Roland’s POV

Asphyxiation. Blood forced trauma. Poison. Blood loss. Disembowelment. Waterboarding. Electrocution. Heart attack. Drowning. 

My eyes were dry and my body hurt. It’d been hours since I came back from my session yesterday and I had yet to move from the huddle on my bed. My eyes were glued to the edge of the bed, my arms wrapped around my knees as they pulled them as far into my chest as I could.

I wanted nothing more than to go home but the thought of leaving this bed made my heart race more than it already was. 

The normally silent cabin felt so loud I could feel my ears beginning to bleed though I know there’s no way that could be happening. 

At some point Kit had left but it seemed to be nothing more than a blur of color in my eyes as he stepped through the cabin door. I couldn’t tell you how long it took for him to come back but it felt like hours.

By the time he got back I had reluctantly felt a bit better, my body still hurt but my mind felt clear. I didn’t feel much calmer but the light shaking in my hands had at least worn off since yet the second my eyes took in the frown on Kit’s face light racing of my heart started up again. 

It’s only been a few weeks since Kit has been here but I still don’t remember him being anything but smiles and gentle eyes. His current expression was anything but. A deep frown on his face, a harsh glare on his face, eyes showing nothing but disappointment and all of them were directed at me. 

“What’s your favorite thing to fix,” He asked, his voice thankful coming out nicer than his face seemed to show. I forced my eyes back down to the foot of the bed to avoid the look in his eyes but I could still feel his hard glare. My shoulders hunched as my throat locked up but Kit refused to let up. He sighed as he wiped a hand over his face. The traces of anger going with it as tiredness replaced the disappointment in his voice. I’m not sure which I preferred. 

“You look absolutely miserable here. You don’t leave the cabin, and you don’t talk to anymore but me and sometimes Andrew, you haven’t done any school work apparently. You’re suffering here and I want to help. What can I do to help?”

“You can’t,” I said, my throat barely letting me squeeze the words out. 

“Why not? Andrew and Mary are willing to help, it’s not just me trying to help, they’re willing to try their best to accommodate you, you just have to tell us what could possibly help you.”

“It’s too expensive.”

“I promise, we’ll figure it out. I can’t say we’ll get you something the second you fix the last one but at least you’ll have something worth doing.”

I mauled over my own thoughts for a while. I wanted to take is offer and run with it. I could almost feel the oil and grease staining my fingers.

‘You’ll turn into one of those machines one day Roland Grace! Where does that leave me?’

But… she wasn’t here. 

“Cars,” I mumbled out. Almost hoping he didn’t hear me, silently promising I wouldn’t repeat myself if he hadn’t. 

“Any specific kind of cars,” he asked almost immediately after the word left my mouth. Part of me was a bit surprised when he didn’t dismiss the thought the second it registered in his brain. 

“Any cars. Older cars are easier, the newer ones need computers to figure out the codes they’re using to help you figure out what’s wrong with them and those computers are pretty expensive so older cars would make more sense. They don’t need to do it though. Cars parts are expensive.” 

“It wouldn’t just be for you. There would be rules you have to follow,” my spirits dampened at that a bit. “Mary said she’s willing to figure something out no matter the cost but you have got to start doing your schoolwork and they prefer if your sessions with Andrew became actual sessions and not just one-sided conversations but they won’t force you to talk about deeper things if you aren’t ready for it. You just need to let Andrew get to know you a little bit more; that’s all they’re asking and they’ll do their best to get you as many cars as possible.”

“I don’t like homework.”

“No one really does Roland,” Kit said with a small sigh but a small still graced his lips. “But if we want to get a good job after graduation or go to college at some point, we have to do it. I’m willing to help you but if you don’t want my help you still have to do it.”

I frowned at the words and honestly considered not taking the deal but the thought of having tools laying around me as I’m covered in nothing but sweat and grease was enough to dismiss the thought before I could really entertain the idea. 

“I’ll try,” I said with a sigh of my own. I know I shouldn’t. It was rude to ask them to go through the trouble for something I should be doing anyway; my foster mom would kill me if she knew I was doing this but I couldn’t find it in myself to care. It’s been 4 years since I last touched a car to fix it and I didn’t want to let the chance pass me by so easily. 

