Page 100 of Voices

He takes my hand as we walk into the dark kitchen. I flip on the light and turn to him. “How would you feel if I asked you to stay with me for a little while?”

He bites the corner of his lip before looking up at me and nods.

“Okay.” A slow smile takes over his face.

I kiss the tip of his nose before taking his drink and setting it on the island.

“Go get whatever you need for the rest of the week.”

He looks down at the sweats and my hoodie that he’s wearing.

“Can I stay in this?”

“Of course, baby,” I say holding in a laugh. He can have all my hoodies if it means he’ll stay with me.

He nods and scurries to his room.

I go back into the living room, grab the pill bottle, and turn off the TV. Walking past the bathroom I stop when I see him looking at the wide-open cabinet behind the mirror. He picks up two empty bottles from the sink and places them back on the shelf. He straightens the labels, so they are all facing out then closes the cabinet. He keeps his head down as he walks back to his room, not even seeing me.

I follow him into his room and watch as he shoves underwear, socks, and pajama pants into a black bookbag. He picks up the sketchbook and pencils I gave him the night we went to the lake and adds them to his bag.

I glance over my shoulder at his art room and wonder if he’d want to bring some supplies. I walk to the closed door and I call out to him.

“Do you want me to grab anything from your art room?”

I turn the nob and push the door open, turning on the light as he yells out.

“NO!”

But it’s too late.

It’s a mess in here.

Chunks of dried clay are all over the floor, pencils are snapped in two scattered on his desk, and the drawing he did of me now has a big black X over it and yellow water marks on it with holes where my eyes were.

What the fuck?

“Wait,” Charlie says out of breath as he runs into the room.

“What happened,” I ask as I look around at the destruction.

He pushes the clay out of his way with his bare feet as he walks up to me and takes my hand.

“Nothing. It was my fault. I-I bumped into my table and it fell over.” He pulls on my hand leaning towards the door. “I don’t need anything from here. We can go now,” he says quickly as he tugs my hand.

But I’m not moving until he explains more. I don’t believe him about the sculpture, and I know he wouldn’t snap his expensive pencils. The heat kicks on in that moment, forcing a gust of warm air into the room and the unmistakable scent of piss hits my nose. I turn and see the drawing right next to the vent. I shake off Charlie’s hand and walk closer to it, the smell getting stronger. It becomes clear that the yellow stain is piss when I can’t get closer than a foot away.

That mother fucker!

I turn back to Charlie, but he’s backed up into the door frame looking down, hugging himself. I look back at the drawing and kick one of the legs of the easel, making the whole thing fall over.

I start toward Charlie but stop when I see the closet cracked open. I walk over and open it, expecting more damage. After moving a few things around, nothing looks broken. I spot the corner of the tiger painting and quickly pull it out.

I blow out a relieved breath when I see that it’s as perfect as the last time I saw it.

I tuck it under my arm and close the closet door.

Walking up to Charlie, I wrap an arm around his shoulders as we leave the room.

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