11-07-2017, 05:17 PM
Stumbling drunk in the dark. Desperate to escape. And go where? Electric lights washed the shadows, concrete arching over her head, a couple of hooded youths kicking a ball against the wall. Aaron followed. Damn him and his unwanted kindness and the secrets she couldn't tell him. She was so afraid of losing him, yet she was losing him anyway. If he'd offered a hand maybe she'd have taken it, gripped it like a lifeline. Or maybe she'd have just dragged him down with her. She'd never trusted enough to try.
He was calling her name. Slightly irritated. A touch afraid. How many times had he warned her about his neighbourhood? He tried to stay out of it; hadn't always, and maybe it was that touch of darkness that had called her to begin with. These days he was clawing his way through university in a bid to slash the roots clinging to his ankles. Supporting his alcoholic father as he did it. Gang life behind him. Bright future ahead.
She paused. Pressed her palms to her face. Raked her fingers back through her hair.
And suddenly became aware of shouting behind her.
She spun. The shadows congregated, jostling and yelling, Aaron at their centre. His brows daggered low over his eyes, jaw locked tight. He wasn't looking at her now. The image seared, but the danger reached her slowly. Like a dream. A flash of metal caught her peripheral, and something overwhelmed her from within, burst through her skin in ferocious instinct.
The twist of limbs.
The snap of bone.
By the time she was on the ground beside them, blood slicked her palms. She scrambled to find a pulse at Aaron's neck. One of the boys had had a knife, now shattered like glass on the asphalt. She pressed on the gushing wound, wordlessly distraught, fighting to find the wallet in her pocket. Not looking at the other bodies. Not thinking about them. You did this.
Some time later, sirens wailed in the distance.
~*~
The next morning passed amid the beeping of machinery and stink of antiseptic. Hospitals unsettled her, but she lingered by Aaron's bedside, watching his pale face, the rise and fall of his chest. His face was badly bruised. Thick bandages across his abdomen hid the rows of stitches from view. Why had she left last night? What had she meant to achieve?
He had no family to visit. They'd tried calling his dad, but the phone just rang and rang and rang.
Some hours later he woke up groggy. But when he saw her his eyes widened. The monitoring equipment began ringing wildly. A nurse led her gently out.
~*~
On the afternoon he woke properly he refused to see her. She sat outside on a bench, hands pressed between her knees, hair ruffled by the breeze. The rejection stung keenly; that he turned away the very moment she needed him the most. I'm here, he'd said. You know I'm here. But all love had boundaries. Limits. She, of all people, ought to know that.
Did he blame her? Did he fear her?
She'd hurt those boys protecting him.
She clamped the sorrow down; didn't allow herself to feel any of it, and yet still she sat here. In case he changed his mind. In case she was wrong. Her pale gaze found the glass walls of the hospital, like she could pinpoint exactly the only heartbeat within that mattered.
The hardest betrayal came when the stranger joined her on the bench and began an idle conversation. Her cool indifference did little to deter him; he lit a cigarette, curled grey smoke in the air about their heads. When the questions began to probe, Natalie knew there was little innocent in the meeting. The journalist knew who she was. Aaron had talked. The pain spiked. On purpose. By accident. It didn't matter. She got up abruptly and walked away.
The Northbrooks rallied as they always did, with their ivory walls to shut the world out. Her mother sewed up the loose ends. A settlement for silence, and the whispers went away before they ever really started.
He was calling her name. Slightly irritated. A touch afraid. How many times had he warned her about his neighbourhood? He tried to stay out of it; hadn't always, and maybe it was that touch of darkness that had called her to begin with. These days he was clawing his way through university in a bid to slash the roots clinging to his ankles. Supporting his alcoholic father as he did it. Gang life behind him. Bright future ahead.
She paused. Pressed her palms to her face. Raked her fingers back through her hair.
And suddenly became aware of shouting behind her.
She spun. The shadows congregated, jostling and yelling, Aaron at their centre. His brows daggered low over his eyes, jaw locked tight. He wasn't looking at her now. The image seared, but the danger reached her slowly. Like a dream. A flash of metal caught her peripheral, and something overwhelmed her from within, burst through her skin in ferocious instinct.
The twist of limbs.
The snap of bone.
By the time she was on the ground beside them, blood slicked her palms. She scrambled to find a pulse at Aaron's neck. One of the boys had had a knife, now shattered like glass on the asphalt. She pressed on the gushing wound, wordlessly distraught, fighting to find the wallet in her pocket. Not looking at the other bodies. Not thinking about them. You did this.
Some time later, sirens wailed in the distance.
~*~
The next morning passed amid the beeping of machinery and stink of antiseptic. Hospitals unsettled her, but she lingered by Aaron's bedside, watching his pale face, the rise and fall of his chest. His face was badly bruised. Thick bandages across his abdomen hid the rows of stitches from view. Why had she left last night? What had she meant to achieve?
He had no family to visit. They'd tried calling his dad, but the phone just rang and rang and rang.
Some hours later he woke up groggy. But when he saw her his eyes widened. The monitoring equipment began ringing wildly. A nurse led her gently out.
~*~
On the afternoon he woke properly he refused to see her. She sat outside on a bench, hands pressed between her knees, hair ruffled by the breeze. The rejection stung keenly; that he turned away the very moment she needed him the most. I'm here, he'd said. You know I'm here. But all love had boundaries. Limits. She, of all people, ought to know that.
Did he blame her? Did he fear her?
She'd hurt those boys protecting him.
She clamped the sorrow down; didn't allow herself to feel any of it, and yet still she sat here. In case he changed his mind. In case she was wrong. Her pale gaze found the glass walls of the hospital, like she could pinpoint exactly the only heartbeat within that mattered.
The hardest betrayal came when the stranger joined her on the bench and began an idle conversation. Her cool indifference did little to deter him; he lit a cigarette, curled grey smoke in the air about their heads. When the questions began to probe, Natalie knew there was little innocent in the meeting. The journalist knew who she was. Aaron had talked. The pain spiked. On purpose. By accident. It didn't matter. She got up abruptly and walked away.
The Northbrooks rallied as they always did, with their ivory walls to shut the world out. Her mother sewed up the loose ends. A settlement for silence, and the whispers went away before they ever really started.