“It used to really bother me.” Mae points to the scar. “I know it’s not overly noticeable now, but I spent so much money on creams and ointments to try and fade it because of how ashamed I was when it first happened. I thought it was ugly.”
That’s like a slap in the face. “The word ugly and you don’t even belong in the same sentence, Mae.”
She rolls her eyes.
“No, don’t do thatroll-your-eyes-thingyou do whenever someone tries to compliment you,” I tell her, waiting until she’s looking at me. “I never want to hear you thinking of yourself that way. Because it’s not true.”
She twists her lip to the side before smiling, hazel eyes glistening as they dart all over my face, ending on my lips. But only for a second.
I clear my throat to cut the silence, breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry you went through all that. It’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t sometimes, but if it was fair all the time, I think it would be pretty damn boring.”
She’s trying to break the heaviness with humour, and I can’t blame her for it.
A small smile graces her lips, and I follow her action. “I appreciate you telling me that.”
I long to have the confidence she possesses as my mind flashes with memories from my own childhood.
The sheer amount of empty bottles filling the trash.
The slurred words.
The tape.
The police sirens.
The realisation that my efforts had failed.
I frown while looking through the car's windshield. The rain has eased up slightly, improving visibility, and after starting the car, I manoeuvre back onto the road.
“I don’t justtolerate you, by the way.”
Mae releases a small laugh, pressing her lips together to stifle her growing smile as she stares out the window.
I’m not just saying it to make her feel better, though.
Because I really am way past tolerating her.
17: Mae
Ilean my head on the bus window, tucking my knees into my chest on the seat. We’ve travelled to Oregon for a game, and Peter’s got some charity gigs lined up for us while we’re here.
He donated some money to a climate change charity, which is now inviting all players and cheerleaders to meet with them. Again, it means excellent press, and Peter snapped up the opportunity without questions.
My eyes linger on the back of Nathan’s head a few seats in front, and my fingers skate over my scar.
Opening up to him wasn’t something I’d been expecting to do, but it had felt right in the moment. I wanted to remind him that paying for my wine and falsely admitting to my mistake was a selfless gesture I don’t take lightly. It shouldn’t be brushed under the carpet because he needs to realise he has so much more to offer than just his football skills.
I was a stranger to him, and he wanted to help me and his friend, Emmanuel, out of the goodness of his heart.
He’s not as heartless and insensitive as he tries to portray.
I also hoped it might give him the courage to open up to me at some point, but I get that’s wishful thinking.
My father fills my mind. Laughing and yelling reverberate through the empty space he’s left behind, happiness and sadness mixed together in an odd combination that simultaneously brings me joy and despair.
Cam always tried to calm him down during his episodes, and he’d order me to take a walk, being the protective brother he was. But the night my father threw the vase at me was the first time I’d refused to leave. He’d been getting progressively worse, and I was worried for the safety of Cam and my mother.
