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With his footsteps padding away, I wet the washcloth and put a dollop of soap on it, scrubbing at all the places I can feel the sticky candy clinging to my skin. My hair gets a full dunk and a dog shake once I’ve scrubbed the shit out, and I’m searching out the hall closet for a towel when I hear a clattering sound in the bathroom.
“Blair?” I knock on the door, pushing it open just a crack. “Need anything?”
“Um, I might.” His voice comes out soft and trembled, but like he’s trying to laugh it off. “Got a bit lightheaded.”
I step into the bathroom and close the door to keep the warmth in, spotting Blair with the shower curtain half pulled back and sitting cross-legged in the tub. The showerhead is beating down on him while he blinks through the water dripping down his face.
“Jesus,” I mutter, rushing over and pulling the curtain the rest of the way back to shut off the water. He looks up at me sheepishly, and I can’t help leaning down to brush the wet strands away from his face.
“I don’t think I can stand up,” he says, voice shaking. His hands are folded over his lap, and his knees are raised like he needs to hide his body from me, so I avert my gaze and toggle the showerhead off before putting the water back on.
“Why don’t you sit back in the bath and relax for a bit? I’ll bet you’ll be ready to crash in no time.”
He doesn’t argue, just stares down at the water as it slowly fills the tub, and I decide to give him some space by going to his room and situating his bed.
They say your room is a reflection of who you are, but as put together as Blair always appears, his room looks nothing like it. The black and red comforter is pulled back and rumpled with a t-shirt and boxers thrown on top. I relocate them to the hamper by his closet where a few textbooks sit piled in the corner.
The nail polish he used earlier is sitting on his bedside table with the tops only half twisted back on, and there’s a box of red hair dye beside them that’s unopened and has a thin layer of dust sitting on top.
I close everything up and open the drawer to put them inside, only to find what must be a hoarder’s collection of chapstick. Seriously, there’s at least thirty of these fuckers all in different flavors.
Just as I finish putting his things away, I notice a couple of scattered sticky notes on the table. A few on the headboard. There’s even some on his dresser. They’re none of my business, but curiosity wins out as I look them over one by one.
Shiloh Therapist Appointment: $250
Shiloh New Medication: TBD (set aside $1000)
Rent: $1500, overdue (extension given to 26th)
Dad’s Porch: $500
Jesus, and that’s not even all of them! There’s a gas bill, water bill, and electric bill that all say ‘Dad’ on them. Plus some other miscellaneous ones that sound a lot like things Blair shouldn’t be thinking about much less dealing with. I knew their Dad was an asshole, but I didn’t realize he was putting his son in the middle of gang turf bullshit.
My chest aches and my hands itch to rip up every last note and erase them from Blair’s mind, but it’s not my place. I have to clench my fist and bite down on my lip so hard a sharp metal tang spills across my tongue.
How the hell does he deal with all of this on his own?
Does Shiloh know he does all this?
I can’t imagine he does, or he’d be pissed.
Blair brought a towel into the bathroom with him, so I don’t have to stop at the hall closet when I go to check on him. He’s sitting slouched in the water with his knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around them and chin resting on them as he stares blankly ahead.
I rap on the doorframe, and he turns his head just slightly.
“Feeling better?”
He smiles the barest amount and closes his eyes. “Less fuzzy.”
“I cleared off your bed.” I walk over to the tub and crouch down on my knees. He makes an affirming noise in the back of his throat, but doesn’t otherwise speak. I know I shouldn’t, but I raise my hand to his cheek and stroke it softly. “I’m worried about you.”
“M’fine,” he says on a sigh that makes his entire frame shake.
“You hurt yourself,” I whisper, the first time I’m letting it fully sink in.
It’s not like I’m a stranger to the act; Shiloh struggled with it for years off and on, and I always felt powerless.
This doesn’t feel any better.
