Page 76 of Paint the Town, Dove
Too much of a mirror.
“You’re very sweet, Scarlett.” She rounded her shoulders, throwing a slouchy handbag over her elbow. The bruise was now hidden by her hair.
The hair she dyed.
Not her real colour. Not the real her.
What was she hiding?
[If not everything.]
“I have to pick up some groceries and beer for –”
As if the breath got sucked out of her lungs, she stopped speaking. Ryden tensed, I hiked the blanket higher.
We both knew who she was buying beer for.
We weren’t old enough to drink.
“Bye.” And he resumed playing his guitar.
His mom stood at the door for a few more minutes before waving apologetically at me, and ducking out of the room.
I stared at Ryden playing until I couldn’t take it anymore, slapping my palm over the strings of the neck.
“Hey!” He lashed. “Why did you do that?”
“Why aren’t you nice to her?”
He tried to pull his guitar away, but I held it firm in my grip. “No, answer me.”
“It’s none of your business, Scar.”
“It is my business!”
“How?”
“Because you’re my business,” I fully yanked Harley away and leaned her against the wall. “Why aren’t you nice to your mom?”
His chest rose, up and down, up and down. For a good while, he looked at me with wrath, as if he wanted to take out his anger in the form of fury and curse words. And then his eyes softened.
I wasn’t the enemy.
Neither was his mom.
“She lets him beat her,” he whispered, holding back his words as if they could somehow take the damage away. “If I can’t do anything to help her, I can’t watch it happen.”
“You fought back,” I said, “you had a black eye.”
“Yeah, and who do you think she tended to, huh, Scar?” He stood up now, fists clenched. “I got a good punch in, and she sat by his chair all night.”
I swallowed, looking down at the floor. “I didn’t know that.”
He scoffed, running stressed fingers through his hair. “How would you know that? I didn’t tell you.”
“Why? You tell me everything.”
“I can’t tell you this stuff, Scarlett,” he released a breath, resting his forehead against the wall. “It’s too…”
