Page 2 of Beautiful Ruins
SADIE
“It’s just the way you left it.” Dad stood in the doorway to the bedroom I grew up in, hands tucked into the pockets of his blue uniform. He glanced around at the walls like he was trying to catalogue a stranger’s life.
Bubblegum pink and unfulfilled expectations closed in around me. Logan had hated the colour. His face told me all I’d needed to know when I’d bounced into his room at ten years old like it was Christmas morning to tell him my parents had finally agreed to paint my room.
But instead of telling me how much he despised the colour, he’d smiled because that’s what best friends did. Then he had pulled me in for a hug, tucking me under his arm like he always had. “That’s awesome, Sades,” he had said, ruffling my hair.
I shook my head to dislodge the memory—it stung more than I cared to admit.
Dad shifted his weight, eyes skimming over the bedspread. Still the same purple, now faded—one Mum had picked out on one of her Kmart runs, untouched since the last time I had cried into it.
How long had it been since he’d been in here? Had he just shut the door the way Logan’s father had when he died? Was that what my father thought about me—that I was dead to him?
His focus drifted to the old ballet trophies on a shelf propped up with brackets on one wall. Maybe they still tugged at painful memories for him.
At six, my ability to pirouette rivalled that of a newborn giraffe. Still, he had hoped I’d one day amount to something.
Returning to this town I’d sworn I’d never come back to was just as much a surprise to him as it was to me. He hadn’t seen all the bruises I was sporting, or maybe he didn’t care to.
“Thanks Dad,” I said, though it was nothing close to gratitude. The words hung there, as cold as the room he’d never warmed up.
I dumped my lone duffel bag on the king single bed I once couldn’t wait to climb into, the bedsprings squeaking in response. My fingers lingered on the strap for a moment. Everything had once revolved around this room, my universe squeezed into these four pink walls that were now chipped in places, faded by years of sunlight and neglect. The familiar smell of dust and memories lingered in the air, making my stomach turn.
It was almost laughable how much time had changed my point of view. I used to think Dad’s shadow could swallow the entire room. Back then, it had felt like protection. Now, it just felt like control.
Maybe it was the cop uniform he had worn—back then and even now—that always made him seem bulletproof to me. I used to get lost in it, hide behind it. There was a time when I loved seeing him in his blue police uniform, before it felt like a costume. Before it felt fraudulent. A big fat lie.
I just wanted to scream at him, tell him I was only backbecause I had nowhere else to go. But the words caught in my throat like they always had.
Instead, I stared at the bed, waiting for him to leave. Time apart only filled the giant void between us. It was as wide as the empty streets outside and about as welcoming.
Dad stepped into the room, shoving a hand through his greying hair, and adjusting his belt around his growing midsection. The hallway light pooled behind him, casting long shadows across my childhood room. It was as though he had never stopped trying to patrol it. Now he had a look about him I could only describe as defeated.
I caught my reflection in the mirror on my dresser. Same slack mouth. Same hollow stare. Like we were both still losing the same fight. We were the image of people who had lost something too essential to be replaced, a piece of us that no longer existed, torn from our bodies and shredded right in front of our eyes.
Dad frowned, breathing in our shared disappointment.
“Listen, Sadie,” he said, scratching at the balding patch on top of his head. “I know this is the last place you want to be, but what’s the alternative? Jail?”
I waited for it. The moment he’d say his name.
It was only a matter of time before he brought up Marcus. But he didn’t understand. How could he? Not after the way he had reacted. His only daughter had been locked up for stabbing her boyfriend. He didn’t care why.
All he had seen was the uniformed officer tossing his keys to the Desk Officer before asking to speak to the Duty Inspector about a family matter.
All he had seen was the embarrassment.
Was it so terrible in Barrenridge that he’d forgotten how to be a father? Maybe he had thought if he ignored the instinct tobe one for long enough, it would just disappear—just like I had.
He kept talking, filling the silence with his own questions. “You couldn’t have just left?” he said, shaking his head. “Walked away like any normal person would have?” Normal. I almost laughed at that. “You could have called me.” He rubbed his forehead, then glanced back at the door—he already wanted out. “Why the hell didn’t you call me the minute it got out of hand? I could have?—”
I threw my hands up. “What would you have had me do, Dad? Let him beat the shit out of me? It was me or him.” I stabbed a finger into the centre of my chest, hard enough to feel the bruise beneath. “I chose me. He’s lucky he’s still alive.”
Dad’s face turned a shade red. “Do you understand what I had to do to get you off on self-defence?” His voice was rough around the edges, fuelled by the kind of anger that fired up his words and turned them into orders. “The lawyers. The red tape. The favours I had to call in. Do you have any idea what you put me through, Sadie?”
He stepped forward, but not close enough to comfort. Just enough to cast a shadow. The overhead light flickered slightly, dancing across the same carpet I used to sit on, building Lego houses with Logan—ones we never got to live in.
“You’re unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head. “Itwasself-defence.”
