pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3
“Gotta say, kiddo, I don’t think this is the best place to be sleepin’.” Richard starts pulling blankets out of the tub one by one. The ones crammed into the very bottom still maintain some kind of oval shape until he shakes them out, then ultimately tosses them into the trash pile.
When Casey looks over, he catches the grimace, the look of realization and maybe horror — the look that has him wondering how long it’ll be before Richard goes running like everyone else, and in his spite, he hopes not long at all.
“It’s fine,” he mutters, shrugging, then returning to his own task of scrubbing the counter. He’s not sure which he’d rather be stuck with, Richard in the bathroom or his mother slamming things around in the main room. Off the balcony sounds more pleasant than both, but he doesn’t have a clear path there with all the piles.
“You got the pull-out couch, right?”
Casey scrubs a little harder, trying to tune out the questions, but it’s little use against the sheer awkwardness of Richard staring at him.
“Hell, I’m sure an air mattress wouldn’t be too hard to get in here... don’t you have to use this?” Richard points to the shower. “You just take ‘em out every time or what?”
“Look, I don’t like the couch, okay?” He tosses the sponge into the sink, shaking his head. Casey knows he shouldn’t have to sleep in the bathroom, knows there’s plenty of places that should be some sort of comfortable, knows they’re all essentially off-limits when they’re already occupied. Most of all, he knows it’s only a matter of time before Richard sees it all, realizes he’s bit off more than he can chew, and walks out because it’s too much to handle. Because he’s too much to handle. “Why do you care? It’s not like it’s your problem.”
Richard stares for a second, quiet, but Casey can’t make sense of his expression. When he looks away and goes back to focusing on the tub, it’s not clear whether he’s disappointed in Casey’s answer or the grime he’s failing to scrub out. “You’re right, it’s not my problem. I could walk outta here if I really wanted to, go t’the bar n’ never worry about it, but sometimes we do stuff ‘cause we wanna help people.”
Casey furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look away or move.
“I know you don’t like me much yet,” Richard goes on. “That’s okay if y’don’t, I did just kinda crash your place. But no one should be livin’ in a hotel. And no kid deserves to sleep in a bathtub ‘cause he doesn’t have his own space. ‘Specially not a kid who’s gonna be a star, right?”
At that, Casey scoffs a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Whatever.”
“I meant that when I said it!”
“I’m sure.” Casey turns back to the sink. When he catches himself in the mirror, star is the literal last thing he can see. “I’m just saying you don’t have to do all this. If you can walk out any time, you might as well do it now.”