Let it simmer and when I was ready, I would return and shut it off and it would be cool. It wouldn't explode or anything, if I left it too long. Everything would be alright again.
I started to descend the stairs, to go back to my car, and my burnt hand smacked against the railing. I drew in my breath sharply and looked at the skin. It was still red, raw. When I got home I would need to apply ice to it.
Someone had left the grease basket on too long. It had simmered for too long and when I had opened it, it had burned me.
Cradling my hand, I finished descending the stairs and got in my car.
__ Again, I hope you enjoy it. On a side note, "Chase Away the Moon" will be updated when I can find out where I put the last chapter. (Grins sheepishly) I know I had it somewhere, but I can't exactly remember. I'm sorry for the delay in that too.
I hope to update again soon, so please check back.