N K Smith - [Old Wounds 03]

by Weight of the World (epub)

  “N-n-no it’s n-nnnot.”

  I studied him. For a while there, before we were boyfriend and girlfriend, his stuttering had gotten better. It still seemed better than when I first met him, but I wondered if there was something about our relationship being defined that made him anxious.

  I didn’t mind his stutter, but he did and I wanted him to feel comfortable. I noticed that when I made reference to it lately, he would tense up.

  His breathing had increased and his hands were twitching. Looking at him was making him nervous, so I pressed my lips together and gave him a smile before getting up and moving to his desk. With presents in hand, I moved back to the bed.

  I held them out to him. “They’re stupid.”

  His expression shifted until it was quizzical as he took the gifts out of my hands.

  “N-n-nnnot stupid.”

  “You say that now because you have no idea what they are. Once that paper’s off …”

  Raising an eyebrow, he silently asked permission to open them. I nodded, but gave a little shrug to let him know that I was nervous about it.

  He unwrapped the smallest one very carefully. I watched as the box was slowly revealed. He turned it over in his hands.

  “I painted it.”

  His smile widened and his fingers found the small clasp and flicked it open. I nibbled on the inside of my cheek, waiting to see what he thought of it. I didn’t know much about giving gifts, but it seemed as though I was getting a little too intense waiting for his reaction.

  The tip of his index finger disappeared into the tiny container and moved the contents around. Inside, I had placed about twenty different guitar picks of every shape and color.

  When he looked up, his smile was huge and relief flooded me.

  “I lllllllove it, Sophie.”

  I bit my lip because his declaration made me uncomfortable. I set the next gift on his knee, anxious for him to open it quickly. I wanted this part over. I didn’t know how to react to all of this.

  He set the box down beside us almost reverently before carefully peeling back the paper and revealing a simple black frame. He turned it over and his eyes focused on it.

  “I-it’s your lllllonely ear.”

  I simply nodded, but I was extremely happy that he remembered the picture from my portfolio.

  He stared at it for long minutes before placing it to the side and squeezing my hands gently.

  He moved quickly, grabbing up the presents on the couch and bringing them to the bed. “J-Jaaaane w-w-wrapped them.”

  I smiled. “Tom wrapped yours. It looks simple, but it always came out looking like shit.”

  He handed me a gift and I took it slowly.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten me anything, Elliott.”

  “You got mmmme ssssomething.”

  I rolled my eyes, the smile remaining. “I know. It’s weird, right?”

  “A-afffter you t-told mmme that you w-weren’t g-g-going to.”

  I smiled, remembering that day in the little bookstore. I looked down at the bedspread and we were quiet.

  “Y-y-you hhhhhave t-to o-open it.”

  I breathed out, cracked my knuckles and focused my eyes on the corner by his closet. The fingers of one hand fiddled with a loose thread on my jeans while the fingers of the other hand smoothed over the gift in my lap.

  “Sophie?”

  “What if I don’t?”

  “W-what?”

  I knew he didn’t understand. I knew there was no possible way he could, but there was a rock in my stomach. There was this burning sensation of dread about opening his gifts. I knew that I would like them. I didn’t have to see what was under the bright paper to know that they would be perfect, but I felt nervous, like I didn’t want them exposed.

  “What if I don’t unwrap them? I mean, I could … take them home and sit them on the shelf and they’ll … I’ll always see them and they’ll remind me of …”

  “B-but then you’ll nnnnever know w-what w-was in them.”

  Finally, unable to put it off any longer, I looked up at him. My voice was thick with emotion even though I tried to suppress it. “I don’t want to burn gifts from you, Elliott.”

  He cocked his head to the side as his hand moved toward me. I clenched my teeth, but didn’t flinch. His index finger traced my scar as his thumb brushed the line of my jaw.

