Unexpected

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x~who knew it would kill me inside for just a touch of social pride?

x-x-x-x-x

Grayson is ten when he first sees blood.

Not simply a trickle or two; he has seen that much from his and Erin's earlier days of playing carelessly. He is used to seeing a single line of red flowing from a scraped knee.

He and his father came home from a doctor's appointment to find the TV off and the master bedroom empty. His mother is nowhere to be found. Grayson thinks to check the bathroom. When he tries to push the door in, there is resistance. Confused, he presses harder.

"Mom?"

There is no answer, but his tenacious pushing forces the door to open wide enough to allow Grayson through. He slips past the narrow space between the doorway and the door. The scent of iron hits him full on, nearly bowling him over with its intensity.

His foot slides in something wet. He looks down to see scarlet coating the ground, seeping between his toes. Understanding dawns slowly and painfully as he follows the trail slicking the tiles of the bathroom floor. It leads to a limp arm, cut through with parallel lines. Grayson sees the face that rests peacefully atop the arm.

His mouth falls open, but he cannot scream. He is almost too scared. Finally, his voice comes out in a strangled whisper.

"Dad," he is too quiet. Finally his voice gains strength, just as his troubled eyes find beauty in the blood that is everywhere. "DAD!"

"Grayson, what is-"

It is his father who screams. It is his father who cries as he blubbers over the phone, blood coating his clothing from where he held his dying wife. It is his father who is too weak to move as the paramedics carry her to the ambulance.

It is Grayson who hops in the back with them. It is Grayson who provides the hospital people with what they need-he thought to grab his mother's purse on his way out. It is Grayson who sits alone in the waiting room as they try to salvage his mother.

He is calm. His father is panicked.

His mother recovers and is started immediately on a new treatment plan. In the meantime, Grayson is haunted by that day. Not the horrible, self-inflicted deed committed by his mother, nor his father's tears. It is his own reaction.

Or, lack thereof.

Grayson is haunted by how unmoved he was. How his heart felt cold. How his eyes were dry.

What is wrong with him?

x-x-x-x-x

Erin stutters, "Wh-wh-who?"

"Uhm," Grayson ducks away from her in favor of taking the free arm of the injured boy. "I'll explain later. Can you go get pain medication and towels? Some-uh-disinfectant might help, too. Please?"

"Of course," Erin is too surprised, and tired, to think as she runs up the stairs. After a quick look through the Carins' master bathroom-the tiles are permanently stained pink because of a grisly issue that Grayson avoids in conversation, but Erin has long since guessed the truth of- but the towels are right in the linen cabinet. She opens the latch on the mirror and sees the multitude of pills sitting there-Ataven, Prozac, Valium, Xanax-and there are plenty others as well. She pushes them aside in favor of grabbing pain medication, simple Naproxen Sodium. There is no disinfectant.

She comes back downstairs to see the injured boy lying out on the couch and the other one shuffling awkwardly over his own feet. Grayson is trying to make the one comfortable, and when Erin appears he seems thankful. He takes what she holds out and applies them to the boy there.