Aurora and Cyrus returned with smiling faces and a steaming cup of heaven.
I sipped it as soon as it was placed in my hands. It was like chocolate had been melted down into its purest form and someone put white fluffy things in it.
“This is really good.” I noted.
Ignoring my words, Aurora said, “I need to treat your leg a little more, okay?”
Who cared about my leg anymore? It was wrapped up. What was the worst that could happen? I said yes as I put my face to the cup and slurped another mouthful of cocoa.
Aurora hurried off as if she was in some sort of rush and left Cyrus alone with me.
We sat quietly as I drank the hot cocoa. As soon as I had drunk all of the liquid part, I used my finger to scrape the sweet white fluff from the bottom.
“Mm, Cyrus? What are these white things?”
“Marshmallows.” he said. “They’re good, aren’t they?”
It was proof enough when I had licked my finger.
A crooked smile grew on Cyrus’s face. Two rows of straight white teeth shone at me through his lips. He had a very nice smile.
Something I hadn’t noticed before. Actually, there were a lot of things I hadn’t noticed about Cyrus. Sitting so close, I could see the faint freckles on his nose. I could also see that his eyes were indeed a beautiful blue, but around the very edge, there was a ring of hazel. He also had this half smile he did whenever I did something he thought was quirky. An example being my question about the marshmallows.
I found myself staring at him like an idiot for a while, and was snapped out of it when Aurora returned.
In her hands she had a bag of something, as well as new gauze and gloves.
The contents of the bag definitely did not look professional at all. Whatever the stuff was, it was homemade.
A shiver passed through me and I grew insanely cold again.
To my surprise, Cyrus noticed this, slid his hand under the blanket and rubbed my arm vigorously, in hopes of keeping me warm. It was a nice thought.
I watched as Aurora unraveled the gauze.
Something smelling like death filled my nostrils. My nose crinkled due to the scent. It was hard to believe something so noxious could come from my body.
On top of that, when Aurora opened the bag, whatever was in it caused my eyes to water.
“Gosh, mom. What is that?” Cyrus said, as he wiped tears from the inner corners of his eyes.
Aurora didn’t even look up to acknowledge Cyrus before replying.
“Very, very finely diced onions.”
At this, she used a popsicle stick to smear them on. It stung. A lot.
Before he could ask, Aurora provided him with, “Helps prevent infection.”
When Cyrus stayed silent, I was busy trying to cope with the stinging sensation that now coursed all throughout my leg.
Cyrus grabbed my hand and squeezed it, this time intertwining our fingers instead of cupping them. Aurora looked up, and took a moment to double take before smiling inwardly and continuing to patch me up.
I didn’t give this transaction a second thought though, not until later, of course. This was partially due to the blazing feeling that consumed my leg and my mind.
Pain is all in your head. I told myself. Pain is just a feeling.
That got me through it.
That, and the constant pressure of Cyrus’s large, calloused hands.
In a random throe of anguish, Cyrus took his other hand and placed it on the back of the same one he was holding.
I got that weird warm feeling again. It started in the pit of my stomach, and it was steadily growing. Its presence ultimately confused me, just as the last time, but only this time, I didn’t push it away.
We stayed that way for the remaining time it took to apply the onion paste, and even after it was done, we didn’t let go.
Not at first, anyways, but after we realized it, we let go as if we had been holding onto an electric fence.
Aurora gathered her materials, an ear to ear grin on her face as she walked away. Cyrus returned this gesture with a foreboding eyebrow raise.
I laughed to myself at the childish exchange and righted myself so that I could return to Cyrus’s room where I felt most comfortable.
Cyrus helped me, with his hand on the small of my back as I got onto my wobbly leg. We slowly made our way to Cyrus’s room, where I assumed my position on his bed, and he assumed his in his swivel chair.
We didn’t make eye contact, or even speak, so he began to leaf through his drawings. Since they were scattered across his desk, he started to organize them into piles. Inventory, almost.
After a few minutes, I watched as his perfect features molded into a look of bewilderment.
I didn’t say anything, because I knew why his features had changed. The picture.
The one that was hastily folded in my pocket instead of being perfectly pristine upon his desktop. I could imagine the creases as they slowly, yet diligently frayed and smudged the delicately placed pencil strokes. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to take the picture out, look at it, and tuck it away once more, just so I could keep it for myself.
Cyrus muttered something incoherent.
‘Can love last forever?’
What could that possibly mean? Especially to a boy as mysterious as Cyrus?
Which reminded me, Cyrus knew about everything there was to know about me, yet I knew not a thing about him.
I grunted to myself in frustration.
This made Cyrus jump, as if he’d just realized I was there. Along with this, he had dropped the problem of the missing portrait, although the face he’d made had made me felt guiltier than ever.
He looked at me like I had to say something, but when I didn’t, he asked, “So, whatcha want to do?”
I shrugged.
“C’mon, dude.” he groaned. “Brainstorm!”
I felt my face as it contorted into the most screwed up expression it had ever obtained.
“Oh, right…” he chortled, mostly to himself. “You don’t know the lingo, do you?”
At the word ‘lingo’, my face only scrunched up more and this caused Cyrus to hoot and holler. Once he’d calmed down, he got up from his chair, and held up his hand, indicating me to stay there.
As if I could move.
This made me smile. But I waited, anyway.
When he returned, he had a book in one hand.
In a large font, it said “Webster’s guide to modern language”.
Without him saying a thing, I spoke up. “Define modern.”
He half smiled.
The one I liked.
“Old.” he winked and placed it in my lap. “If you ever have trouble interpreting me or my family, use it.”
I riffled through the pages only to see quick glimpses of words I’d never dreamed of.
