Jellyfish

21. The Choice to Heal

Cain called me at three in the morning, the dawning of February tenth and I was actually grateful for it. I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep and it was doubtful that anyone else had either. Around eleven, when Blair's screeches and banging on the ground floor were still drifting up to me, Winter had come and lain beside me. He didn't ask why we'd fought as the answer was obvious. He didn't ask if I was okay or if there was something I needed because that was not the way we did things. No, Winter had asked me how my date had gone, and it was like my muscles instantly relaxed. I think I rambled until twelve, when Eddy had wrangled hurricane Blair into their room and silence had descended on the house. Winter left when he thought I was dozing, barely dipping the cot when he rose and shuffled down to his room. I was still awake when he and Oliver snuck down at one and left through the front door as if it were a perfectly acceptable time to be going out on an adventure. By three, I thought maybe it would finally happen. Maybe I would get some rest, but as soon as the thought came my phone was buzzing by my head.

"Hello?" I questioned, wondering why in the world he'd choose such an unorthodox time to call.

After a beat of silence, Cain gave me a nervous, "H-hi."

"Do you need something Cain?" I asked already sitting up and chasing the drowsiness from my eyes. I had a feeling I wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon as he sighed.

"My brother sent me a letter," he dragged out, a pregnant pause following. "I'm afraid to open it."

I didn't ask why he'd called me. This is what I'd told him to do, after all. Honestly, it was something that made me feel a bit better after my mentally taxing night because Cain was actually reaching out to me. "What do you want me to do for you?" I inquired again, shoving my feet into a pair of boots and hunting down the jacket I'd discarded about an hour ago.

"Open it," the soft voice came across the line again with an answer I expected. Of course, Cain wouldn't open it himself and he didn't want to ask his friends to do it. He was already convinced they would desert him, how could he ask for more?

I slid softly out of my room and padded down the stairs with the trained elegance of someone who'd done it a thousand times. "It would be hard for me to get there, you know. Could you come out and meet me?"

"Where?"

And that's how I met Cain at a gas station at three thirty in the morning. He didn't know how to get anywhere else apparently, and I didn't really mind as most places were closed this early. We sat on the curb, with the cashier anxiously glancing at us every few minutes from behind his bullet proof glass and the distant chatter of cicadas in the trees. Cain wasn't dressed like he should be, or at least, like I expected. Maybe he'd decided his reputation was already shot to hell, why bother? Whatever the reason, he was wearing slippers and a thick bathrobe when he slipped out of the car, attention focused solely on the letter in his hands. He sat next to me radiating a timid energy I felt only from small children when their parents stepped out of view. It was saddening, but it was still a sign of progress because it was real. So was the little white envelope he hesitantly presses into my hands with a pleading look.

I didn't hesitate like he did. There was no attachment for me to this letter, no reason to hold back so I pulled it out and felt him stiffen beside me. From the ink bleeding through the page I could already tell it was nothing good and I'm sure he could too from the soft sigh and the way he hurried his face in his hands. Sympathetic, I placed a hand on his back and asked, "Do you want me to read it?"

After a minute, he breathed out a rough breath and raised his head. "No," the breathy voice warned of unshed tears as he took the piece from me. "I can do it. Now that I know at least."