Candy | MouthWashing Game Curly X OC

𝘉𝘦𝘢

Mom sat across from me in our living room. Everyone was asleep and we were peacefully unwinding in our downstairs 'house'.
"Do you think Bengals are gonna get this?" She asked, looking at the game on the TV. We prerecorded basically everything and had to watch hours or even days later.  But I wasn't quite paying attention.
I gave a half nod, snuggling deeper in the couch with my blanket wrapped around me.

"You're thinking about something," she said, taking a sip of her tea. I sighed.

"Do you think Curly is guilty of anything?" I asked. Mom's face didn't change. She looked reserved and content as she mulled my question over. She always was good at that, acting nonchalant, even if she was surprised or caught off guard. It made me feel more at ease as well.

"No."

I raised my eyebrows, expecting an explanation. She sipped her tea. Of course, I was going to have to ask. "Why?"

"Aside from the evidence... he doesn't seem like a guilty man of-"

"He always seems guilty," I mumbled. She gave me an annoyed look for cutting her off and then paused the game on the TV.

"A man guilty of that. He's being haunted for sure, but I don't think of something like murder. More like... extreme failure," mom turned off the TV and set her tea down on the table nearby and then stood up.
I stood up as well with my blankets around my shoulders and waited.

"He was a captain and then found disabled and everyone else dead. Grant isn't suffering from anything except his own guilty conscience of failing others and maybe even himself."

I huffed, "yeah, I guess you're right."
Mom came over and gave me a small hug, her touch comforting, and she rubbed my cheek.
"I'm always right. Goodnight, Beatrice, I love you."

I gave a half-hearted smile, "love you too, mom." And with that, she walked down the hall to head to her bedroom.
I yawned and headed to my own bedroom across the hall from hers. My room wasn't huge but perfect size with my bed, dresser across from it, and a few of my forgotten hobbies stacked in the corner of the room.
I changed into a t-shirt and then laid down on my bed and turned my lamp off.

I decided to come to my final conclusion that mom was right; Curly wasn't guilty of the murders.

One week later.

"Please?"
He shook his head.
"For me?"
He shook his head again.

"Curly, I need you to take this medicine to help with fighting off the infections!" I snapped. Being on that ship with open wounds had made him vulnerable to multiple infections that could cause death or a coma if not treated. They were able to get him off the pill and move to two other types of liquid meds that were taken with a small bottle cap. But the medicine apparently tasted like "motor oil" according to my patient...

"It tastes disgusting," he mumbled. His speaking improved greatly, so much so that the police scheduled an interview with him tomorrow. Something he was nervous for.

"I understand," I said. I scooted closer to him. We sat on the bed as it was getting darker. "But it'll help with pain and any future pain," I gave a smile. Curly returned it with a half grin, a small twinkle in his blue eye.
He had opted to wear an eyepatch for his other eye until his skin graft healed enough for glass eyes to be put in. The doctors suggested 1 more week for the initial heal, then 3 months for full healing without worry of any pus buildup.

"They couldn't make any good tasting medicine, eh?" Curly opened his eye a little wider and glanced at the small cap of medicine in my hand. I rolled my eyes playfully and held the cap up closer.

Curly took it with his arms, balancing it between his stumps, and putting it to his lips with little struggle. I proudly watched him take the medicine, his eye furrowing as it touched his tongue. He had come a long way and gained more confidence, which was the entire goal of his stay.
"The police...," I watched him slowly hand the cap back with a more reserved look, "the police just need the details of the ship. They don't think you're responsible."

He shrugged. I took the medicine cap and set it aside. "The media does."

"Who cares what the media thinks?" I tilted my head, "they aren't part of your future."
Curly gave a very dry laugh, coughing a small bit.

"They can ruin my future. What's left of-" he cleared his throat, "what's left of it anyways."
I scrunched my nose at him and stared at his eye. Compared to his darker, bruised, and healing skin, it stood out very obviously. A beautiful bright blue.
I saw the corner of his mouth twitch to a slight smile and I looked down, getting up from the bed.

"So, tomorrow, they'll interview you in here and-"

"Can you be there?"

I felt a lump in my throat. "Of course," I started folding some of his clothes nearby to put away, "I already checked with them for permission." Curly gave a small content 'hm' and watched as I put away his clean laundry. I set out some shorts and a hoodie for tomorrow, already having the long sleeves pinned up so they don't bother him. Curly had made such amazing progress since being here, I was afraid the police investigation might set him back mentally. His nightmares were still present but he was able to calm down more and he didn't have as bad of reactions towards medications. It was obvious he still wasn't a fan of the therapy sessions but did them and even admitted at one point how much the sessions did help.

I closed the drawer and then walked over to set his alarm that he preferred to play soft music in the morning so he could slowly wake up. He reached out and set his arm on my forearm as if to stop me.
"You're worried."

I hesitated and then continued to set his alarm on the clock, but not removing his touch from me. "I always worry about my patients, it's my job."
He looked down then back up at me.

"You're worried they're going to find me guilty," he said, moving his hand down to rest on his lap. Curly adjusted himself so he was laying down more.

"I don't think you're guilty," I sighed, standing beside him and crossing my arms, "I don't even think there's proof of such things."
He nodded and then slowly shut his eye, exhaling loudly.

"Thank you, Beebee."

I couldn't help but smile at his nickname for me that he stuck with ever since he said it for the first time during his major healing process. I softly laid a hand on his shoulder and then walked away to exit.

Tomorrow was either going to go great or horrible, and that scared me.