The Wait (On Hold)

Day 18

I don't sleep much that night. Maybe it's all the things of the past that keep me awake. Or a sense of something happening in the future. I'm not sure. But mostly I'm lost in my head—my favourite place to be after Atlas's side. But even in my head, it's him I'm lost with. I may have been seven... eight? I can't remember.

I had just tripped and hurt my knee. It was bleeding profusely. I wasn't really sure how to take care of it. I tried washing it, but it bled greater and further drenched my clothes in grass, blood and water. Furthermore words of infection and diseases had plagued my thoughts since the not so welcome company I had inadvertently gained at my favourite park, had decided to make quips and comments about the possible consequences to the injury. I stayed stoic to their face and stubbornly left only when darkness crept over the horizon, refusing to let them see they'd shaken me with their words.

Never show fear. Mother had told me this.

It was ingrained deeply. Especially when our parents made us to go to big people parties. Where rich big tall and older men stood a little too close. Smelt a little too drunk. Touched a little too much. To protect myself I couldn't feel fear. I had to think through it. Find a way to hold my head high. Sometimes I had to be quiet about it too. This was etched into my bones. Hardness. Granite stone expressions. Condescension. I knew these well. Fear. I knew that too. I knew who to show it to as well. I limped the whole way home, biting my lip from the stinging pain that shot up my leg every time I moved it. I gritted through it and reached home, hoping to curl up into the arms of my brother. He would know what to do. He would take care of me. He would even let me cry.

It's okay to cry, Lenny. He would say. Stick to me at the party okay? Don't wonder off alone.

But he was equally beautiful as a child. We drew too much attention. The Ice Children they called us. Who would make them break? It never went too far. Maybe they feared we would scream and they would be caught. They only ever taunted, teased and touched as much as they could get away with. But some memories can never be forgotten. We got smart real young.

However, when I got home, my brother wasn't there. But Atlas was. He was the one who opened the door for me. I expected his eyes to widen and for him to panic or dote over me. As soon as I saw him, my chin lifted and I refused to flinch. I didn't want him to see me as a poor little girl and pity me. I wanted him to see that I had walked all this way and held my head high, unbothered by the scary stories those kids weaved into my mind.

All Atlas did was step aside and let me enter. I limp in, fists clenched because I don't want to show weakness before this boy. But ... it hurt.

I walk stiffly into the house and to the drawing room where I hear the TV running. I stand, because I'm afraid I can't bend my leg and sit. When I don't see Atlas enter after me I don't know if I felt disappointed or relieved.

My lower lip quivers and I want to cry. But there wasn't anyone here to hold me. Just as I was about to give in, I heard quiet footsteps behind me. I suck in a breath and school my expression before he can see.

I turn to look at him and he's carrying a first aid box in his hands. I swallow, scared I might cry in front of him. I don't want to cry in front of him. I don't want him to see me like that.

He comes to stand in front of me and looks at me. Maybe he sees my hesitation, because he holds up the box a little, a serious expression on his face.

"May I?" He asks.

And maybe it's because he asks me permission or because he doesn't look like he pities me, if anything he just looks like he wants to help me get better. I'm used to people treating me with scorn and telling me to suck it up. I'm not used to people silently helping me even when I pretend I don't need it.