WAKE (Wattpad edition)

41. Hard enough.

{Cary}

A tap-tap-tap woke Cary, and he opened his eyes, blinking at Jon's worried face peering in through the window. "How come you slept out here?" Jon asked.

Cary climbed stiffly out of the car, stretching tall, reaching his hands to brush the sky. "Weird dreams."

"Nightmares again?"

"Kind of." Cary leaned into the warm cave of the car, gathering his drawing book. Just touching it bumped against his anger again, like finding a large piece of furniture in what had previously been an empty room. He folded the cover down over the pages he had worked on during the night, noticing the space inside him that was full of feelings now, just sitting there full-sized and real.

He touched Jon with a look, seeing his pinched expression and the way he darted his eyes away like he couldn't bear to look at him directly. Or have Cary look directly at him.

Cary knew where his anger belonged now, and that made it possible for the rest of his feelings to be in the right places inside him. He recognized hurt and sadness in the feelings attached to Jon—he wasn't angry at him anymore.

"What are those?" Jon asked hesitantly. "I notice you draw a lot—are you working on something?"

Cary tried to tidy up the uneven stack of pages stuffed between the covers of his drawing book. A bunch of shit from his childhood was in there—and Split-lip, and the pool of tears. He didn't know how to describe it. "You want to see it?"

Jon nodded.

Cary let his eyes rest on his friend's bowed head, wishing Split-lip could be as real for Jon as he was for him. He held out the book, and Jon touched him with a quick look, his eyes wide with surprise, taking it.

Jon trailed after him into the house, hugging the book against his chest. Cary stood in the tiny kitchen, feeling his stomach rumble. "Tru's not here," Jon said. "I checked when I was looking for you."

Cary started to open one cupboard after another. "Your appetite back yet?"

"Kind of," Jon said.

He gently shut the cupboards again, glancing out the window like Tru might hear them. There wasn't anything quick to eat, unless they wanted to open another can of chili. A ceramic bowl of eggs sat on the counter, their shells soft shades of pink and brown, and a cast iron pan gleamed black on the stove.

He lit the burner underneath it and started cracking the eggs. The yolks were a startling dark yellow color—nothing like the pale specimens Jon's mom brought back from the grocery store.

Tru came in as he was scrambling the eggs in the pan. Cary glanced sideways at her, catching her giving him a similar look as she shrugged out of a faded pair of coveralls. "Helped yourself, I see," she said.

"I can give you something for groceries," Cary said.

"Ain't much here I didn't grow myself or get from my own animals. Need to get into town for some bread, maybe."

Cary gave her a quick look. "You always live alone?" he tried.

She brushed the question aside. "Just about. Never met a person I liked as good as my own self. Ain't seen no one here in years, and now you two."

He lifted the pan and pushed eggs onto a plate. He leaned against the counter to eat standing up, the heat of the stove next to his hip, too hungry to wait another minute. "Can I have something to drink?" He put his hand over his mouth, speaking while it was still full.

She brought a pottery pitcher out of the fridge, pouring a tall glass of milk. Setting the glass on the counter between them, she crossed her arms, watching him sideways. He paused from shoveling the eggs in his mouth to wash his breakfast down with a long cold draft. Everything tasted so good today—he couldn't tell if it was the farm food or having his body full again.