CECE, DISRESPECTFULLY | ✓

52: EXPOSING YOUR NECK

            The carpet on the stairs muffles my steps. When I reach the open door to the living room, I catch a second's worth of Nicolás molten into the sofa, his face illuminated by the blue light of the screen in a way that accentuates the bags under his eyes. He's not wearing his glasses and I doubt he's got his contacts in at this hour; the only function of Strictly Come Dancing is a milieu for his thoughts.

I lift the comb I've carried with me. 'Can you braid my hair?'

The concern in his features melts so quickly, for a moment, I think he's going to cry. But then he slides his feet off the sofa and agrees without slight objection to the fact it's past midnight and he looks like he's not slept in years. He's not got a shift at Spectrum tonight so... why isn't he sleeping?

Despite the maggots stirring in my gut, I hand Nicolás the comb and sit on the rug between his legs. He feels out my hair, adjusting my head as needed.

'Umm... it's well tangled.' He speaks like an apology, like it could somehow be his fault. 'It'll take a while to detangle so we can do that today and I can braid tomorrow, yeah?'

I nod. Am I asking for too much?

No, I answer immediately, though the winged thing stirs again. He wants to spend time with me, he tries so hard to spend time with me. It's not a burden to him.

'You've got a lot of matting so if you wanted wicks, now would be the perfect time.'

I shake my head. 'Dreadlocks are your thing,' I say as if he owns the hairstyle. 'I can't commit to summat like that. And I like how cornrows look.'

I shouldn't've said that. He'll be upset with me now. Why–?

'Alright.' Nicolás lifts a leg to the sofa to be able to shuffle out from behind me. 'I just need more stuff. Gimme a sec.'

I rest my chin on my knees as I listen to his footsteps on the stairs. Nicolás has his laptop hooked on the HDMI. The couple on the telly are dressed in glittering camouflage for their dance. The rug chafes my bare feet.

Nicolás returns with a towel to drape on my shoulders, a spray bottle of water, a leave-in conditioner, and a different comb with wider teeth.

My eyes struggle to stay open as he begins to part my hair and clip sections out of the way. Unlike Zawadi Otienos, the only foster parent aside from Lailah who ventured near my coils without a pair of clippers, Nicolás is gentle even when detangling. My vision blurs as he lulls the edges of my mind to sleep.

'Why are you sad?' I ask.

His fingers halt mid-tangle.

I can't blame him: the question catches me by surprise too. More than content with Strictly and the sensation of him working through my hair, I hadn't intended to say owt. But along with my consciousness, Nicolás charms the wasps in my head and without the danger of attack, suppressed thoughts dig out of the soil.

Now, that relaxation is sharpened away.

I stare at the telly as my fingers strangle themselves in the hem of my t-shirt.

'I'm not sad,' he eventually whispers.

The lie trails like smoke into the air. It loops around my neck. The maggots are thriving.

'Nikki...'

Can I call him that? Is it weird if I call him that? I've not called him that since we were kids.

'I'm sorry that I make you sad.'

'I'm not sad,' he insists only to fall back into the sofa cushion, a sigh knocked out of his chest. 'I'm not sad cause of you. I just... You know...'

Nicolás shuffles from behind me to get off the sofa again. He sits on the rug in front of me instead, black eyes coaxing mine to meet them.

'I'd thought to hang out with Caleb today since you were with Diwa and we're both off from Spectrum but he had a date with his girlfriend. I'm just not used to having split his time. And obviously, I'm happy for him but, you know, I'm just not used to it.'

He drops his gaze but the tears in his waterline still catch the light.

I untangle my fingers from my t-shirt only to wind them up again. 'Why don't you get a partner?'

One side of his mouth is hooks upward. 'I've tried. But I dunno if it'll happen for me. I reckon I'm not...'

He don't finish but whatever he meant to say, I wouldn't be able to believe it true.

'It's okay,' I mumble. 'You're allowed to be sad. You don't have to hide it from me.'

His attention flicks up from his hands. A tentative smile buds on his face.

'You look like such an idiot right now.'

I scowl though I'm sure he's right. My hair is still clipped into sections, some of which are wet and sleek from conditioner whilst others clump on my skull. Nonetheless, I shove him.

Nicolás grabs my hand with ease and, using it to pull me closer, wraps me into a hug. He holds me tight, embraces me with his arms and his legs, tucks me under his chin like I'm the size of a teddy.

'Cecilio, you don't make me sad. You could never make me sad. It hurts me when you're hurting and I can't do owt about it. I would do anything to make it stop for you, the hurt.' He rubs my back, fingers just a little too sharp on my spine. 'But you make me happy.'

Notes

Wicks: Free-form dreadlocks, achieved by letting the hair lock naturally as compared to 'traditional' dreadlocks which are formed by styling the hair into twists/starter locs first and then allowing it to lock up.