Chapter 5 - The Weight of the World
The warm water had lost its warmth, the steam long dissipated into the musty air of the small bathroom. Tuck sat hunched in the tub, the porcelain cold against his skin, the lingering scent of cat fur and damp towels the only evidence that the past hour had been anything more than a fever dream. Biscuit Lantern had finally departed, taking her rumbling comfort and judgmental gaze to some higher plane of existence, leaving Tuck in the deafening silence of his own thoughts.
Mr. Pendelton sat on the edge of the tub, his knees drawn up to his chest, his gaze fixed on the condensation still clinging to the medicine cabinet mirror. He looked older now than he had an hour ago, the lines around his eyes deepening with the weight of the words he still couldn’t find the courage to say.
“I was supposed to be in the hospital, Tuck,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s where I’m supposed to be right now. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to have hot water. I’m not supposed to be playing nursemaid to a stray cat.”
Tuck blinked, his heart aching for the man. “But… why?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Why are you here?”
Mr. Pendelton sighed, running a hand through his thinning gray hair. “Because I’m stubborn,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m afraid. And I don’t trust hospitals. I don’t trust doctors. I don’t trust anyone.”
He looked at Tuck, his eyes swimming with tears. “I’m scared, Tuck,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m so scared.”
Tuck’s eyes widened in fear. He’d never seen Mr. Pendelton cry before. He’d never seen him look so vulnerable. He felt a strange mix of pity and fear. Pity for the man who was clearly struggling, and fear for himself. What would happen to him if Mr. Pendelton wasn’t here to take care of him? Who would feed him? Who would keep him warm? Who would keep the dark things away?
“But I’m scared too,” Tuck whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m scared of being alone. I’m scared of being hungry. I’m scared of being cold. And I’m scared of being hungry.”
He’d forgotten the most important thing. The bread. The only thing keeping him alive.
May you like
Mr. Pendelton’s eyes widened in realization. “The bread,” he said, his voice sharp with panic. “Tuck, the bread. You need to eat.”
He stood up abruptly, nearly tripping over the discarded towels. “I’ll go to the store,” he said, moving toward the door. “