  “Y-your mmmmm-mmmom’s n-not here. A-and eeeeven if you b-b-burned the p-p-p-p, gifts or llllost them, you hhave other things of mine.”

  I tried to think of things I had that belonged to him and other than a rock, two gloves, a hat and some e-mails, I couldn’t come up with anything. “What do I have of yours?” I whispered.

  His thumb brushed under my eye and he gave me a shaky smile. “You hhhhave my hhheart, Sophie.”

  He paused and his eyes seared into me. “And that c-can’t b-be burned.”

  I smiled. “How are you so perfect?”

  He shook his head and I smiled, knowing that he’d try to tell me that he wasn’t.

  I knew the truth, so I changed the subject. “How are you feeling? Better?”

  He nodded and looked at my lap and stroked my cheek again. “O-o-open it, please.”

  I looked down.

  Right. The gifts.

  I opened the first one slowly and removed the paper to reveal a soft leather-bound book. The pages were blank and when I looked at him questioningly, he responded, “Ssssso you c-can write again.”

  The thought of it made me nervous. My arm still ached from the night my mother found my journal. It didn’t surprise me that Elliott had remembered my comment about taking pictures instead of writing.

  I wondered if he had any clue how amazing he was.

  It took a half-hour to unwrap all of the presents he gave me. In addition to the journal, he gave me those books he bought me in D.C., five homemade CDs entitled “Songs That Sophie Likes,” and a new portfolio for my photos.

  I was getting hungry, so I checked my blood sugar. I moved to get off of the bed, but Elliott’s hand caught my wrist and I looked back at him.

  “W-w-will you ask SSSSSStephen if I can w-w-w-watch m-mmmmy …”

  “Have you watched it five times already?”

  He looked down and nodded. “Then he’s not going to let you have it, right?”

  Elliott looked back up at me, the hope in his eyes almost painful. “B-b-b-but if you a-ask hhhhhhe’ll lllllet you ssssssee it.”

  I shook my head and dashed his hope. “He’s not an idiot.”

  I moved off the bed once he dropped my wrist. “Come on, I’ll make you lunch.”

  He shook his head again. I wondered how much he’d eaten since he got sick. It couldn’t have been much.

  It took some coaxing, but he finally came downstairs and ate with me. Then we returned to his bedroom without saying anything to anyone. Maybe he hadn’t said anything to his family all day. He got like that sometimes, using his verbal issues as an excuse to not deal with other people.

  I suppose someone might think lying in a bed all Christmas day was boring as hell and worthy of the title “Worst Christmas Ever,” but not me. So far this was the best Christmas I’d ever had. One year Tom took me to Boston, so I spent three days wishing I lived there, but the doom of going back to Tampa weighed on me.

  This year was wonderful because my head was pillowed on Elliott’s shoulder and my leg was hitched on his, and my body was pressed against his side.

  The only thing that would have made it better was if he wasn’t just getting over the flu and he wasn’t super-bummed about his mom and his brother. He looked better today though; his skin was back to being one color instead of weird splotches of red.

  I knew he was upset that I didn’t ask Dr. Dalton fo
r that video back, but this was one instance where I thought an authority figure had done the right thing. Elliott would’ve watched that thing until his computer pooped out.

  I had no idea how long we’d been lying there, but all of a sudden, he was taking off my shirt and then quickly removing his. I couldn’t even get out, “What are you …” before my pants were gone.

  Except for my bra, I was naked in his bed and the only thing I could think to do was watch him as he pulled off his own pants. I was pretty much rendered speechless after that because the sight of him in dark blue boxer-briefs just about made me faint.

  I wasn’t lying when I’d told him that the anticipation was great, but Elliott in his underwear was going to drive me insane with want.

  I felt frozen, not out of fear, but because I was completely at a loss. I was on my back, propped up on my elbows, knees together and feet apart, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

  His mind had to be going a mile a minute, because I knew that look. He was either fighting a panic attack now that we were both nearly naked, or he was warring with his own thoughts against whatever bible passages were knocking around in there.

