Feb 23, 2017
@grumpygundy continued from [ here ]
“Mhm...” Francis had never seen a grownup cry before. It was both interesting and profoundly upsetting. He pushed himself up to sit with his good arm, and regarded Doris thoughtfully before pushing blankets aside. He stood and marched right to the kitchen, padding on soundless and socked feet to the fridge where he pulled out the milk and jam, then busied himself with toasting bread and warming a glass.
This was a new house, a new guardian, new life -- and it occurred to Francis that he could do for Doris what he always wanted done for him. He wanted warm milk and toast with jam, not scissors at his penis or degrading threats.
