I'll Burn With You (MXM)

Chapter 6 : Benjamin

Ben stared into the distance, dark rings hanging under his eyes as he leaned a little more into the broom handle. The sun, dull in the sky, burned against his skin. The glare from the snow hurt his eyes. He swept the same spot of the general store floor again. His stomach unsettled, Ben could not remove the words used by Miss Byrd from his mind.

"What is wrong with you, Benjamin?"

He blinked, the stinging in his vision gone, yet he still did not move, did not bring his gaze to his father. Ben kept his head down, confused. The dust now gathered in the spaces between the floorboards.

His father grabbed Ben's collar, knuckles burning red marks into the the back of his neck, and his son stumbled. "I've asked you t' sweep," he sighed again, moving back around the counter, "and all you've done is the same spot."

"Papa, send him home," Theodore told him. "It's clear that he's sick 'r somethin'."

Ben grimaced. His shoulders rolled forward.

"I will not excuse his slowness, Theodore, if I believe he can do it," Mr. Price enunciated. He grabbed the inventory ledger and moved back to his son, snatching the broom. "Go make yourself useful 'nd count."

Ben, his eyes still down, nodded. The ledger fell into his arms, cold to the touch. He gingerly clutched the pages and moved back to the storeroom, trying desperately to steady the spinning in his head. 'How is it possible to be so bad at sweeping?' he asked himself, a numbness burning up his arm.

"Honestly, that child, sometimes," his father sighed.

"He hasn't been sleepin'," Theodore noted. "He's never around fer breakfast; he's here all the time. Can't you see that – "

The storeroom door closed behind him, their words falling into a jumble of muffled noises. Ben did not have the energy to make out what they were saying. He did not consider it right, either. He started counting, updating the inventory's numbers before stopping halfway. Ben moved into the corner, pried up the floorboard, and withdrew Miss Byrd's recent letter.

I wonder if you would enjoy having me as a pen-pal.

He let out a sigh, rubbing the creases of the paper with his fingertip. He read it again, always marveling at the penmanship. He read it another time before tucking it away, placing back the floorboard, and continuing to count. The words lingered like a fire's smoke.

"A pen-pal?" he asked quietly, the tip of the pen glide paused as he considered the words. Drawing in a breath of realization, he noted what would need ordering within the week, drafting the next inventory count sheet before stopping. Miss Byrd's sentiment lingered in the back of his mind; it made him feel lightheaded, embarrassed, ashamed. Glancing down, he only realized his mistake when the pen's tip started bleeding through the rest of the ledger. Ben sighed, frowning, placing the pages against his forehead. He stood, waiting, almost expectantly, for punishment.

The storeroom door opened.

He tensed, a whine caught in his throat.

"Ben?" Theodore moved around and pulled down the book from his brother's face. "You okay?"

Ben shook his head. He said nothing, head spinning.

Theodore caught sight of the ink spot already bled through the following four pages. He placed the book on a shelf to the side. "Are you all right?"

Shrugging, he shook his head. "I... I-I'm fine," Ben insisted, reaching for the book again. "Papa told me – "

"Please go tell Papa you need t' go home. You look awful."