Hide N' Seek
Prologue
I sigh and push my bangs out of my eyes. Looking up, I watch the lanky boy on the couch as he groans and turns onto his side.
“Are you feeling any better?” I ask, grabbing the bucket of water and sponge off of the floor.
He groans again and I drop the sponge back into the water. I walk into the kitchen and dump the dirty water down the sink. Reaching into the cupboard, I grab the baking soda from the top shelf.
I walk back into our living-room and shake it over the stain on the carpet.
“Couldn’t even wait until the end of the movie, huh?” I whisper.
I wait for an answer, but all Jack does is burrow himself deeper into the blankets, pretending to be engrossed in the movie we’d been watching before he threw-up on the carpet.
“Right,” I mutter, leaving for the bathroom.
I snatch a towel from the rack that hangs off of the door and use it to cover up the stain. That’s all every towel and wash cloth looks like nowadays anyways: baking soda and blood.
I leave it there and sit back down on the couch. Jack sits up, only to flop back over to rest his head in my lap. I reach over him and pull a spare bowl I’d found in the kitchen closer to where his head is.
“Just in case,” I say softly, running my fingers through his hair.
He nods and pulls the blankets closer to him.
“S’probably just the stomach flu,” he says.
“Right,” I agree, nodding, “Of course.”
“Are you feeling any better?” I ask, grabbing the bucket of water and sponge off of the floor.
He groans again and I drop the sponge back into the water. I walk into the kitchen and dump the dirty water down the sink. Reaching into the cupboard, I grab the baking soda from the top shelf.
I walk back into our living-room and shake it over the stain on the carpet.
“Couldn’t even wait until the end of the movie, huh?” I whisper.
I wait for an answer, but all Jack does is burrow himself deeper into the blankets, pretending to be engrossed in the movie we’d been watching before he threw-up on the carpet.
“Right,” I mutter, leaving for the bathroom.
I snatch a towel from the rack that hangs off of the door and use it to cover up the stain. That’s all every towel and wash cloth looks like nowadays anyways: baking soda and blood.
I leave it there and sit back down on the couch. Jack sits up, only to flop back over to rest his head in my lap. I reach over him and pull a spare bowl I’d found in the kitchen closer to where his head is.
“Just in case,” I say softly, running my fingers through his hair.
He nods and pulls the blankets closer to him.
“S’probably just the stomach flu,” he says.
“Right,” I agree, nodding, “Of course.”