Cut
Nick came in after Aaron was already
done, curled up on the bed with a Scooby Doo bandaid on his arm, just below the
elbow. He was halfway to napping, eyes closed, but when Nick sat on the bed
behind him, he turned over and smiled sleepily. “Hey.”
Nick tried to
smile, but it felt weak. “Hey.” He touched the bandage on Aaron’s arm, thought
of the cut beneath it, of pure golden skin interrupted. “You ever gonna stop
doing this? Cause I can get the razors taken out of the bathrooms in your hotel
rooms if you don’t. I can get them taken off the bus.” His voice was harsh but
his hands petted softly, careful not to press too hard, careful of hurting
somebody who was already hurt.
“I’d find other things,” Aaron said. “I’m
not going to stop.” He smiled like a setting sun and sat up, pulling his shirt
over his head. “But I promise I’ll always show you all my
scars.”