  I forced myself to wait and tried to keep my thoughts as clean as possible because otherwise, I could not be held responsible for my actions.

  His hands were curled tightly and I could see the tension in his body. As always, I worried that he would break himself in some way. I was doing nothing to help him and his anxiety didn’t seem to be easing up.

  Moving to my knees, I touched his shoulder and then ran my hand tentatively down his back. He stiffened and drew in a deep breath. He was on his knees as well, so he was still taller than I was in that position. His shoulders hunched and then, ever so slowly, his hands uncurled and moved to my hips. They didn’t linger long though before they slid around my back and he brought me closer to him until his face was buried in my neck.

  He didn’t kiss or lick or nip. He just breathed heavily.

  My arms moved around his shoulders, one hand finding the hair at the base of his head and scratching it gently.

  “Elliott,” I said quietly, using his name to draw him out of whatever darkness existed in his mind. “This isn’t really you, you know?”

  He took his time answering, but when he did, it was impossible not to hear the conviction in his voice. “It c-can be.”

  Absolutely nothing sexual happened, even though it was clear that his body was ready for it, and so was I.

  We sort of eased down onto the bed and his head was on my chest while he lay on his side. We were in exactly the opposite positions as we were when we were fully clothed. His breathing began to slow with each passing moment.

  The intensity of this situation threatened to mess with my calm. I didn’t really know how to handle any of this. I didn’t know what was going on with me, but I never would have thought that I could stick around this long to get to know him this well.

  A shiver ran through me and the stillness of our moment together was broken. Elliott moved, but only to pull the blue knit blanket folded on the foot of his bed up over us. He resumed his position next to me and we just held each other under the covers.

  It was strange and weirdly exciting.

  Everything with Elliott was strange and exciting.

  It was all new. New for him, and new for me.

  I fell asleep and when I awoke, I found him still sleeping. I rolled to my side, careful not to disturb him too much. His arm was draped over my waist and his head was now on my bicep.

  He looked so much like a peaceful child when he slept, but I knew as soon as his eyes opened, I would be greeted by the deep hazel eyes that had seen too much. I was too much in the moment to really study his scars when he was kneeling before me, but I could see that the serpentine lines that covered nearly all of his back and shoulders extended down past the elastic of his underwear. They continued down his thighs, almost to the backside of his knees.

  Thinking about them made me sad and drove home that while he might look like a sleeping child, Elliott hadn’t been a child in a really long time.

  Just like me.

  I pushed back the hair that was hanging over his forehead and in his sleep, he smiled.

  “Tell me about your mom.” It seemed like Elliott needed to work shit out and while I didn’t need to hear about brains splattering and blood gushing, I figured that perhaps he’d like to tell me something good that he remembered about her when she was alive. Plus, I thought it might make him slightly more comfortable given our current position.

  “Sssshe had r-r-r-red hair.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled, once again brushing the hair off his forehead as we lay there, our nearly naked bodies pressed against each other.

  “I kind of gathered that, Elliott. Tell me something else.”

  He thought for a moment, his eyes closing as I ran my fingers through his hair. “Sssshe liiiiked coffee.”

  “And had a beautiful voice,” I added. It was one of the only good things I knew about her.

  “Ssssshe d-didn’t t-t-talk a lot.”

  “Like you.”

  His voice was sad. “Liiiike mmmme.”

  Something about the way he said it made me wonder. “Did she stutter, too?”’

  I’d Googled that shit. One article had mentioned that it could run in families.

  His eyes opened, but he rolled onto his back and looked away from me. “I d-don’t know.”

  “No? You don’t remember or you don’t know?”

  His sigh was exaggerated and heavy.

  I knew I shouldn’t have asked. “Why do you get mad when I say stuff about your stutter?”

  He didn’t say anything as I scooted closer to him, but after a while, he answered. “I’m nnnnnot mmmmmad.”

