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“Hey,” she replied, voice barely carrying across the expansive space. “Wow,” she said, eyes widening as she caught sight of all of the bags I was carrying.
“Think I bought out the frozen dessert section,” I admitted. “Also picked up some yogurt and applesauce. Gotta have something other than ice cream, but I know the softer shit is better right now,” I added, taking it all out of the bags, so she could see the options.
“You talked to Josie,” she said.
It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. She’s worried about you. I just wanted to tell her you were okay. And she suggested a few things. Here,” I said, passing her the slushie. “Blue raspberry, raspberry, and cherry. In layers,” I added, watching as her lips turned slightly up at the corners. Not a smile. But close.
“We hanging out here, or going back to bed?” I asked.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said, using the scoop end of the spoon to taste her slushie since I was pretty sure sucking on a straw would be pretty miserable.
“I’m staying. Stop making a big deal out of it,” I said, pulling open drawers until I found the utensil one, then handing her a spoon. “It’ll all turn to juice before you can eat it all with that straw.”
“Why are you being so nice?” she asked, gaze cast down.
“Would you like it better if I was being an asshole right now?” I shot back.
“Maybe,” she admitted, this time giving me a small smile.
“Know what I think?” I asked.
“What?”
“I think you aren’t used to anyone wanting to take care of you, so me being here is making you a little emotional. Oh, stop,” I said, rolling my eyes when she opened her mouth to object. Which was pointless. Because even mentioning her emotions had her eyes looking suddenly glassy.
“Listen,” I said, ducking down to keep her gaze. “I want to be here. Helping you isn’t a burden. And it’s perfectly normal to be a little fucking upset about what happened to you.”
I had a feeling that those were things no one had ever said to her before. What with her selfish, loon of a mother and her absent father. Then her complete lack of a close friend group or, it seemed, relationships.
“Stop,” she demanded as a single tear slid free of her lashes and slipped down her cheek.
“Stop giving a shit about you?” I asked, reaching out to catch the tear. “No, baby. That’s not gonna fucking happen. So you might as well get used to it. And for the record, this,” I said, snagging another tear with the side of my finger, “doesn’t bother me. So you don’t gotta bottle it all up.”
That seemed to be what she needed to hear.
Because the second she did, her lower lip wobbled, and the dams broke, sending water pouring down her cheeks.
Her hands went up, pressing into her eyes like she could stem the flow even as I moved around the counter, sidestepping a eating cat, and reaching to pull her against my chest.
“I don’t cry,” she insisted on a hitching voice.
“Of course not,” I agreed, running my hand through her hair as she, in fact, cried into my chest. “You’re just… washing your eyes,” I added, getting a snorting sound out of her before another silent sob racked her body.
Neither of us said anything. We just stood there as she let all the fear and uncertainty and grief work its way through her system.
Her arms went around me after, squeezing hard.
“Baby, can I look at your stomach?” I asked after a couple moments passed. “I’m worried about your ribs,” I admitted as her arms slowly slid from my back.
She said nothing, but she moved back, wiping her eyes, then just… waiting.
Taking the cue, I lifted up the hem of her tank top to just under her breasts.
The skin of her stomach was discolored, mottled with shades of blue, purple, green, and yellow. But not near her ribs. More centered.
Like someone kicked her in the stomach.
