Eliona's War 1: Hesitant Healer

Chapter 60

And Tripp seemed to understand, for he didn't press it further. "If that's what you want, kid."

"It is," Seth sniffled. He unfolded a piece of damp paper towel and blew his nose for the hundredth time, wincing as his reddened nose twinged uncomfortably. The poor thing felt so raw and abused.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled when he was done. He was too drained to feel embarrassed about this whole mess.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Tripp lifted a brow. He glanced at the dirtied tissues littering the floor. "Although I imagine my kitchen will need a good cleaning after this."

Horrified realization had Seth freezing in place. The whole kitchen would have to be disinfected now before they could continue making food. Well, at least the floor and the cabinets and his apron. All of those were damp and snot-infested.

"I'll clean it up."

An amused chuckle came from Tripp. "No, you won't. I'm going to call Hel to take you home. I'm sure she has some hot tea and lasagna for you."

Seth looked up, confused. "Why?"

Tripp rose to his feet, holding out a hand to help Seth do the same. "Just do what your Boss says, all right?"

Seth wanted to argue, but one look at Tripp's stern face was enough to silence any of his objections.

"Good. Now, while you're waiting for your ride, I'd be very happy if you picked up your own mess." Tripp pointed at the crumpled tissues littering the floor. "Just that, and nothing else. Got it?"

Seth nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude. He watched as Tripp left the kitchen before he did as he was asked. Even though his eyes still watered a bit, he managed a shaky smile. At least my boss is nice.

Some time later, he sat quietly on Mrs. Beakor's couch, a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a mug of her strange, spicy tea nestled in both hands. The scent of lasagna permeated her apartment, a lingering remnant of their dinner.

His appetite had been pretty much non-existent, yet he ate half a serving anyway. One did not turn away Mrs. Beakor's lasagna under any condition. Now he stared into the murky brown contents of his mug, exhaustion creeping in.

He still remembered when she'd showed up at the diner in her old car. She hadn't said a single word, but simply came over to him in big strides and wrapped him up in her strong bony arms. He'd been so stunned that he had frozen up.

It hadn't been a comfortable hug. His face had pressed against her shoulder, which was hard and sharp and dug into his cheek. She'd squeezed, one hand coming up to cradle his head. It was awkward. Strange. No one had ever held him like that and he didn't know what to do about it.

But still... he ended up clinging to her like a child. Her arms felt safe. And for a little while, he could almost believe that he'd be safe. That his sister would never return and his mother would never reach him. He'd been awfully embarrassed about the whole thing, but she never said a word about it. Neither had Tripp.

He took a sip of the tea. It was lukewarm now and the spices were almost overpowering. Even that did not help keep his eyes from drooping.

When Mrs. Beakor returned from checking on the neighbor's apartment—she said something about needing to keep an eye on it while her friend was away— he would head back to his own place. There was no way he was going to stay awake for much longer.

This was nice though, he thought, to have someone care enough to go out of their way to pick him up from work, and bring them back to their place just to feed him.