Chapter 12
Greg stood under the shower head and let the hot water cascade over his body, finally allowing his muscles to loosen. He scrubbed as hard as he could to get every last trace of a reminder off his body and watched as the brownish-red of the dried blood and the deep brown from the dirt swirled down the drain. He shampooed his hair several times to ensure that rock dust and dirt got washed down the drain as well.
Finally satisfied that he was as clean as he was going to get, Greg shut off the water and grabbed a towel from a hook next to the tub, beginning to dry himself before climbing out onto the bathmat. He could smell the sauce from the previous day's leftovers, and knew that his mom had likely made a fresh batch of spaghetti to go with it. Just the thought of it made his stomach growl audibly, and he tried to remember when he'd eaten last but everything about the day was still a blur in his mind. The only time it seemed like he could recount things clearly was when verbally describing the events. Only then could his mind deal with it in a rational, logical manner rather than to have his brain endlessly chew on it, unable to find answers to questions he didn't know.
Greg put on a pair of sweats, tossed his towel into the laundry hamper, and seriously considered burning the clothes he had peeled off before stuffing them into the hamper as well. He was so hungry by then that he was drawn into the kitchen by the smell of food like a moth to a flame.
Blythe watched her son drag himself into the dining room and seat himself in front of the plate of spaghetti and sauce she'd put together for him. He sat there unmoving for several moments, and she briefly wondered if he might not fall asleep right then and there. Food ultimately won out as she knew it would, and Blythe watched with amazement as Greg seemed to take mere moments to inhale what was on his plate and down a large glass of milk along with it. She met him halfway as he brought his glass and plate into the kitchen; taking them from him, she insisted that she would take care of it as she placed the items into the sink. Greg stood there, swaying on his feet with fatigue and a thousand-yard stare until Blythe turned him around and pointed him in the direction of his bedroom.
Greg staggered down the narrow hallway and bodily rolled around the door frame into his room. He collapsed face down across the bed and was asleep almost instantly.