you could say that this chapter took me almost a year to write, or you could say that it took me 2 hrs (bc it took me 2 hrs)

here is another chapter 

Chapter Thirty-six

I stared down at the papers Katie had dropped off. She managed to get me a job as an English tutor, something she used to do when she was my age.

I was nervous leaving Cousins alone for several hours of the day, but I didn't really have a choice. I needed money, especially if we only had a month to stay here.

Living in a motel will cost a lot of money. 

Cousin sat on the bed, his fingers trailing up and down the embroidered threads on the blanket, something I noticed he did a lot. 

He's been acting differently ever since we moved here. We've been here for almost six days, which I had spent cleaning the place from top to bottom.  I never expect Cousin to respond to me when I ask him things, but usually, he will. It's rare, but it still happens. 

He hasn't said a word since our first day here.

I feel like I've been watching him slowly mold back into Cousin Icon, the clown chained to the floor. The unwanted creature who slept alone in a boxcar, with a blindfold over his eyes.

I don't know why he's morphing back into his old self, but it terrifies me. I can't help but wonder, did I do something wrong? Did I say something, or touch him in a way that brought back traumatizing memories? Should I stay away from him?

These questions stick to my brain like unwanted constant reminders, and I can't help but think of them every time I look at his face.

"Cousin?" I look up from the papers regarding my new job, and stare at him. He blinks at me, his finger pausing on an embroidered flower. "You do know what this means, right?" I lift the papers up. "I'll be gone a lot, eight hours a day, five days a week."

He says nothing, so I continue because I don't think he understands, or maybe I just want to hear him say something. Anything at all. "You'll be alright here by yourself, right?"

Nothing, I don't even get a slight nod of his head. His eyes bore into mine, and then, they fall back onto the mattress, back onto the tiny embroidered flowers on the blanket. He slowly traces them, each stem, each petal, he traces the colored thread. 

"You've been different since we arrived here. Are you mad at me?" The words fall out quicker than I can catch them. I didn't mean to voice my feelings so suddenly like that, I hate putting him on the spot. 

His eyes do find mine again, his bony finger paused on the leaf of a flower. I hold my breath, certain he'd finally speak to me, but he doesn't. Instead his gaze goes from me, to out the window, and they linger there. 

I want to stand up, grab his shoulders and shake the words out of him. The last six days, I've done nothing but talk to myself, ask myself questions, it's as if he wasn't here at all.

I knew it had to be because of something, he was doing so good for weeks, and suddenly, he's back to being a brick wall, a silent ghost.

I can not stand it.

I slam the papers onto the nightstand beside the bed, and walk over to Cousin. He watches me approach him, "Why aren't you speaking to me? Why is it that you're angry at me? What did I do? Let me fix it."

His eyes goes from a blank look, to something much more familiar. Annoyance. So I was right, he was angry with me.

"Cousin, please tell me."

As if to make me angry, his eyes go back to the mattress. After the horrid week I have had, and the constant silence I've had to endure, I didn't have the patience to keep talking to myself. I reach out, put my hand under his chin, and lift his head up to face mine. It was a bold move, something I definitely should think about a bit more clearly.

And yet, I simply want to touch him.

His whole body tenses, but the challenge in his eyes is taunting. What does he expect me to do?

"Say something." I tell him calmly, so as to not make him more upset, even though I felt as if I were about to scream.

All the work we put into him. The last several months, as if in seconds, seem to have meant absolutely nothing. He's folding back up, and I am incredibly angry about it.

His thin fingers slowly glide up my hand which is still holding his chin, and they wrap around my wrist. He doesn't take his eyes off mine, and suddenly, I'm unsure who is holding who.

I think I've lost control of the moment, and he's taken it in confidence.

"You are angry." He finally speaks, and my whole body feels hot, "I have made you angry."

I didn't expect this from him, and I don't know what to say, I try to come up with multiple responses, but all that comes out is, "I'm. . .just upset that you won't talk to me."

