Chapter Thirty-Nine
Amelia jerked awake, the image of John's bleeding back still fresh in her mind from the nightmare. She grabbed her teddy bear, slipping out from under her covers and opening her door. She could hear John's snores through the open doorway, his door having been taken off so that the adults could fix it. She remembered his temper tantum from earlier, wondering if he was still upset. She tiptoed toward his room, slipping inside to stand at the edge of his bed.
He was sleeping on his stomach, one arm tucked close to his side and tied to his waist to make sure he didn't hurt it in his sleep, the other was propped on his pillow, the ring and middle fingers taped into two strange metal splints.
She noticed the fresh scab on his head, wondering how he'd gotten that. "John?" She whispered, flinching back as he bolted from his dream.
"Huh? What?" He blinked at the child beside his bed, smiling when his brain woke up enough to register that it was her. "Hey Squirt."
She looked up at her wounded hero, taking in the blackeye, the split lip, and the various other wounds on his person. "Are you still mad?" She asked, holding her bear close.
He shook his head, scooting over in the bed to let her climb up. "No. Me and Claire just had a little disagreement and I didn't handle it right."
She nodded, climbing into the bed and curling against his side as he covered her up with his better hand. "Were you fighting because you smoked?" She asked, feeling John's arm rest over her protectively.
He shook his head. "We weren't fighting." He yawned, wincing as the movement pulled on his dislocated shoulder. "We were just having a disagreement."
"Aunt Claire was crying."
John took a slow breath, wishing that he was allowed to see her, but knowing to respect Thomas's wishes to let her be away from him for a while. "Well… I think I scared her pretty bad." He remembered raising his hand to strike her, remembering the fear and shame that had shot through him as she'd flinched away.
"I was scared too." She mumbled, feeling him pull her closer as his chest rumbled with a tune.
"Shadows slowly creeping down the prairie trail Everything is sleeping - ah, but the nightingale Moon will soon be climbing in the purple sky Night winds all a-humming this tender lullaby
Cares of the day have fled My little sleepyhead Stars are in the sky Time that the prayers were said
My little sleepyhead To a prairie lullaby saddle up your pony Sandman's here To guide you down the trail of dreams Tumble in bed my tired My little sleepyhead To a prairie lullaby Saddle up your pony Sandman's here To guide you down the trail of dreams Tumble in bed my tired My little sleepyhead To a prairie lullaby." He smiled as he heard her breathing even out as she fell asleep. "That's my girl." He whispered, an idea coming to him.
He slowly shifted onto his back, pulling at the fabric securing his arm to his side, as he picked up a pen and a piece of scrap paper rushing to scribble down his poem before he lost the idea. His hands protested at holding the pen and paper, making his penmanship unusually bad. He smiled at the finished poem, placing it on his nightstand before falling back asleep.
Clarissa looked up from the book she was reading as she heard John's uneven step on the stairs. She smiled at the young man, noticing how he'd already put his arm in a sling to protect the joint in his shoulder. "Good morning."
John grunted, pouring himself a huge cup of coffee and downing half of it before he spoke. "Claire?" He asked, his message clear.
"She went to the mall with the girls." She closed her book, noticing that John hadn't even bothered to put his sweatpants on when he'd gotten up. She looked at the dark bruise on his thigh, wondering if that was why his limp was worse. "How's your leg?" She asked, letting him sit on the counter before she walked over to inspect the injury.
He shrugged, letting her touch his leg to see how bad he'd hurt it. "Sore. But it's better than when I first broke it."
She shook her head, pressing gently on the bruise until he pulled away. "I still can't believe you set that yourself."
He took a swig of his coffee, letting Clarissa examine his wounds closer and fret over the state he was in. "I learned a lot of first aid on myself." He stated, motioning to the longest deepest scar on his stomach. "This was the first one I stitched up."
She ran her finger under his swollen eye, noticing the bloodshot white of his eyeball. "Do you know who did this?" She asked, adjusting the key around his neck.
He shook his head. "No, but I can pick him out of a crowd." He flexed the finger on his right hand that had Sid's ring on it. "I got a couple good hits in before he bolted."
She sighed, looking up at the boy who'd become like her son. "You are something else."
He chuckled, looking up as Dominic entered the kitchen with John's garbage can in his hands. "You tore up the magazine?" He asked, obviously disappointed that John hadn't given it to him to enjoy.
"You have six of those." John stated, remembering the stash that Dominic had hidden throughout the bedrooms so that the others could enjoy them. "Besides, it's worn out by now."
Clarissa looked between the boys, reaching her hand into the trash can and pulling out one of the torn pages of the Playboy. "John!"
John ducked his head, already beating himself up for the old thing. "I'm gonna burn it."
Dominic rolled his eyes, looking at the beaver shot. "I would have liked to have it."
Clarissa turned on the older boy, raising her brows. "I will not have pornography in this house. Go get yours and burn them with John's."
"But Mom…" Dominic whined, hoping calling her mom would earn him the right to keep his dirty magazines.
"No buts. Go get them and I want to see them all burned."
Dominic turned, stomping up the stairs to get his stash of Playboy Bunnies. "Way to go, El Jefe, you ruined it."
John held up his broken middle finger earning himself a light tap on the knee from Clarissa as punishment. "Worth it." He stated, finishing off his coffee.