The Religious & The Damaged

50

Joseph

  I step out of the shower; the room filled with steam, but it's still much colder than it was in the shower.

  It was nice, nonetheless—the warm water felt good against my aching body.

  I didn't want to tell Elias that I'm still in overwhelming pain.

  It's only been a week, so I know the possibility that he doesn't know is very low, but I just don't want to worry him anymore.

  I haven't been recovering.

  The aches and bruises haven't went away and the swelling hasn't gone down.

  I haven't stopped coughing up blood, but it's much less than it was once, and I shower as much as I can because it's the only time I'm not in some sort of pain.

  I put on a pair of sweatpants and walk to the door, but stop and press my hand against my head and the other plants on the wall—my vision darkening.

  I force myself to leave the bathroom because the steam is not helping, and I walk into the kitchenette for a glass of water, which I chug, then I fill up the cup again and chug, then one more time.

  I place the cup into the sink, and my hands are trembling slightly.

  I inhale sharply to catch my breath and exhale slowly, then I take in another.

  I feel a bit better, so I go to Elias' room.

  He looks over from where he sits on his bed, his Nintendo Switch in his hands and a cigarette between his fingers.

  I have no idea what game he's playing because, obviously, but he plays it a lot and I often watch—it pulls me in with it's unnatural world where animals are people, living alongside who I assume to be the only actual human in their world. Often, he's just hitting rocks and money comes out of them.

  It doesn't make sense, but it pulls me in every time.

  I turn and drop the towel I'm holding in the laundry hamper by the door and turn back towards him, and he's staring at me.

  "What?" I question.

  He meets my eyes, and I only now realize he was staring at my body.

  "What?" He repeats back, his cheeks a light shade of pink.

  "You're staring." I say, and I walk over to his bed and sit at the end as I bring my bag over to me.

  "Just coming to terms that you're my boyfriend."

  I look over at him, my brows furrowing and a slight smile tugs at my lips. "What?"

  He doesn't reply, so I look back down and pull out a clean shirt from my bag.

  "Wait."

  I look up.

  He puts aside the switch and cigarette in the ashtray, and he reaches out to me.

  "C'mere..." He says, his voice small.

  My smile grows, and I drop the shirt behind me as I move to hover over him—my legs on each side of him and his gaze meets mine.

  His hand wraps around the back of my neck and he tugs me down into a kiss.

  My body falls against his as I take his cheek into my hand and kiss him again.

  He pulls back to ask, "Is this okay?"

  And his hand reaches the hem of my sweatpants.

  I nod and kiss him again, our lips moving in synchronized motion, and I push up his sweater with my opposite hand.