“Okay,” Kit said, honestly sounding relieved, his shoulders sagging as if a weight had been lifted off of them. “You can tell Andrew tomorrow but for now, we need to get you caught up on school work. Mary told me she wouldn’t get you anything until after all your past work has been turned in so the faster you get that done the faster you get your car.”

A frown covered my face as I made no move to get the book bag at the foot of my bed. 

“Well, do you want help or do you want to try it by yourself,” Kit asked as he moved to the bag without having to be asked. He didn’t wait for confirmation before putting it on the bed and pulling books out at random. 

“I can do it,” I said a bit too quickly as I looked at the mess he was making without even realizing it.

“Okay,” he said a bit too excitedly. “I’ll grab my own books and we can do some work together.” I don’t know if I was successful in hiding my grimace at the thought but I didn’t love the idea of him working with me. I knew I’d be slow and most answers would be wrong. The thought of him being done hours before me wasn’t very appealing but I didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

I glared at the books on my bed harshly. They were old and clearly well used. Multiple people had used these books before me. Their gross, sticky, germs hands had more than likely grabbed all over them, and they were doubtfully wiped down before getting passed down to me. The thought made my stomach turn. 

“Don’t give up already,” Kit teased but the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes. 

“The books are dirty,” I said as I looked at the gross items on my bed. 

“They don’t look it,” he said as he gave them a quick once over yet I still squirm at the thought. When he realized I wasn’t going to touch them he stopped getting his own books set up. “What would help?”

“They need to be cleaned. With bleach.”

“I don’t think bleach would be good for the books and I also don’t think we have any but I know there are cleaning wipes under the bathroom sink.”

“That works,” I say barely above a whisper. Kit was off the bed and heading into the bathroom before I could offer to get it myself. When he got back he didn’t bother asking if I wanted to clean themself; he simply opened the wipe tube and began running it around the book’s cover rather harshly. To my surprise not much dirt or grim came off the book but just the thought of the clean rag being rubbed over it made me feel a bit better. 

“You need to use a different wipe for that one,” I pointed out when Kit put down the first book and picked up the next, the old rag hanging innocently from his hand, just inches above the new book. 

“Why?”

“That rag is dirty.”

“So is this book.”

“The germs can’t mix,” I said with a frown as I stared at him in what I hoped looked like disbelief. Kit never seemed like an overly clean person but that was just gross. 

I had shared this idea with a few of my foster parents but none of them seemed to care as they continued to use the same dirty rag. Eventually they went back and did it correctly after a few days of me refusing to touch the books. 

“Well alright then,” Kit said brightly as he picked up a new rag. “I’ve never heard of that before. Is this why you haven’t been doing your school work?”

“Partially,” I said honestly. “School isn’t fun though.”

“Why did you tell anyone? I’m sure Andrew or even Mary would have wiped them down for you.”

I don’t tell them that should have been cleaned before I got them but frowned at the question. 

“It wasn’t their job. They shouldn’t have to do it.”

“So you just haven’t been doing school this whole time because the books were dirty and it wasn’t their jobs to clean them?’’

Well it sounded stupid when you say it like that.

I couldn’t hide the blush that crawled up my face as Kit chuckled at my dismay. 

“Well note to self, clean everything that comes into this cabin or Roland will not touch it.”

One by one Kit cleaned the dirty books before tossing the old rag on the floor and moving onto the next one, laying the books side by side when he was done with them. 

“They’re all clean now. Do you know where you want to start? It’s Saturday so you have two days are hard work before more work gets piled onto it. I know Mary said she wavered the first several assignments so how many do you have?”

“13,” I say without thinking. 13 assignments spanning five subjects, all spanning in difficulty and length. It was going to take forever and I didn’t want to do it. 

“It won’t be that bad. I can teach you anything you don’t understand if you want.”

“I know how to do all of it,” I said honestly. The classes weren’t hard, just boring.

Kit seemed annoyed at the answer but didn’t say anything else as he took his spot back on his bed. 

I sighed to myself as I gripped the new pencil and flipped to the first page in my notebook. My left hand still hovered over the textbook, despite the fact that I watched Kit clean them part of my mind still couldn’t get off the fact that people had touched them before me. 

When Kit began staring at me from the corner of his eye I pushed back the disgust and forced myself to press my fingertips to the cover and opened the book with the least amount of touching possible. 

No words passed between us as my eyes began scanning the page.