WAKE (Wattpad edition)

43. When I pray.

*Trigger warning: conversation about self harm. Read someplace safe, lovelies, you are loved.*

{Cary}

It felt good to lather up that evening in Tru's tiny shower, to get the dirt off his hands and arms, shampoo the sweat out of his hair and let the water sluice over his exhausted body. Cary sighed deeply as he stepped out, finally clean. He towelled off, catching a look at himself in the mirror. Droplets of water tracked down the reflection of his face like tears.

He could hold his own eyes steadily: the scars on the outside of him didn't matter so much—he knew who he was on the inside now. Years of abuse had knotted him into someone who brought hurt to others and himself—but his original shape, the person he was becoming again, was someone who loved and protected others like he had loved and protected his sister when they were small. This knowledge filled his body and made him aware of the length of his arms, the nimbleness of his fingers, the strength of his back—in a way he had never been able to appreciate before.

Jon was sitting in the hall, waiting with his clean change of clothes bundled against his stomach. He ducked into the bathroom as soon as Cary came out in his towel. Cary found the room clean and the blankets tidied. His drawing book was arranged on the pillow. He changed into pyjama pants and stretched on the bed, exhaustion weighing him down.

He paged through his drawings, trying to see them how Jon must have seen them. He realized where Jon's apology had come from—it was there on the page, how isolated Cary had been, how close to a knife edge he'd lived day to day through those long, lonely weeks. He breathed out slowly and closed his eyes. He didn't have words for how good it had felt to hear Jon say that he respected him and wanted him as a friend again. The little criticisms and snide remarks—even just the way Jon had looked at him—had hurt more than he'd been willing to admit. The apology felt like medicine cream, taking the sting out of that wound. Maybe there wouldn't even be a scar.

Jon reappeared, fully dressed, his hair wet and flopping over his forehead. Cary sat up. "You want the bed?"

"You take it. I'm okay." Jon touched his upper rib self-consciously. "Healed up, pretty much. You should have a turn."

Cary slid between the sheets with a sigh. He wasn't going to argue.

Jon paced a step, twitching the blankets back on the floor, but not settling. "You said you...wanted to check my cuts?"

"Oh, yeah," Cary's sleepy voice rumbled in his chest. "You wash them?" Jon was silent, and Cary opened his eyes to look at him.

Jon pulled up his shirt sleeve, uncovering the old cuts, his face pale and his fingers pressing white marks into his skin. Then, shutting his eyes, he lifted the hem of his shirt as well. Cary sat up, biting back a sharp exclamation. There were new cuts repeating down the side of Jon's stomach, like an angry red arrow ending just below his waist.

Cary hid his face, rummaging under the bed for his backpack with first aid supplies, blinking his stinging eyes. "Sit." The tears he wouldn't cry roughened his voice. The bed dipped as Jon sat on the edge. He twitched away from Cary, taking the tube of cream to smear medicine over his stomach himself, then tugging his shirt down and handing it back without looking at him.

"You're gonna have to wear your pants low," Cary said. "Or those will rub." Jon was silent, wiping his fingers on the sheet. Cary pushed Jon's sleeve up his arm, re-applying the cream to the cuts there. Jon kept his face turned away, his ears hot and red. "These are healing. If you leave them a day or two," Cary said. He looked at the side of Jon's face, his fingers tightening a moment on his arm, wishing he could make his friend let them close and heal.