unexpected - b.w.s

70. Empty

We went into the kitchen, and I turned on the lights. I gestured him to sit down on a chair, while I put a cloth under the kitchen tap.

"Do you wanna sleep here?" I turned my head to him. He was looking down on the floor, emotionless.

"Yeah," His voice was husky. He brushed his hair back, as I walked over to him, and crouched down to his height. The wound was visible now, and it was only dried blood I saw before. I still think I was a bit surprised by what he was feeling right now. Showing this much of himself.

I put my hand on jaw, guiding his face up. I started rinsing off the half dried crimson colored stains. It didn't look like it hurt. He didn't show any pain, but that was usual.

He didn't look at me, he looked down with his glossy eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked again. I felt like I had to talk to him.

His eyes wandered up, and met mine. "No Maggie. I'm not okay."

I stared back at him for a second, taken aback by his answer. The blood was hard to get off, and I didn't want to make the wound worse.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and looked down again. I put the cloth under water again, the back to him again.

His body seemed weak, almost fragile. His shoulders was down. His hands was shaking, and he kept staring at them.

A bit of blood was on them as well. I crouched down again, taking his hand slowly. He didn't look up, and he didn't even move. I realised that he wasn't gazing at his shaking hands, his eyes was glued onto the air.

His brown eyes was not moving. I took the other hand, and still no reaction from him.

"Bradley..." but he didn't react. I tried again, and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Why won't you tell me, what actually is wrong?" He licked his lips, his eyes fixed on me again. So empty looking eyes.

"I don't need your pity." The words he spoke was rude, but he sounded calm and not mad at all. He looked away again.

"I just honestly don't get-"

"Drop it, please." But he didn't snap at me, like before, he seemed tired and his voice sounded pure. No raspiness, no voice crack.

I kept on dabbing the warm and wetted cloth, until the blood from his lips were gone. I removed his hair, started rinsing off the blood from the bruise he had on the side of his forehead.

He kept on blinking, like he didn't want the tears to show. His eyes were bloodshot, and I felt bad for him. It was like it was getting worse. It made him so much more sensitive.

"It's fine," he stood up, making me put the cloth away.

He looked so uncomfortable. Standing in the doorway to my room, he looked so insecure - something he never usually was. "Where's your mother?" There was barely any tone left in his voice.

"She's at nightshift." I answered just as low as he. He looked around, his eyelashes still battering.

"I'll be gone in the morning." He turned around walking into my room. It didn't seem like he was particularly mad at me, more at himself. Something strange had just happened to his behavior when he stepped inside. Before, he needed to be taken care of, now he wanted to be alone.

I saw him laying in my bed with all his clothes on. His jacket and shoes was lying on the floor. His back was facing me, unknown whether or not he was sleeping.

So much sympathy. It was strange. Not that I hadn't cared for him, but I felt sympathy for him. I laid down besides him after turning off the light. I could hear his still shaky breathing.

I closed my eyes, trying to fall asleep, as I thought he was. But he reached for my hand, taking my arm around him. Brad wasn't sleeping, and he entwined our fingers, holding my hand close to his chest.

He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to either.

But Brad was out of the apartment before I woke up, and before my mom came home. When I woke up, I only saw the empty side of my bed.