Poetry in Motion

22

Penny for one looked very confused when her son practically crashed through the bedroom door and took to ransacking the drawers, "What's the matter?" She had woken up confusedly, still sleepy and watched him with heavy eyes as he paused and looked frantically over at her. Not just frantic, but sad. He looked distraught. "Happy?" She whispered, she sat herself up and held her arms out to him, Arthur's disheartened expression full on broke then as he rushed over and sat on the edge of the bed. Penny reached forwards and enveloped him in her thin arms, she didn't understand what was the matter, but she did know that Arthur needed comforting because something was wrong. "Talk to me."

"El got attacked," Arthur's voice came out muffled as he held onto his mother and buried his face against her shoulder. Others may possibly mock him for being a grown assed man still being comforted like a child by his mother, but Arthur needed something and the familiar warmth was doing somewhat of a trick for him. It didn't soothe him completely, it didn't make him feel any more settled, but it was calming the angry whirlwind of emotions raging around in his skull.

God, he didn't think he had ever felt this angry before. Admittedly, as soon as Imelda moved into the bathroom when he finished the bath, he had got ready for her, he had gone to the kitchen in efforts of making her a drink. What Arthur ended up doing was punching the work surface and head butting the fridge, hard. He didn't like being powerless when it came to her, he had this foolish hope that he could protect her, look after her from the shitty city around them. No matter how much she was clued in to what it truly was like, he had failed there. She had a bad day, too fucking right she had a bad day. His day didn't compare to that.

"Is she okay?" It may have been a ridiculous question, but Penny sounded genuinely concerned as Arthur got put at arm's length. She combed hair from his face and watched him sniff and shrug.

"She's cut, bruised but yeah...she doesn't seem to hurt. But...physical injuries heal, mental ones don't." Arthur said, slowly and thoughtfully, watching as his mother tensed and looked uncomfortable with his words. Yet he had a serious point. How much of this incident was going to stick with Imelda?

"She should stay here tonight; it won't do her any good being alone." Penny sounded rather decisive over the matter.

Arthur nodded; he wasn't intending on letting her go back home alone anyway. "I was finding her some clothes to borrow." He said while looking over to the drawer he had opened before coming over here. He stood and made his way back; he grasped onto a white t-shirt. Tucking it over his arm he found pyjama trousers that had a drawstring. His others didn't fit her, these probably had more luck if she could alter the waistline. "Do you know where the first aid kit is?" He asked, turning and looking to the woman lost within the covers of the bed.

Penny frowned in thought, Arthur hadn't remembered the last time he saw her use it. But he thought he'd ask. "I think it's in the bathroom."

Arthur sucked in breath, he nodded and looked to the door. He left his mother alone for a moment before knocking gently on the bathroom door. "El, I've found some clothes for you. I'll leave them here, also, when you're ready I think the first aid kit is in there with you. Can you bring it out, please?" He used a calming tone, hearing the water sloshing about in the tub before gargling, she had pulled the plug. He looked up when the door opened and she stood there wrapped in a clean towel. In her hands was the kit she found in the cabinet; they exchanged one for the other and she disappeared silently into the room.

Arthur felt heavy, he felt lost in a current that he couldn't swim against. What did he do? Did he push for her to talk, or did he leave her to it? Arthur had learned from his own experiences of talking to someone, sometimes being pushed didn't do any good. He returned to the sofa and put the kit down, finding that it was stocked enough for sorting out her injuries. His eyes flicked up when he heard the door open again, Imelda came out, shuffling along as she had a towel wrapped up on the top of her head and his clothes draping her body. They were still too big, but it didn't matter.