Healing Takes Time

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Marco and I didn't exactly talk much when we got into the cabin. I was making Ramen noodles, and Marco accepted my offer when I asked if he wanted some. Right now he was sitting on the couch with his legs pulled up next to him. I think he was still kind of in shock--even though he was pretending to be tough--and the subtle way that he turned the left side of his head towards something when we was looking in that direction told me that his right eye wasn't quite back to normal yet.

I stared into the pot of-not-yet-boiling water and willed it to heat up faster. The heat was up all the damn way--what more did it want?

"A watched pot never boils," I heard Marco say.

I screwed up my face. "Got that fucking right," I muttered.

"Hm?"

"Nothing." We were quiet for another couple of moments before I said, "Does it bother you that I cuss? 'Cause if it does I can stop."

He smiled, and his head tilted to the side the smallest bit. It kind of reminded me of a dog looking at its owner. "I don't mind your cussing. It makes conversation... interesting. Why would I mind?"

"Well, I don't know. You just seem like somebody that doesn't, and I don't want to offend you."

"I don't cuss, but I find it somewhat hilarious when other people do."

I narrowed my eyes curiously. "Do you read at all?"

He nodded.

"So when you come across a swear word, what do you do? Actually read the word? Only say part of it like, 'What thfu...?' Or do you just skip over it completely?"

He laughed at my questions. "I read the whole thing. I just don't ever say it."

I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter behind me. "So why don't you cuss? I mean, doesn't that get hard? Doesn't the urge to just cuss somebody out ever cross your mind?"

He laughed again. "I don't really ever get upset like that. I just don't have the need. I don't personally get any satisfaction out of saying such bad words myself, and since I don't ever get upset, I have no need to say them. Sure, sometimes I wanna say one just to be a rebel, but then I think otherwise?"

I snorted.

"What's so funny," he asked, laughing.

"You called yourself a rebel."

"Oh." He laughed again. "That probably wasn't the right choice of words."

"So what you're telling me is that you don't get mad? Ever?"

He bit the inside of his cheek and tilted his head some more as if in deep thought. "No, I don't think I ever have gotten mad."

"Holy shit, you're like a saint."

"A saint?"

"No, you're right, that doesn't quite fit..." I tapped my fingers against the counter. "I got it!" I pointed at him. He gave me a deer in the headlights look. "You're like a freckled Jesus!"

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Freckled Jesus?"

"Yes! It's perfect."

He shook his head, smiling. "Whatever you... Hey, Jean."

"Yes?"

He craned his head to look behind me. "I think the water is boiling."

I turned around to find the water at a rolling boil. Sweet. I grabbed the packets of Ramen and broke them up a few times before dumping them in the water, being careful so the water wouldn't splash up. I pulled a fork out of the drawer and started poking at it.