I’m talking about what Riley gives me. I got a quick sneak peek of his potential two years ago, and he’s never fully left my mind since. He wasn’t easy to find, always lying low and remaining off everyone’s radar. He bounced from foster home to foster home, changing his name several times. He was practically a ghost in the system after age sixteen. He was halfway out of it and waking up from surgery when we first officially met. He doesn’t remember me, but I’ve never forgotten him or the way his body kept rejecting the anesthesia. He took the pain so well, crying in his sleep with his limbs flailing.
Then he fell into my lap again. He found his way back to me without meaning to, and I don’t think it was a coincidence. More like fate.
His soft snores make their way up the steps when I toss some empty eggshells in the trash by the basement door. I left it open today. I do that from time to time so he can feel freer than he is. He thinks he has a choice, and I want him to keep thinking that.
I want him to come to his own conclusion that staying here permanently is a better decision than any one he’ll ever make. I know he will in time. He belongs here. He belongs with me. I know he can feel it too. It’s in the way he bleeds for me. In the way he easily bruises and keeps injuring himself with almost everything he does. I may have helped some with that last part.
I stir the food, adding more oil and turning up the heat. When the potatoes are golden, I crack four eggs and add them to the sizzling pan. In another I have bacon cooking, and I’m also warming up tortillas I made from scratch three days ago. He really enjoyed them when I made him a quesadilla for lunch yesterday, so I know he’ll enjoy them today too.
I yearn for his happy sounds almost as much as I yearn for his sounds of distress. I turn off the heat when everything is done cooking, then I fill and roll the tacos, placing them on two platesbefore adding them to the table with a bowl of freshly made salsa in the center.
Vibrations echo around me and I pick up my phone, my teeth grinding together. They won’t stop until I answer, but now isn’t a good time. They need to respect that I have other things to take care of and that just because they expect the rest of the world around them to jump when they say, doesn’t mean I will. I owe them absolutely nothing, and they should be glad I’ve stayed away as long as I have. They got what they wanted, didn’t they?
Unless it was only what one of them wanted. Is he jealous again? Does he once again want what he doesn’t have because it looks better when someone else has it? People like him will never be satisfied with anything in life and will always find problems with everything else before admitting to ever having any of his own. Not my problem, though.
“Sam?” A small voice comes from downstairs, and I set a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table before craning my neck.
“I’ll be down in a minute. Everything’s almost ready.”
I don’t get a response and keep looking at the basement door as I finish setting the table. I wash my hands and my eyes practically melt the window as I focus on the reflection of what’s behind me. He doesn’t come up here; he waits for me to return to his room.
“You’re back,” he says, setting down a National Geographic magazine I forgot I left behind when I was waiting for him to wake up earlier.
“I am. You have my magazine.” He looks at his lap and then his eyes snap back to mine.
“You left it down here. Was that not intentional?”
“No, but I’m glad it kept you busy.”
“Yeah. I’m like you. I like reading in bed.”
I chuckle. “And you think that’s what makes you like me?”
“In that sense, yeah. I usually read smutty or paranormal books, but educational shit is good too.”
I blink my eyes, folding my arms. “Educational shit?”
He sputters. ”Yeah. Sorry, I’m a bit of a potty mouth, but I’ve tried my hardest to tone it down while I’ve been here.”
“Don’t. We’re both grown-ups. I can handle a few curse words here and there. I don’t want you to feel you have to hold back on being you in any way.” And I mean that. If he held back one side of himself then he’d hold back on the rest too.
“I’d be careful what you asked for,” he says, setting the book down and scooting to the edge of the bed.
“I’m also grown enough to handle whatever that may be too.” I smirk. “Need help getting up?”
He winces, using the nightstand as leverage to pull himself up. “No. I think I’m okay.” He presses his feet harder to the floor and grunts as he straightens his legs. “I don’t understand. I’ve been doing leg stretches before bed every night.”
He hasn’t, though. Only the nights he’s awake. I know why he’s struggling so hard to stand and catch his balance, but instead of telling him the truth, I say, “You may need to do them in the morning too. We’ll go for a walk after we eat. It’s a nice day out.”
“A walk. Yeah. That sounds nice. Getting fresh air does too. I’ve been in the house for days, so being outside will also help with the restlessness.”
It’s been longer than days. He just doesn’t realize it. Induced commas you’re unaware you’ve put in will cause that. “Yeah. Come on. Take my arm and you can let go when you feel ready.”
He doesn’t release me until we’re in the kitchen and he’s sitting in the chair closest to his plate. I join him, on the opposite side, and he swallows his taco down in two bites.
“So, tacos are your favorite breakfast food, huh?” he asks.
“Yeah. Not just any kind. Breakfast tacos. They’re the best. Chorizo and egg are good too, but I’ll have to pick some more chorizo next grocery trip.”
