Candy | MouthWashing Game Curly X OC

𝘈 𝘎𝘢𝘻𝘦

Life! gehHhhHhhh

••••••

A few days....

"So that's it?" I pushed the papers away from me. They slid across the table and in front of the law enforcement. He sighed and took the papers away, tapping the ends on the table to keep them all together and organized.

"He doesn't have any family. The logical thing would be to have him remain here."

"You say that like Mr. Curly isn't an adult. He can make these decisions and since the claims for the fucking-"

"Mom!"

My mom cleared her throat to continue. "And since the claims for the lawsuit against the Pony Express had been settled, Mr. Curly has plenty of savings for his own private caretaker and a new living arrangement."
I gave my mom a sideways glance. She caught my annoyed stare. I was his caretaker, he didn't need a new one.

"You can't make us keep an adult," I added, "and it's ludicrous to suggest otherwise."

The cop stood up, making the chair scratch against the floor, and he walked to the door. "It was a suggestion made with his best interests in mind. The company didn't want further trouble from... Mr. Curly's incident."

I curled my nose and stomped closer to him. "They don't want Curly to blast them all over the news for the shitty set up they had. Setting all those people up for failure! And then almost branding him as a murderer and a rapist!" My mom placed a hand on my shoulder and I lowered my voice but continued, "you people need to stop thinking about the rich and start thinking about the victims."

The cop, seemingly annoyed, leaned closer to me. "Now that Grant's rich, I'm sure you say otherwise. We did our part. Now do yours." He opened the door and walked out, slamming it.
I stomped my foot and pulled my hair, letting out a small growl of frustration.

"Beatrice, nothing bad happened."
I turned to my mom and raised my eyebrows, talking through gritted teeth.
"It's the principle of the situation! They want Curly to have no independence so he won't realize he could blast that damned company everywhere and make them actually shut down for good. I'm glad they gave him money but it seemed like 'hush' money, Mom!"

She held both my shoulders firmly and gave me a little shake. "That's his choice, Bea! He knows what he's doing."

"He could have so much more," I mumbled. She rolled her eyes, letting go and sitting at the kitchen table.
"He isn't a man who wants the world. In fact, I think there's very few things that Grant desires."

I huffed and swallowed a lump in my throat, feeling offended and insulted for my friend.
Friend.
"He's expecting me." I walked over to the kitchen doorway.
My mom exhaled loudly.

"What are your plans today?"

I paused but didn't respond and continued to the stairs, knowing she would pick apart our relationship again. I made my way to Curly's room door and raised my fist. I hesitated... and then knocked twice.

"Come in."

He's gotten a lot better at speaking. His face has healed a lot. Sure it's scared but he's able to wear a glass eye, smile fully, chew food and drink. I walked in to see Curly flipping through a magazine and sitting on his bed.
"What're you looking at?" I asked, determined to forget the earlier conversation. He looked up at me and then used his arm to pull his wheelchair closer, sliding into it with ease and holding the magazine in his lap. He used his arms to wheel over and hand it to me with the magazine sandwiched between his arms.
"Look, there's a procedure for restoring hair. The hair transplants? I'd like that." He said.
I took it and looked to the page with the information. It was a procedure for it, albeit a little less realistic than how it would probably go.

"You want this?" I asked, pointing to the man with before and after results.
Curly wheeled to the vanity and held an arm to his scarred scalp.

"Maybe," he turned the chair to smile at me, "So I won't look like a pumpkin."
I laughed at his joke and set the magazine down on the vanity and stood behind Curly. We both looked at the mirror.

"You look great," I said softly. I looked at him and his eyes were to the side and he looked bashful. That's when I realized my hands absentmindedly were on his shoulders. I stepped back and cleared my throat. "But we can do that procedure no problem! Whatever you want."
I sat on his bed and watched him study his reflection before turning around and tilting his head at me. He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees, his blue eyes were playful... or the real one was at least.

"When do you think my leg prosthetics will be here?" He asked.

I pursed my lips and shrugged, "it might take awhile, they were custom fit and somebody wanted a specific design on them!" I teased. Curly laughed, something that took awhile to even discover he still had joy in his heart.

"What can I say? I'm a picky man."

I crossed my arms and stood up with a grin, "picky about your food, your clothes, your flashy prosthetics. What's next? Picky about your women?"
Curly gave me a smirk and his eyes softened, his smile faltering a bit as he stared at me.

"Nothing to be picky about." His eye widened slightly.

My lips tightened and I looked down.
"Meaning?"

Curly didn't respond at first. His gaze lingered, but it wasn't condescending. It was... thoughtful. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, the usual playful edge gone.

"Not everything's about looks, you know, BeeBee..." He continued, "but you-"

A knock caused us to stop. Curly rolled his eye, his glass eye not quite responding, and he blinked hard a few times to adjust it. "Come in."
Tina opened the door, holding a small letter.

"O, emm, gee," she giggled, "Grant, you like, were accepted for the service dog program! A dog named Quest is gonna be eligible for you soon."
He brightened up. I felt a pang of disappointment that we were cut off.

"He was already accepted." I furrowed my eyebrows. "Do you mean he's next to receive a dog"
She rolled her eyes this time.

"Ugh, yeah, you knew what I meant. Anyways... Quest is a," she read from the letter, "a 3 year old yellow lab who can retrieve things for you and open doors."

"That's amazing... I'm a little nervous." Curly admitted. He rubbed his arms on his thighs and looked at me for a minute. I stuttered a second, regaining my thoughts.

"It'll be alright. And plus, we're gonna help you," I encouraged.
He looked at me again.

"You'll help me?"

Tina looked at him then back at me, her lips pursed and eyebrows raised. I felt heat crawling to the back of my neck and I took a step closer to Tina. "Of course, as much as I can," I took the letter and sort of rushed her out by nudging her hip. She looked at him one more time before nodding and giving me a dramatic OK hand symbol. I facepalmed.

"You two have a good talk," she dramatically said and slowly shut the door.
I swallowed hard.

"Ha, she's... Tina's something," I mumbled, dropping the paper on the bed.
Curly gave a snicker, wheeling a little closer to me. I sat on the bed to be more eye level with him.

"She is, huh?"

"Yeah she's... she's stupid," I looked at my hands. I stayed quiet a moment.
Would it be morally wrong for a caretaker to flirt with a patient?

Curly tilted his head, studying me for a second before leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. His eyes were sharp, like he could see exactly where my thoughts were going, and I hated that he probably could.

"You think too much," he said softly, his voice calm. I chuckled.

"You always know when I'm thinking hard about something," I smiled, finding myself relaxed. Curly returned the smile and gave an innocent shrug.
I licked my lips slowly and thought about my next move.
Would it be too risky? I could go for it...