Last night, it was a great idea. Drinking so much I couldn’t remember why I was drinking to begin with.
At least, until I did fall asleep. Then, there were dreams of a certain boy who was crying. A boy who was clawing at his body and I was too far away to help him.
Now, at the kitchen table, my eyes kept traveling to Oakley. He stared down at the tabletop, either lost in thought or waiting for orders. His hands were clasped in his lap. And he sucked away at the pacifier, as if he’d had it forever instead of just one night.
Did he find comfort in it? Or was it just a way to try to please me because I gave it to him?
Leaning against the counter, I watched him, which thankfully made the throbbing headache lesson.
He was beyond tired, half asleep as he sat there. He kept nearly falling forward, catching himself each time.
How long had he knelt beside me?
I hadn’t expected him to be there, either. But he seemed to keep surprising me.
He could have run, could have hid, while I was passed out to the world. He had plenty of time to do so.
When he nearly fell forward again, catching himself right before his head hit the table, I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.
The toast wasn’t too warm now, but I still put a slob of butter on the top before taking him a piece.
He jerked when it landed on the table before him. And, since I was right there, I took the pacifier out of his mouth, knowing better to assume he’d do it. It made a pop sound as I did so, and then I slipped it into my pocket.
His eyes went to me quickly before he dropped them back to the food. In that one look, so many expressions crossed his face.
Confusion, thankfulness, sadness, and defeat.
“How are you feeling this morning?” I took my own seat, edging just a bit closer than I had the day before.
I was done fighting to keep space between us. I’d keep things simple, as they have been. My heart wasn’t allowed to enter the picture here, though. Nope. But this boy needed a kind touch, one to show him that I wasn’t like Donny. Because if he had any hope of finding a life, he couldn’t be a scared boy out there in the world.
Oakley lifted a shoulder, picking at his toast.
The cuts on his face were still red, leaving a light bruising behind. I needed to check on his other bruises, but that’d be after I could think a bit clearer. The pain reliever should be kicking in for me soon enough.
“Well,” I started off, causing him to jerk. Was he going to jump every time I talked? Or moved, for thatmatter? “I slept good once the booze hit my system.” Maybe, if I opened up enough, he’d do the same.
Oakley was human, after all. Talking was the first step to anything. or so I assumed.
He flicked his eyes my way before picking more at his toast.
“Eat.”
Only then did he take a small bite, but that was it. Back to picking at his food.
Lifting a hand to his head, he jerked, pulling away before righting himself. He held his breath as I reached out, touching his forehead, fingertips along his hairline.
No fever.
Maybe the anti-anxiety meds I gave him made him feel unwell.
“Oakley?”
Quickly, he pushed a bigger bite into his mouth, nearly gagging at it while he forced it down.
He went to take another bite, but I stopped him by placing a hand on his before it could get to his mouth. He froze, holding his breath for a moment before gasping and forcing a sob back down.
I knew he wouldn’t talk willingly, even if I tried to coax it out of him. Oakley wasn’t a sharing type of boy, which was okay.
