Crew’s head flew up in an instant. “Excuse me?” He spat his shock and offense at me, a crease between his brows deepening. “These bled, didn’t they?”
There was no time to answer before he was dragging me to the bathroom. I hadn’t felt shame like that in a while, but seeing Crew fuss about with a washcloth and triple antibiotic cream had my face flaming. “Let me do it, baby. I got myself into this mess, let me clean it.”
Apparently, that was the worst thing I could say. “Says the one who insisted on cleaning me up when I cut my thighs. Let me take care of you like you did for me. You can’t just call me ‘baby’ and pretend it’s all fine and dandy.”
He had a point. So I let him clean the scratches, caring for them as intently as I had his wounds before.
“I’m sorry, Price. I didn’t even think about how stressed you’d be with me running off like that.” Crew applied the last bit of cream before rising from his knees in front of me.
I took the tube from him, closing the cap and laying it on the sink counter. “Don’t do that. It’s not your fault.” When he didn’t lookconvinced, I grabbed his chin, not applying enough pressure to hurt but enough to be firm. “Listen to me. There could be a math problem in front of me, and I’d start to itch. Do you fault me for the bruises on your face?”
“Of course not?—”
“Exactly. But I didn’t get to you in time, did I?”
“That’s different?—”
“It isn’t in the way you’re analyzing it. This wasn’t your fault.” I searched his eyes, seeking an unspoken answer in them. Only when his shoulders dropped and the previous storm threatening to brew faded did I relent. “Let’s go eat.”
While we ate, I tried to think of what to do for Christmas. I had a ton of food I’d stocked up on, so I was sure I could whip some sort of dinner up. What I didn’t have was a gift, though.
Nor did I have any decorations because we’d assumed we’d stay at Crew’s house with Willow, and the fake tree I ordered got stuck during delivery. Unless we could trek our way to their house by then and use what they had there, Christmas was going to suck.
Crew pulled the ominous black box forward after pushing his plate away. His mouth softened into an almost sad smile as he took the top off, gazing into it reverently. Something shifted against the walls of the box, rumbling through the otherwise silent dining room.
I piled his empty plate on top of mine and scooted my chair closer to him. “What else is in there?”
He pulled a single, half-used, dried-up bottle of nail polish from the box. It sat between us, a key to almost two decades’ worth of memories I knew I’d never be able to fully grasp. Crew’s lips quirked up in a tight, sad smile. “I painted her nails with this same brand and color probably a hundred times.”
Back then, I could imagine it was a vibrant red. Now, stuck behind the glass of the bottle, it looked dull and lifeless. Something that used to be so full of life, suddenly lost with time.
“This was my seventeenth birthday.” Crew laid a grainy photo on the table. “If I’d known Mom would be dead a year later, I would’ve spent the whole day with her instead of going out and being a menace to society with Willow.”
A younger, though equally hurt Crew stared into the camera lens,one arm wrapped around Willow’s neck. They both wore lazy smiles, carefree and unaware of the upcoming challenges. There were a few bruises underneath Crew’s eye, highlighting his cheekbone like a twisted, dark version of makeup.
Next, he gingerly placed a small, ringed notepad beside the lineup of memories. “This was from the path of our favorite creek. I put a few big books on top to dry it out.” He flipped through a few pages before opening it up to a small, dried four-leaf clover. “We were lucky that day. Found a couple stray dollar bills at the sandy bank. Skipped a few rocks. The last fun thing Willow and I did before Mom died.”
It seemed we reached the end of the box, Crew falling silent as he gazed in front of us. Reaching around him, I tugged him close to my side despite the awkwardness of how we were sitting. “They’re beautiful memories.”
“I wish you could’ve met her,” he whispered, the words soft and bittersweet.
I placed my lips against the side of his head, inhaling the scent of my shampoo in his hair. “Me too.”
After our late breakfast, we packed the black box up—Crew’s notebooks included—and put it away. We kept the TV on in the background as we cuddled on the couch, neither of us in any hurry to get back to real life. For a while, we simply protected the bubble we’d created.
But knowledge was a heavy burden, weighing us down as the hours passed. As Crew relaxed into me, my hands smoothing up and down his back, I breathed a question into existence and waited with tense muscles for a response. “Would you consider therapy?”
I wasn’t the only one who tensed. Crew stiffened in my arms immediately, his once easy, calm breathing ceasing altogether for several moments. “I said I’d try, didn’t I?”
Nodding, I held onto him just a bit tighter. “I think it would help. You know what he did was wrong, but you’re still punishing yourself like you’re the wrong one.”
“Will you go too?” Crew pushed himself off my chest slightly, peering up at me.
Something began to tickle at the base of my inner elbow. I met his gaze, desperately trying to avoid scratching the itch. “Me?”
“You punish yourself too, you know.” His fingers began a tentative, gentle exploration up my arm. “Doing this…” Buzzing descended from my elbow, trailing down to my wrist. “You punish yourself for existing. It’s like you’re trying to claw out of your skin.”
“I…” I was at a loss for words as my world tilted on its axis, slowly being undone.
