Oh boy... :D

Chapter Thirteen: Sinking & Suffering

That's the thing about being dignified —I have to act like I'm interested in non-interesting people and I have to respect folks that aren't worth respecting.

That's how I get caught in a conversation with Papa and Billy Black when all I want to do is search for Rowdy.

"This way, Cotton," Papa gestures, smiling real wide in his brimmed white hat and suit. "Where you running off to in such a hurry? Billy was just talkin' about you."

I hate when people do that. They ask a question, then follow it up with their own statement. They aren't worried about the answer anyways.

I groan and backtrack towards Papa and Jacob's father. "Hi, Mr. Black."

Billy's a big man, all muscle and wild hair; the image of a gator hunter if ever there was one. "Aww, you stop that nonsense, child. You know better than that."

I grin politely even though I don't feel like it. "Right. Sorry Billy."

"I was just telling Billy what a mighty fine job you did last year," Papa boasts and squeezes my shoulders. "Made the honor roll, she did."

Barely, I think to myself. Miss Kate thought I deserved to fail English, but she knows Papa would've stormed down to the school throwing a fit.

"Is that so?" Billy rubs his chin and I don't like how he's thinking so hard. "You know, my boy's been having trouble in that arithmetic."

Algebra, Billy. Ain't nobody had arithmetic since 1852.

"Well you know, Cotton here is a tutor, ain't that right?" My face drains as Papa smiles at me, but it's a deceitful smile. He's winning whatever little game he's playing when I was never informed there was a starting line. "Bet she could give him a few lessons."

My stomach sinks as Papa starts planning for my future with Jake. First math tutorials, then a gator wedding, followed by the pitter-patter of gator feet.

Rowdy was right, Papa isn't dumb—he knew exactly what was happening, and he'd do anything to pull us apart in the sneakiest way possible.

"Er, excuse me … I have to go to the ladies' room." I don't even give Papa or Billy the chance to respond. I scan the yard looking for Rowdy, but he's nowhere to be found.

I'm thinking he must have gone into the house. He couldn't have traveled too far, not the way he was walking.

There's all kinds of folks strolling around the house. I hear a gospel hymn playing from our grand piano and the off-key sound of Mary singing from the parlor room. I search every room downstairs and just when I begin to take the stairs, I realize he would have never made the flight.

I must have missed something.

I turn back around, making the usual left down the hall. At the very end, I hear the moaning before I open the door.

"Rowdy?"

He's in the same wicker chair he sat in the very first day we ever spoke to each other. Only there's no sweet boy with kind words and gentle hands.

Rowdy don't look so Rowdy-like anymore.

He's pale and shaking and looks like he's in excruciating pain.

"C-c-c-ot-tonse-ee-ed…" My name falls in syllablesfrom his lips and he's doing all he can to hold himself together. I feel my hatred growing by the second.

I'm not a doctor or anything, but I've heard about internal bleeding. Judging by how he appears, he could be dying before my very eyes.

"Rowdy!" I'm doing everything I can not to sob. I need to be strong for him.

I need to be strong for me.

I grab a white cashmere throw from the nearby sofa and carefully wrap him in it. He doesn't even bother trying to hide his tears.

"Rowdy, this is enough! I have to get help! Wh-what if you-" I can't bring myself to say the words, but if I do nothing, I will be no better than Carlisle.

"S-stay. I'm fine … P-please, s-stay." I nod, squeezing beside him in the chair. He winces with each of my movements, but I hold him carefully, running my fingers through his hair.

"Shhh," I say, attempting to soothe him. "It's all right, Rowdy. I know. I know everything. Damn Carlisle! I know that's your father, but I hate him with a passion!"

His head barely rises as I listen to his whispered words. "It's my fault. I'm to blame. Pop just … he tries, but … I'm a sinner, just like they said in church. The Reverend was right. And now I'm paying for them. Wait a second … who told you?"

Carlisle tries? That's what he calls abuse by his own parent? Trying? I get the feeling his scars run deeper than what I can see.

"No one," I admit, kissing his forehead. "I saw it with my own two eyes. Did you honestly think you could have hidden this from me? I was going to find out eventually!"

"I know," he murmurs. "I-I couldn't bring myself to say it. To admit it, you know?"

"You shouldn't have to!" The pitch of my voice hits new octaves as he blames himself for not speaking up earlier. "I saw, but I also heard Ma and Mrs. Weber talking about it…"

"Renee knows too?" Rowdy sounds ashamed, like the secret he's carried hurts more than his bruises.

"She does, but we're going to get you help! You and your whole family."

Rowdy moans again and while I know it's to resist my plan, he's in too much agony to fight me on this. His lips quiver and I do all I can to hold him in my arms. He shouldn't suffer like this.

"I hate him," I seethe. "On all that's godly and biblical, I hate him more the Devil himself!"

"What?" Rowdy finally looks me in the eye, and beyond the pain lies confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Carlisle," I breathe bitterly. "All the hittin' he's done to you! I saw the hammer, Rowdy. He's an awful, awful man. You ain't got to hide anymore. You can tell me the truth. How long has he been beating you, huh?"

Rowdy moves ever so slightly and his cold hand touches my warm one.

"Cotton … Pop don't hurt me. That man's never laid a hand on me. Hell, he'd give me his own limbs if he could."

I…

I don't understand.

I don't get it.

The images in my head blur together. They're adding up, yet I'm trying to subtract pieces that aren't quite fitting.

"My back," he says simply. "It's why I couldn't sleep. Keeps me up sometimes."

…

Rowdy lags behind, not even bothering to catch up.

"Keep up," I tell Rowdy, slowing my pace to walk beside him.

"I am," he bites back, shoving me to the side.

…

I grab a wad of napkins from the nearest food booth to help Rose, but Rowdy is racing ahead of us. Not too fast, but enough that I know he wants to be left alone.

…

"Rowdy! What on earth happened to you?"

He chuckles, but winces when I pull his shirt back down. "Scraped it across the truck when I leapt into the back. Pop was helping me bandage it up."

…

Papa calls the Masens heathens when they don't show up to church on Sunday. Mama says Rowdy's back still hurts, so there isn't any point in any of them going, but Papa isn't buying it.

…

He exhales heavily as if I am the reason for his breathlessness.

…

Sometimes he's gone, like when he had to care of Emmett when he caught a summertime cold, or when he and Esme left town to visit his grandma back in Rosedale.

…

"I'd hate for a girl like you to get hurt. And you will, if you go poking your nose where it don't belong. Now get!"

Rowdy's this little piece in a big world and I'm trying to figure out how it all makes sense. "I'm suffering, Cottonseed, but it ain't by my Pop."

"Then who? Who hurt you like this?"

"Nobody," Rowdy answers solemnly, burying his head in my chest.

"I did this to myself."