Before the Morning [BEING EDITED]

31 | Jumbled

"I'm fine," he said. He nearly tripped on an empty bowl.

A small laugh.

Her mood had been steadily brightening since he'd started cleaning his room. Apparently, his clumsy rush was entertaining. He couldn't imagine why.

He shoved his clothes into the hamper he barely ever used. By the time he was finished, it was bursting. He hoisted dishes and wrappers into his arms and peered over the tower of cups, bowls, and plates. The room was still cluttered, but good enough.

"I'll be back for some bedding, and then I'll g—"

"No." He stopped, and she fumbled with an attempt to elaborate. "I...can you...would you...?"

He waited.

"Can you stay?" she asked finally.

The fear—it had returned to her eyes. "Yeah," he said. "I'll get my sleeping bag."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

He dumped all of the dishes into the sink, tossed the trash into the trashcan, and changed into his pajamas. Then, he grabbed a sleeping bag and headed back to his bedroom.

Nora was already laying down when he entered. She watched silently as he unraveled his sleeping bag, snagged a pillow, and turned off the light. He inched back to his temporary bed, hands grappling for it in the darkness.

"Thank you," she murmured once he settled.

"No problem."

He stared up at the ceiling. He should try to sleep. But how was he supposed to do that?

He closed his eyes. Nora, through the window, her hand on her cheek. Her dad whipping his hand across her face.

His eyes opened.

Shifting sounded from his bed. "Nolan?"

"Yeah?"

"You...you said a few days."

He hesitated. "Yeah."

Quiet followed. He looked over, but her face, like much of his room, had melded into the darkness. Was she upset? She hadn't sounded mad, but who was to say she would actually agree to stay away from her house for more than one night? The thought of her going back there...

"I just...how will I hide it for that long?"

"Makeup?" he asked.

"I don't have..."

"I'll get you some."

She rolled over, finding him in the darkness. "I can't ask you to do that."

"Yes, you can," he said. "And you're not asking. I'm offering."

She reached out, and he took her hand in his. They laid there like that, neither speaking, until, gradually, her hand slackened in his and her breathing slowed. He waited until he was certain she was asleep before easing his hand back to his side.

He frowned at the ceiling. The night had worn him down to his bones, but he refused to shut his eyes.

What was he going to do?

You know what you have to do.

But how was he supposed to, when it had taken her so much strength to tell him in the first place? When her fear was so palpable?

But her fear was why he had to do it. He couldn't just sit there and let her get hurt because he was afraid to betray her trust.

Tears threatened. He pushed them back with the heels of his palms. Why didn't You save her from this? he demanded. Why did You let this happen?