Kit’s POV
Awkward. That was the best way to describe the feeling that filled the air of the cabin. Just awkward.
I don’t know where he went after he left but the second he came back that awkward air returned.
He hadn’t said a word to me when he opened the door. He didn’t even spare me a glance when he made his way over to his bed. Hell, even the bed didn’t make a sound when he sat on it, unlike mine that creaks at every movement.
I’ve always been told that I was too talkative, too friendly, too much of a people person but what could I say? I liked people! I like talking! I liked not having to sit in silence but it seemed that my new roommate was the exact opposite of me.
He almost seemed content just sitting in the center of his bed. He didn’t fidget, didn’t look up from the sheets, he just sat there, the only movement he made was from breathing.
I was only able to last a few more minutes before the silence was too unbearable.
“Have you made any friends yet,” I asked. I had tried to keep my voice low and gentle like Andrew but it didn’t do any good, he still nearly jumped out of his skin, as if he didn’t realize I had been here the whole time.
His eyes went wide as he stared at me like a deer caught in the headlights. Every bit of peace Roland ever experienced seemed to leave his body all at once as his eyes tracked every movement I made, from my shirt moving from my breathing to the slight fidgets of my fingertips, he took note of all of it.
He doesn’t answer my question and I can’t say I’m surprised based on his reaction.
“I was thinking we could go to the art class sometime this week? Andrew said we could make stuff to decorate with and that seemed fun. Anything to make it feel more like home right?”
Roland still didn’t say a word but his expression gave away the thought running through his mind. The light scowl he couldn’t hide, the way his nose scrunched up in disgust; it gave a clear message: this place could never be home.
I felt bad for him. I’d been through this for years now. The constant moving, the foster homes, the rehab centers, the boarding schools. Each time you get dropped off and look around you get that whisper in your head that says home would be better than this shithole. Then after a few days, if it was a good place, the feeling would lessen until it slowly did feel like the next best thing until you were being moved again.
This had been my normal since I was 8. I was used to it. I never stayed at a place for more than a year since I entered the system and it was hard never feeling like you had a home but as time goes on, you just become thankful that the new place doesn’t hit you.
If Roland’s face told me anything, he was still new to this forced placement thing. My heart went out for him but still, this place was heaven compared to some places I’ve been to and I’m happy that he will hopefully never have to see homes like that.
“You’re a foster kid I take it,” I asked and even though I didn’t get a verbal answer, his eyes widened before he glared. “Figured. When you’ve been in the system long enough you start being able to spot others pretty easily.”
Roland doesn’t say anything but manages to ball up even more as he goes back to staring at the end of the bed.
We stay this way for far too long until his eyes break free from the mattress and glances over at the clock on his dresser. Promptly, as if he’s done it a thousand times, he turned, put his feet flat on the ground, stood up, and walked to the door without a word, taking the perfect amount of steps to reach the door without having to reposition his body in order to open the door. He did however leave the door open as if he figured I would follow.
Out of pure curiosity, I do. Kids and counselors screamed as they played in the lake and on courts but for the most part we all seemed to be heading the same way. I could vaguely remember this being the way to the cafeteria.
The trail had been cramped to say the least. Dozens of kids flocked around in order to be one of the firsts to eat. Shoulders rubbing, campers running into each other, people stepping on people’s feet, it was utter chaos and it seemed that my dear old roommate was getting the worst of it.
People stepped on and bumped his shoulders way too hard and often to be claimed as an accident but of course he didn’t react. Roland kept his head down with his hands in front of him. His shoulders were hunched over while his fingernails pierced his skin harshly.
If anyone else noticed his behavior they didn’t care. The bumping of his shoulders didn’t stop, the stepping on his feet didn’t ease up, and the nails dug in his hands only increased in pressure. Meanwhile people barely stepped in front of me let alone brush my shoulders.
They were picking on him; or at least a select few of them were. Their shallow laughs and low chuckles were enough to confirm that but the way that Roland shied away from them before the touches even came was enough to tell me this wasn’t the first time this had happened.
“Leave him alone,” I said before I had the chance to stop myself. Roland flinched at the tone of my voice but the kids around allowed the laughs to stop while their faces fell. Small glares covered a few of their faces but they didn’t say a word as they sped up and got lost in the crowd in order to avoid further scoldings.