Some that I had heard of though. Ones like “shit”, “damn”, “ass”, “hell”, and many more of the Forbidden Words. Many words that I had grown desensitized to since arriving in Cyrus’s household.
When I looked back up, Cyrus was slaving over his papers again, flipping through them frantically.
As if I was oblivious, I spoke up to him about the drawings for the first time.
“What are those?”
My voice made him jump. “What are what?” he looked astonished. “Oh, these?”
He held up a hefty stack of paper. Looking at me, then back to the papers, then once more at me he answered. “Pictures. Ones that I drew.”
I acted like it surprised me. I drew my mouth into an “o” shape and raised my brows slightly, adding to the effect.
“Can I have a look?” I posed the question timidly, seeing how defensive and secretive he was about them.
First, he was hesitant, and then as if something grim came over his mind, he nodded.
A stack of papers was set upon my lap, and I eagerly (but not too eagerly) sifted through the beautiful pictures.
There were pictures of dogs, his mother, a chicken, clumps of trees, and even a beautiful sunset. Even through the black and white I could feel the sticky heat of day slowly meld into the airy coolness of night. Trees were detailed to the very leaf, and chickens to the very feather. They were nothing short of gorgeous. I found myself lost in the craftsmanship, the utter emotion that was so effortlessly drawn into each one.
He watched me intently; studying me for my reaction. Obviously, he was very vulnerable when it came to his sketches.
I found myself speechless, seeing the drawings up close for the first time. I wanted to run my fingers over the lines, but I knew better, I knew that such a thing would smear the things that he took so long to draw.
“I can’t find words for these…” even then, I found myself losing myself in the mystique of a desert sandstorm.
“It’s a gift.” I managed to say. “Nothing less than that, Cyrus.”
His worrisome eyes, which had been filled with anticipation, warmed. “Really?”
This answer had caught me off guard. “Yeah, what else could it be?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, nobody really pays attention to them.”
I reached over to him and shoved his shoulder playfully. “You’re joking.”
When his straight face remained just that, I realized he wasn’t joking.
I took a moment to look at my modern dictionary before saying, “Dude.”
This made him smile, but weakly. Not the half smile I so much adored.
“My mom is the only one who pays the slightest attention.” he reached over and took the pictures from my lap, delicately placing them back upon his desk.
“Until now.” I smiled reassuringly.
Once again, that picture felt like a two-ton anvil in my pocket.
But my words had brought the pride into his eyes again, almost as if I had ignited a flame inside of him.
He took a moment and looked at the drawings longingly. “I haven’t drawn in a while, though.”
I didn’t hesitate to reply. “Then draw. Right here, right now. I’ll read my foreigner’s manual while you do that.”
I waved the dictionary in the air, causing him to laugh.
I didn’t need to try and convince him, because in no time, he was scribbling away.
This made me smile.
Like I had promised, I picked up my dictionary, cracked it open, and began to study.
There were many words that I probably wouldn’t remember. But my few favorites were ratchet, vampire, and dude.
I found myself reading the definition for vampire over and over again. I mean really? A bloodsucking, humanoid creature which never slept, was extremely pale, and had flawless beauty? Not to mention the controversy between whether they melted or glittered in sunlight.
It made me laugh out loud, and constantly kept a faint smile on my face.
Looking further into the subject, I found out that there were books about vampires. The character’s names were cited within the dictionary. Edward Cullen; from the Twilight series. Dracula from the book Dracula.
I never could imagine myself ever reading such a book, but the thought that these had once been classics made me giggle.
Actually, a lot of the dictionary was funny. Especially things like werewolves, aliens, zombies, and superheroes. I liked thinking about them, though.
What I wouldn’t give to be like Superman. Or Clark Kent. Whichever you prefer.
After hours of grinning to myself and reading about the Pre-Landies’ pop culture, I finally set the book down.
Of course, Cyrus was still hunched over his desk drawing his picture.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I inquired.
He didn’t reply, but instead finished some last touches on the picture and looked at it for himself.
“You’re done?”
He nodded, still looking at and admiring his handiwork.
“I like to use real things as my subject. Things I can see, things that I can touch, if I can. Whether it’s from a picture or something around me, it always seems to make my drawings capture feeling.” he explained.
After he finished his small speech, he handed me the picture.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
It was me.
I was lying in bed, a small smile on my face, and huddling over a book. My long black hair fell in a curtain on one side, and on the other, he pictured my emerald green eyes and full lips. It was like staring in a mirror.
My happiness was practically tangible through the picture… and it took my breath away.
“You’re amazing. I just… you’re… you’re really good.” I found myself using general words, but my stumbling perhaps stressed the beauty of the photo more than any words could, anyways.
“The picture is only as beautiful as its model.” he said, half smiling in his irresistible way.
As if I already had no idea what to say, now Cyrus had just called me beautiful. Now I was truly speechless. He smiled at my lack of words.
I shook my head, as if it wasn’t real. But Cyrus took this as me calling myself ugly.
“Just look at you.” he reached over and took some of my hair in his hand, smoothing it in between his strong fingers.
I felt myself blush, which I’d never exactly done before, and beamed. Cyrus took his hand from my hair and placed it on my cheek, right over one of my dimples. I put my hand tenderly on top of his, as if I was making sure this was real. As if I couldn’t believe that Cyrus would ever call me beautiful.
It was preposterous. The thought of a boy like him falling for a girl like me… especially in the circumstances we were under.
His thumb started to trace figure eights on my cheek. We sat that way for a while, just looking at each other. Soaking it in.
By then, I had his eyes memorized. The brilliant blue ringed with his mother’s hazel eye color. The long eyelashes that casted slivers of shadows.
I began to tremble with the cold, and had to pull my hand away to hike the covers up.
At that, Cyrus looked sad, as if he knew something I didn’t.