He blinks at me, and his eyebrows crease in what I read as confusion, or in his own way of trying to understand, "You are angry."

"I'm upset."

He shakes his head, not understanding, or refusing to believe me, but says nothing more. 

I don't push it, not now, I've concluded I've done enough to irritate him for the rest of the night. Tomorrow I start my job as a tutor, and the last thing I need is him so mad at me that he won't listen to reason.

For the rest of the night, I finish filling out paperwork, and hope that by taking this job, I'll be able to save enough money to find us a small place once I turn eighteen, and of course, to somehow find a way to get Cousin the therapy and help that he not only needs, but deserves.

After a long night of absolutely no sleep due to my heavy anxiety of leaving him alone for several hours for the first time since we ran away, I get out of bed, and get dressed.

Cousin, who slept on the far side of the mattress against the wall, slowly sat up and watched as I sifted through different outfits to wear in the tiny closet.

It's not like I had a lot of clothes, but Katie did help me out by bringing me a lot of her own clothes that she no longer needed.

I decided on a formal navy blue button up shirt, and black pants. Something that could make me look a bit more professional, and not reveal me as a seventeen year old runaway.

The thought of me being a runaway was still so strange to me. My mother hasn't bothered to look for me. Katie told me she managed to calm her down and explain everything. Apparently my mother refused to listen until Katie threatened to exaggerate abuse, claiming if she went to the police about me being gone, Katie and I both would team up and lie about her abusing the both of us.

So far, the threat has worked.

Besides, I have more than enough bruises to make it look convincing.

It's not that I like to threaten my mother, but I know perfectly well that if she found out about me hiding Cousin, she'd lack any moral judgement and force me to send him right back to the circus. 

I glance over at him, he's still watching me like always. His eyes, so dark, devour every inch of my body like he doesn't know what to think of me, or how to process that I exist. 

I want so badly to know what he's thinking when he stares at me. He doesn't stare at me like he does anyone else. With any other person, he has such a hateful glare towards them, but to me, there is nothing. I want to know what that means. What does a blank expression mean when the only person who ever receives it from him is me?

"Cousin?"

He blinks at me as an answer, and I continue, "I hope I didn't bother you last night. I didn't mean to upset you." The truth was it had practically kept me up last night. I regretted losing my temper and forcing him to talk.

He doesn't say anything, which is no surprise, so I say, "I just want you to know that I'm sorry. I have to leave today for a few hours for work, and I don't want to leave you here by yourself after how I treated you last night. It wasn't right. Really, I'm sorry."

I could tell, the longer I spoke, the narrower his eyes became. When I finished my apology, he was looking at me in pure disgust.

I have not failed to notice anytime I apologize to him he'd get irritated. I frowned, "Don't be angry." 

This seemed to only upset him further. Lately I feel like that's all I do. Anger him, annoy him, piss him off. I don't know what to say to make him feel better. I don't know what to say to make him happy. I know he has a lot of issues, he has a lot of rightful anger at the hand life had dealt him with. I'm not mad at him for being angry, or upset, or hating everyone around him. I'm mad at myself for not understanding how to get through to him. Even worse, I feel not only have we been going in the opposite direction to his own mental health recovery, I know that somehow I'm making him feel worse, and I can't figure out what it is that is making him this way. Something I had said or done the last few weeks has upset him so greatly, to the point that I'm unsure how to get back to where we were. 

There was a moment, I felt like we had become friends. Now I feel like I simply irritate him.

He says nothing, and I finish getting myself ready. It was already getting late, and if I don't leave now I'm going to be late on my first tutoring session.

I stare at him, and my heart aches at the thought of leaving him alone. It has to be done. I know it has to be done, and yet, I don't have confidence that he's ready to be alone and not hurt himself.

I ask him again, just once more, "Will you be alright?"

He glares at me, and I know I'll just have to take that as a yes.