“You can’t let them push you around like that. You let one kid start and before long you’re the butt of every joke. One smart comment will shut him up for now; at least this early on. If you let it continue for much longer they’ll never stop.”
Roland didn’t respond but his fingers dug deeper into his skin, his shoulders becoming more hunched by the second.
I thought it had been my words that made it worse but when the cafeteria came into view Roland’s steps faltered. His hands shook as he stopped in front of the building as if he were hyping himself up. After a few seconds of hesitation, Roland was gone. He ducked and weaved his way through the crowd the way only a 5’5 120 pound person could while I was stuck trailing behind him, nearly loosing him in the crowd several times.
I was rushed through the lunch line in the blink of an eye, food being piled on my trey before I had a chance to ‘okay’ them or not and soon enough I was standing at the end of the line trying to find where the one person I knew had sat down at.
I was about to give up looking when I saw a familiar brown head ducking through the doors, his trey still in hand.
I caught up to him with ease now that most people had already sat down and only a few stragglers were piling in.
Roland’s eyes were trained to the ground but his shoulders hunched when I came closer.
“Where are we going?”
I should have known better than to expect an answer.
Before long Roland was pushing our cabin door open and plopping down on his bed. His shoulders dropped with relief as he took a few seconds to just breathe before finally grabbing his fork and eating slowly.
“I didn’t know we could eat in here,” I said as I sat down on my own bed. “Hell of a lot better than out there at least.” To my surprise a received a wide eyed nod from Roland as he tried to steady his breathing.
“You didn’t say anything about art class,” I said after a while. I mean, I got a nod from him, with luck I could at least get another head shake. “Do you want to come with me?”
“I don’t like art. It’s pointless.”
“Well that’s not fair. I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff you like that can be considered pointless,” I scoffed jokingly but Roland shook his head.
“What do you like then? I’ll decide if it’s pointless or not,” I said with a smile. I didn’t care if he said the stupidest thing imaginable, I was just happy I managed a sentence from him considering it seemed Andrew was having troubles getting that after lord only knows how long of trying.
He was quiet for a long time. His fork didn’t make a sound as it slid across the plate, he thankfully didn’t chew loudly; he just sat there staring into space again.
For a while I thought I lost him, I got my one reply and that’s all I was getting for now but after almost 5 minutes he began playing with his food, slowly piling it in the middle of the plate.
“I like fixing things.” His voice wavered slightly and lacked all emotion while his eyes glanced up to mine for a split second before staring back at the bedsheet as he continued to play with the mixed up food in the center of his trey.
I couldn’t help the smile that worked it’s way onto my lips as I turned back to my own food.
“Gotta admit, fixing things is a bit less pointless than art. Still, don’t you think it’d be nice to have some decorations outside or a painting in here? Something to brighten up the place.”
“I think it’s bright enough.” Distaste covered his face but none of that hatred filled his voice as he all but glared at the lights on the ceiling.
“I didn’t mean literally. I just meant it could add some color in here, make it less boring.”
“How is staring at something you made not boring? You made it, you know everything about it, there’s nothing new you can find in it. Looking at the same thing over and over is boring.”
He said so as if his opinion was fact and no one could prove him wrong. I didn’t have the heart to fight him on it.
“I guess you have a point. Maybe if you made it though I could find new things about it; it wouldn’t be boring to me.”
Roland only turned his nose up at the idea. I guess art class was off the table then.
Silence filled the air as I finished eating. I had tried to keep the conversation going but it seemed I had gotten all I was going to get for the day.
I placed my trey on my dresser the way Roland had done with his but he still sent me disapproving looks throughout the night. After a while of his judgmental gaze I dismissed myself to the shower.
I hadn’t heard him move but when I came back the small bit of food on my they had been piled to middle the way Roland had done with his, my pile considerably smaller than him.
“That’s the way it has to be,” he said stiffly when I sent him a questioning look.
“Why?”
“Because.” Was the only answer I got before he robotically stood up, got new clothes from his dresser, and made his own way to the shower.
Comments (4)
See all