Page 4 of Tru Blue
“Shh. Shh. Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He sat on the edge of the bed, holding one sibling against each shoulder. Kennedy continued whimpering, and every sad sound clawed at those strings he thought he no longer possessed like a cat batting at a toy. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and for the first time, he tried to see himself through someone else’s eyes. Tattoos covered his hands and arms, snaked out from beneath his collar and up his neck. He hadn’t shaved in at least a week, maybe longer, and his dark, rain-soaked hair was plastered to his head.
He considered himself to be hard, maybe even cold to some people, and that had never bothered him. But knowing he probably looked scary as hell to the baby sister he had no idea existed until tonight? That made his insides ache in a new and unfamiliar way.
He laid the baby on the bed and pushed his hair away from his face, hoping Kennedy might see that he wasn’t a bad guy. She lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes filled with more worry than a child her age should know. He forced a smile, wanting to ease her fear and knowing damn well that what she’d witnessed tonight was probably just the tip of the iceberg of the scary shit she’d seen in her short life.
“I’m your brother,” he said softly, swallowing past the lump in his throat at the thought of the brother they’d just left behind. “My name’s Truman, and I’ll take care of you from now on.”
Her lower lip trembled again, her eyes welling with tears. He had no idea if those tears were caused by their fucked-up evening, her life in general, or him, but he expected it was a combination of the three. He pulled her to his chest again.
“Shh. I know this is all new, but I promise things will get better now.” He hoped to hell it was the truth. “But first we need to get you cleaned up. Okay?”
He was afraid to leave Lincoln unattended. He carried the sleeping baby, a clean blanket, and Kennedy into the bathroom. He spread out the blanket on the bathroom floor, laid Lincoln down, and filled the bathtub. His mind traveled to dark places. God only knew what their mother would have allowed to happen to his baby sister. He peeled the dirty clothes from Kennedy’s body, silently praying for the precious little girl to be free from scars and bruises, though he knew her real scars would never be visible to the naked eye. He stripped off the heavy, soiled diaper, cringing at the redness peppering her tender skin, and felt sick knowing Lincoln was probably in the same shape.
“Okay, princess, time to get you cleaned up.” He lifted her to set her in the tub, and she dug her nails into his arm, wildly kicking her feet.
“No! No baf!” she cried, pulling her little knees up to her chest to avoid the water.
“Okay,” he said quickly, and gathered her against him as Lincoln stirred. Renewed anger rose to the surface. What the hell had happened to her? He shushed her, holding her shaking body safely against him and ignoring the urine and feces now covering his arm and shirt.
“No baf!” she cried. “No baf! Scawy!”
Lincoln began to cry.
“Shh, okay.” None of this was okay, but he couldn’t let her sleep in her own shit.
He reached for Lincoln, who was now in full-blown screaming mode, and held him in his other arm, smearing his sister’s shit all over the front of the baby’s already disgusting clothes.
“Baby hungy,” she said, and patted Lincoln on the back.
Of course he was. Truman didn’t know much about babies, but everyone knew they needed to eat every few hours. He needed to buy food, and clothes, but first he had to clean the shit from their bodies. He offered the only thing he could to try to calm Kennedy.
“I’ll hold you in the bath. Then I need to get food for your brother. What does he eat?”
She pushed off his shoulder and stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. Christ, how long had it been since they’d eaten? Upon closer inspection, he could see grime under her fingernails. Her hair wasn’t just tangled and matted, it was layered in grease, and he could see her ribs. He had no choice but to do this the hard way, and he knew her rash would hurt like hell when it touched the water. Better to do this fast than mess around and prolong the torture.
