In The Sight of These Hills (Dolan Twins)

What The Water Gave Me

Chapter 22: What The Water Gave Me

For a moment, he forgot where he was lying on the floor. When he woke up in Grayson's make-shift nest that morning he felt warm under all the thick blankets, yet Gray was not lying there with him. When he pulled them away the chill caught him in its icy claws, and he flinched at the sensation. He checked his phone, noting that he had at least two hours before they needed to be at school.

"Gray!" He had whispered-yelled, but there was nothing but the darkness of the guest room and the light creeping under the door from the hallway.

He groaned as he got up, not knowing if it was from sleeping on the floor, despite how many blankets his brother had laid down, or because of the soreness of his bruised body. Maybe both.

He thought of what the day would bring as he brushed his teeth, looking at himself in the chilled bathroom mirror. The bruise on his face was fading slowly, but he looked much healthier than when he just got out of the hospital. He brushed back and forth hard. When he finally spat it out, there was bits of red in the whiteness of the foam.

He thought suddenly of what it meant to be a decent human being. He thought about what it meant to be alive, and to be breathing, and to have a conscience. He thought about the information he had in his bookbag. He thought about how he was going to get into contact with Susan Carpenter without Grayson knowing. He was going to tell him about the Monkshood, or at least the prospect of it. In fact, it had been on the tip of his tongue. But Gray wasn't acting right, and he wasn't going to risk anything. What if Grayson was beginning to enjoy it, whatever "it" was, too much? What if, and he had no idea, the werewolf inside of him was taking control? He was thinking deeply. So deeply, in fact, that he forgot to turn the water off. It splashed hot and steamy, warm against the chill of the air, the chill of the house, the chill inside of his chest.

The image of what happened flashed in his head like that of lightning hitting an old, decayed oak tree at just the right angle to cause a fire, burning it up. He was picturing Saturday night. He was imagining the tearing, the horrendous growling like a car motor, how he sensed a predator near him, the fear he felt when it touched his back, fingers on the vulnerable part that was his spine, and how easy it would've been to kill him. He remembered not knowing it had been Grayson who had taken him in his arms, who had whispered in his ear that everything would be okay as the rain dripped into his hair, onto his cheeks.

He leaned against the counter for a moment, feeling the edge of it, the way that his hands felt pushing at him, and then he released it. He turned off the tap when the steam began to fog up the mirror.

Grayson would be there at the table as he had changed his clothes right before school, staring at the maple table.

"You okay?" Ethan had asked lightly, watching as his brother's unemotional face trace over him. He was just standing there in the kitchen. Ethan noticed that his feet were bare, dirty, and a few leaves were stuck onto his jogging pants. His hair was also a disheveled mess.

"Yeah," Grayson finally said as Ethan moved in the kitchen, pulling out a box of cereal, already knowing well enough that Grayson wouldn't want any. He had been out already, he guessed.

~

The Thursday air was crisp and cold, nipping at Ethan's nose and his bare throat. It was now coat weather, it seemed, and he felt his thick navy sweatshirt pull at his shoulders. His feet hit the concrete hard as he watched the leaves slowly spin to the ground from the trees grounded against the sidewalk: reds, and oranges, and sunny yellows. He felt his brother beside him, the way he was breathing, the way he was.