  “Bullshit.”

  His eyes opened and he turned his head to me. “Because I d-don’t wwwwwwant to sssst-sssst-stutter, Sophie. I don’ t wwwwwwant you t-t-to know I’m d-d-d-d-different. B-because I don’t w-w-w-w …”

  He was turning red with the force of his words and it upset me that he was so clearly frustrated.

  “Baby, stop.” I was trying to console him, to make him feel better, but he sat up and cut me off.

  “I hhhhhhhate it.”

  I had to remind myself not to look at his back, and to focus on his face.

  “I hhhhhhhhate that I hhhhhhave f-f-ffffifty m-m-million thoughts to ssssshare b-b-but I c-c-can’t even gg-ggg-ggget out one!”

  He took a deep breath as I sat up. I kissed his shoulder and tried to think of something to make it better. “Look on the bright side. You’ve had a pretty girl almost naked in your bed all day. Most seventeen-year-old guys can’t say that.”

  Elliott looked at me and I wasn’t sure if he was going to take the bait. “You’re b-beautiful.”

  I took his hand and placed it on my breast. Even though he’d touched me like this before, he still gasped. I placed my other hand on his back. “Why are you so scared of this?”

  He looked at me for a moment more before shifting his eyes away. “B-b-because I …” He stopped and swallowed hard. “I hhhhhave m-m-m-more ssssscars than jjjjust the ones on my back.”

  I didn’t know exactly what he was talking about, but I did know that there was no scar bad enough to make me not want him. “I don’t mind.”

  “B-b-b-but I d-do.” He took a quick look at me before shifting his entire body away from me. “A-and you w-w-wwwwill, t-too. You jjjjjust d-don’t know it yet.”

  “What does that mean?” I still had one hand on his back and I moved the other to his chest, but again, he shifted, moving to sit on the edge of his bed, his back toward me.

  He didn’t answer. Instead we spent the next hour sitting with my back to him, between his legs.

&nbs
p; It didn’t lead to anything more, but that wasn’t what this was about. This whole day seemed to be about slowly increasing his level of comfort with me. I had no idea what he had meant when he said he had more scars than just the ones on his back. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but regardless of what physical signs of trauma still lingered, it was obvious that Elliott was trying to move past the mental and emotional trauma.

  My time with Elliott ended awkwardly. With our clothes back on, he asked one more time if I would see if Dr. Dalton would let him watch that damn video again. I felt so bad for him, but there was nothing I could do. I didn’t feel comfortable asking and I certainly didn’t think he needed to see it again today.

  It was the kind of thing people obsessed over and it wasn’t hard to see Elliott getting so absorbed in the video of his mother singing in a blue dress that he forgot about everything else.

  His hands tightened on mine when I told him no, but not painfully so. His neck was bent and I swear I felt a tear-drop and land on my shoe, but I didn’t look him in the eye to see if he was really crying. He wouldn’t have liked that.

  Instead, I closed my eyes and kissed him softly.

  We didn’t have school until after New Year’s. Mostly I hung out with Elliott and went to work. It seemed that all I did was worry about him. He stayed fixated on the video of his mother and while I never wanted to see my mother again, I understood why he would latch onto her image.

  I didn’t know how to help, so I just tried to be there for him. I attempted to reason with him when he’d made a copy of the disk and could watch it any time he wanted. I loved his rebellious streak and for the most part wanted to yell “Fuck you” with him to every authority figure that tried to control our actions, but it was painful to be around him every time he saw and heard his mother sing.

  He was always excited about her blue dress, quiet when her voice began, smiled when she did, and nearly caved in on himself every single time she held him on-screen. It was heartbreaking and I couldn’t believe how much I hurt for him.

  I asked him to only watch it a few times a day. I didn’t specify a number like Dr. Dalton had, but he needed to control that shit before it was the only thing he did all day.