WAKE (Wattpad edition)

39. Hanging by a thread.

He backed away and sank on the edge of the tub, bowing his head to listen until Cary was done.

{Cary}

Cary tipped back onto the grass, tugging open his buttoned collar and letting his arms fall loose at his sides. He was still leaking. The blue chips of sky blurred and cleared through the moving leaves. He felt as if he'd been torn open, with all his organs dragged out and spread on the grass, and he could hardly sort out where everything was supposed to go.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull himself back together. This was no place to fall apart, with charges against him and Jon on a knife-edge and a woman he hardly knew and couldn't yet trust. Painstakingly, he reassembled his insides with the hurting parts hidden down deep and stapled himself securely closed.

{Jon}

Jon's cuts had clotted by the time Cary was done. Jon unfolded from the side of the tub, his head aching. He went out to the front steps to wait, sinking to sit with his arms wrapped against his body and his knees drawn up.

A few minutes passed before Cary appeared around the house. When he noticed Jon, he slowed to a stop. His shoulders were straight and pulled back, and Jon was struck by how tall he was. Cary didn't usually stand tall.

"I heard everything." There was a crack in Jon's voice.

Cary lifted his chin and stillness settled over his body like ice.

"I judged you so wrong, Cary. I'm so—"

"I'm not fucking talking about this with you." Cary cut him off, his voice rubbed raw.

Jon shut his mouth, swallowing. The sting of the cuts he'd made didn't come close to what he deserved for the way he'd treated his friend. He bent his head, hugging his stomach more tightly. "I get that," he said. "I wouldn't be feeling too forgiving if I was you right now either."

Cary turned his face aside, the flat panes of ice shifting so Jon could see the cracks. "Fuck you." It was scraped to a whisper.

Jon got to his feet, trying to find a way to be that didn't hurt Cary more. "Lunch is on the table."

Cary touched the back of his hand to his mouth in a gesture Jon knew well. Jon attempted to lighten the moment. "My mom always says you'll feel better after you've eaten something." Cary made a harsh noise that Jon guessed was as close to a laugh as he was going to get.

Tru was setting the table when they came in, and the air was fragrant with the smell of frying onions. She glanced up, checking the boys over, then went back to laying out mismatched forks. "Made enough for the two of you. You had a long drive here."

"Thank you," Jon said.

Cary went to the sink and washed his hands, leaning down to splash water on his puffy eyes. He dried his face on his shirt without looking at either of them and pulled up a chair.

Jon didn't feel much like speaking, but he did for Cary what he had done during the first weeks of Cary's stay with his family—carried the conversation around his silence. Tru said more to the dogs, who were sitting attentively next to her and accepting scraps from her plate, than she did to either of her guests.

When the meal was over, Cary muttered something about a smoke and went outside. When Jon joined him on the front step, he silently offered him the lit smoke in his fingers. Jon took it gratefully, and Cary bent his head to light another. They didn't speak, but Cary didn't tell him to fuck off again either. Jon wrapped his free arm against his body, wiping his mind blank with each inhale, watching the wind moving in the field of wildflowers beyond the mown path.