Until I Collapse • @vscomultii

Chapter 19 // Ethan

The floor feels especially cold on my palms and on my legs. I sit, scrubbing hard at the mess. Barely anything is coming off, but I have to clean it up completely. I decided the only way to keep Grayson from freaking out again is to clean up the stains so it becomes nothing but a memory, a thing of the past.

The shower in the downstairs bathroom turns on, and I can hear Grayson's music quietly playing. I just listen as I continue to scrub the floor. I begin to hum along, and by the time I eventually am able to get the floor clean, the shower is shut off and so is the music. I'm struggling to get myself into my chair to clean the next thing, the counter.

"Do you need any help with that?" Grayson asks from behind. I turn around, expecting to see him bundled in his normal outfit, big heavy sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants, but he's wearing track pants and a t-shirt. He still looks small, but not like he's drowning in fabric like usual. I can see that he knows what I'm thinking, but he doesn't acknowledge it. He walks in front of me and holds out his hands.

They're small and I don't expect him to be able to support me, but he helps me balance and I sit back down.

I start forcefully cleaning the stained countertop. Grayson wordlessly starts helping, scouring right along beside me. We clean, saying nothing.

It's okay that way though.
Sometimes silence says more than words.
-
I slowly roll out of the bathroom after many hours of cleaning- the mess, and myself included. Showering was a difficult job, but I wouldn't let Grayson help me, so I was on my own.

When I come downstairs by myself for the first time, using the system that was just installed, I'm surprised to find Grayson standing at the stove. He's flipping pancakes, something he never used to do before. It was unspoken, but it was my job because he'd always burn them. Plus, he just liked the way I'd make them better.

"I think I've got it pretty good," he's really focusing on cooking them properly, and he precisely flips each pancake at approximately the same time.

I roll over to a spot at the table that's already been set for me. The chair was removed, and utensils sit next to an empty plate. Grayson comes rushing over with a stack of pancakes, which he sets on the table.  I can tell he cleaned the table too. He grabs a few different drinks and toppings before sitting down.

I can't help but think of when I did this for him. He's so focused on everything, making defined movements, like they were planned. Being so sure with everything.

"Are you okay?" He asks me before he serves himself. I shake my head yes, and he addresses his own plate.

"I'm, uh," he hesitates. "I'm hungry."

I tried not to be shocked by hearing him say that he's hungry. I notice how there's multiple pancakes on his plate, not just one.

"I'm proud of you." I don't want to make him feel awkward, but I want Grayson to know. He doesn't acknowledge my comment, and he continues his movements.

"I'm sorry Grayson," I say for close to the one millionth time. One million times isn't enough, and no matter how much I say it I don't think it can suffice how bad I feel.

Grayson doesn't respond to this either, so I feel like he doesn't even hear me at all. He's cutting the pancakes like he did last time. When he comes to the part about actually eating them though, he doesn't hesitate as he brings the fork to his mouth. He chews fast, and swallows each bite. It's awkward at first, his eating. As if he couldn't think of how a normal person chews their food.

"Do you miss your friends?" He makes small talk, to avoid talking about us.

I know it's a basic question, but I want to be honest. I try to think of a good answer. Friends? The more I think about it, the less I feel like they're good friends, or even good people at all.

"Well, they're my friends, sure. But the more I think about it, they aren't good friends. No one came to see me in the hospital. They tell me how much they love me and how great I am. But they weren't there for me when I needed it." I put another pancake on my plate.

"Actions speak louder than words." He quotes me from right before he went in the bathroom and nearly offed himself.

We make eye contact. He looks so scared, so upset. Just like he did when I beat him up. Scared for his life.

He touches his wrists. Traces the lines he made with the blade, using his finger tip instead this time.

"Do the cuts scare you?" He asks without looking away from his arms.

"No. They don't." I bite my lip, and I'm thinking of how to tell him what I'm thinking without it sounding wrong. "What happened scares me. Not the cuts. They give you character. They show what you survived." I take a bite of my food to try to avoid another question.

We eat the rest of the time in silence, just being comforted by each other's presence. Grayson clears the table exactly as I did, and I follow him to the sink. I don't do anything besides sit there waiting for him to finish.

He pulls open the junk drawer, and grabs his keys from the little basket inside.

"I'll be back, Ethan." I look up at him curiously.

"Where are you heading?" I'm supposed to be watching him, but he clearly wants to be alone. I don't think he's going to do anything bad, but I want to know where he'll be if I need him, or if he's gone for a while.

"The store. We need some more food and a couple of other things too. Do you have any requests?"

I think for a second. "A pair of new legs." He laughs awkwardly, like he can't tell if I'm joking or not. For the record, I was.

"I won't be gone long. Call me if you need anything." Grayson walks down the steps and out the front door.

I take the first chance I have and roll into my room.

Now that I'm alone, I'll have time to write it out. I grab a piece of paper and start writing down everything I can think of that Grayson will need to know when I'm gone.