Jack won't sleep.
Not in his bed at least. He loves his bed. He's proud of it. Sometimes they'll lose him for hours and Evelyn'll find him upstairs, faithfully, on the bed. He won't sleep on it though. She first became keen to this when he would go back and forth between the bathroom all night. She can't hear his footsteps. He's light on his feet. He just isn't so careful when he's shutting the door. Just like he isn't able to stop that one stair from creaking. She checks the refrigerator to see what it is he takes. There's nothing missing. It's not the same as Jerry, stealing food when no one's looking. No. Jack doesn't take anything.
"Jack," Evelyn whispers, cutting on the kitchen light.
Jack covers his eyes before looking back at her.
He isn't the best thing to look at. His cheeks are hollow. There are bags under his eyes. He's thin. Unbearably so. His mop of hair looks to thick for his thin body.
"Jack?" she repeats.
He's next to the refrigerator, his knees pulled into his chest.
He's crying, his bottom lip bitten. He looks pitiful. He looks beaten. Broken. Evelyn hates whoever did it to him. Who made him so hopeless.
"You wanna come sleep with me sweetheart?"
When he doesn't answer she sits down in the doorway to the kitchen and folds her legs.
"Are you afraid that he'll find you?" she yawns sleepily, "you're safe here,"
"Am I in trouble?"
"What?" she shakes her head, trying to keep a smile, "no dear. Why would you be in trouble?"
"I would always get in trouble the next day when I would...hide in the kitchen,"
He says it with a straight face. He's going to cry. His voice is thin. His hands are shaking.
"Why would you...?" she crawls forward and he pulls away. He backs into the wall until there's no where else to go.
"He wouldn't find me in the kitchen," he rests her head on his knees and pulls them tighter.
Jack's tall for his age. He looks gangly and lanky and awkward. And yet he looks so small. So easily hurtable.
"Can I touch you Jack? Can I hold you?"
She remembers what she had just said to Bobby yesterday. To not rush physical contact with him. To give him time and space. Yet, she can't help but to want to grab hold of him and never let go. She can't help but to want to make it all better for him.
"Yes? I won't if you don't want me to. Promise," she reaches out and he takes hold of her hand.
They don't speak about it. Not anymore. Tomorrow, he'll sleep in his bed. It'll take awhile before it's consistent. Before he stops wandering into Bobby's room.
But Evelyn holds him. She holds his head to her chest and rests her fingers in his hair knowing that it'll be a long ride ahead, and that she's ready for it.