Page 13 of Missed Steps
I could very well have insisted I do it, but I think I have a good enough read on Mark’s personality now to know he’ll be happier doing it instead. So I let him walk me to the couch and make me sit. He has no questions as he enters the kitchen, knowing this time where everything is. I clear a small space on the textbook-filled coffee table so we can place our cups down on the wood and not papers today.
Mark does that thing I didn’t like from yesterday, and sits at my left side. He sips his tea as I do, and his gaze darts down. He sees something that makes him frown. He sets the cup into the space I made and plucks what he was frowning at from the ground. He holds up the unopened bruising cream and fixes me with an accusatory glare.
“You didn’t use it,” Mark says, scowling. His tone reminds me of times that I’ve gone in for very rough, full-contact tackles that ended in both of us wiped out on the grass or court. He’d always say,you’ll break something,while scowling. Now, I’m wondering was that a concerned scowl on my behalf rather than the self-concerned anger I’d taken it for at the time.
“I have my own cream that I used.”
“Liar.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Mark is right and he knows it.
“You snapped at me at lunch,” Mark says suddenly.
I cringe, remembering. “I’m sorry.”
“If you’re sorry, let me apply this.” Mark follows up so quickly, so surely, and so promptly that he beganhissentence before I finished mine. I blink in surprise, stunned, as I register his little trap.
“Don’t be sneaky, Mark,” I say.
Mark places his hand on my thigh. I don’t tense up the same way I did yesterday. I guess I’m more used to his touch this time.
“You promised you’d put it on.”
I did. And ultimately, I determined that would involve looking at my leg in the light to find the bruises, so I decided against it. I grunt when I see Mark waiting for an answer.
It’s a mistake.
Mark is incensed. I listen to his unending arguments for a solid five minutes as I sip my tea before groaning in exasperation. “I don’t like looking at it,” I admit, finally.
“I’ll blindfold you, then,” Mark says, surely.
I blink. It takes me a second to formulate a response. “That’s stupid,” is what I manage.
“Is it?” Mark challenges. “You didn’t mind me examining your prosthetic yesterday. And if I do it all while you’re blindfolded, you won’t have to see anything you don’t want to. And I’ll be able to ice down what’s swollen and get bruising cream where it needs to be.”
“Why did I invite you in again?”
Mark rubs my thigh as he leans in. “Come on, Kyle. You had a bad fall. You know you need treatment.”
I don’t like how persuasive he is. I swallow as I think about it. “It’s all scarred, you know. It’s not smooth skin.”
“I figured,” Mark says. “It doesn’t bother me.”
I think about it some more. Truly, I think the idea of Mark seeing my leg bothers me less than seeing it myself. His attitude about it put me at ease a little, and I know that he’s not going to do anything bad. Even if he thinks something like,oh that’s disgusting, he won’t tell me.
“Where do you keep your scarves?” Mark asks. He sees that he’s won the fight.
“I don’t own any.”
“I saw you wearing one a few weeks ago. The teal green one? The day of the storm?” Mark prompts.
“Oh, yes, Bethany lent it to me. It might be hanging up by the front door?”
Mark goes to check and I fidget. Am I really on board with this plan? It’s good to get the cream on, but it’s very exposing…
Mark returns with the teal scarf. As I brace myself, Mark touches the back of my hand. I look down, seeing the end of my hoodie bunched up in a fist. I slowly relax my grip under Mark’s touch. He kneels on the floor between my legs, gazing up at my face. “I swear I’ll be gentle, Kyle,” he says seriously.
Our eyes hold for a long while before I can nod.
