Scrubbing the hallway floor, I thought back to the painting I kept hidden. It’d been so long since I’d thought of something to paint, I wasn’t sure if I was capable of it anymore.
Back when Jude wanted me to leave Crescent’s house and I’d tried staying with my parents, they threw the fit of the century, high and drunk off their asses. We fought for what felt like hours, and eventually they slammed the front door in my face and locked it.
So Jude swept in to save the day, offering to let me stay at his house. His parents didn’t give much of a shit and were rarely home anyway, just ghosts passing through the hallways. They weren’t a very close family. In fact, we haven’t spoken to them since we graduated high school.
The worst of Jude’s violence started the moment I’d moved in with him. When that happened, I’d started to lose myself slowly but surely. I’d painted the dark, sad angel soon after as some way of portraying everything I’d bottled up on the inside—like a self portrait, but for my soul rather than my face or body. I’d wanted so desperately to leave. I’d wanted to spread my wings and fly so far away, no bad thing could ever touch me again. But I had nowhere to go. I had no one I could run to.
Thinking about it only hurt more, so I forced my feet to stay where they were and finished cleaning the house. My stomach growled obnoxiously, sharp pains accompanying each rumble as I pulled meat from the freezer to defrost while I was gone.
I looked up at the ice in the ice maker, remembering what Jude had said before he’d left for work. His nice moments were few and far between, but I was dumb enough to fall for them every time. I looked at the clock,realizing it was almost two-thirty. I needed to leave to meet Crescent.
Would Jude notice if I didn’t ice my face? Would it help the swelling enough for it to be noticeable? If he did notice, he’d probably hit me for it. But if he didn’t notice, he’d probably hit me regardless.
A frustrated growl rumbled from my chest as I slammed the freezer door closed, making it shake with the force. I slid my shoes on, grabbed the sunglasses by the door, and walked outside to the park.
The birds laughed at me. I could hear them, perched high on the tree branches, looking down on me andlaughing. Did they know I used to be one of them? I wondered if they could see the invisible scars around my shoulder blades, raised and aching. Always fucking aching. Always a searing, stabbing pain reminding me of what I’d lost.
I marched across the park, hanging my head so nobody would see the mess I called my face. Crescent was sitting on the bench already, his phone held to his ear as I walked closer.
“There is no way I share blood with you. That’s so fucking gross,” he laughed.
Instead of interrupting him, I sat where I always did. Beneath my favorite tree, surrounded by my favorite flowers. The daisies looked brighter today, almost kinder.
Plucking one from the ground, I twirled the stem between my thumb and forefinger. The memory of Jude’s rare kindness played in my mind as I ripped one petal off.
He loves me.
Then the way his thumb dug into the bruise he’d created.
He loves me not.
I tried not to let any tears well up, but it was hard.Knowing even the nature I’d come to love was smarter than me hurt.
“Sorry, that was Moon on the phone. I told him beets were gross, and then he proceeded to send me a picture of his mouth full of chewed-up beet.” Crescent took his usual spot, sitting on the ground beside me.
My lips twitched painfully. Moon and Crescent had always bickered back and forth, despite their love for each other. They’d die for each other, but they wouldn’t dare be nice to each other. “Sounds like you guys haven’t changed a bit.”
When I turned to look at him head-on, he froze. The rich, shining brown of his eyes searched my face, moving rapidly between each bruise. “Dude, that’s worse than yesterday.”
I looked to the side, shrugging despite the pain it caused. “That’s usually how it works. Stuff like this looks worse before it gets better. Do I look like a balloon?”
He blinked at me, slow and long. I watched his lashes almost caress the tops of his cheeks. He flipped his head to the side, absentmindedly flicking his hair out of his face. “Balloon? No, man. You don’t look like a balloon. A little swollen? Yeah. But that’s nothing some ice won’t fix.”
“Hm.” So maybe Jude would be able to tell. “You got any ice?”
Crescent huffed a short laugh, blowing it out of his nose. “No, but I was thinking we could eat something at my place if you’re hungry. I have ice there.”
Black, ugly tendrils swirled in my stomach. They fought each other, the suction cups on the underside of them sticking to my insides painfully. Each grip forced a wave of unease up through my spine, settling a mere second before the next.
I started to shake my head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“My apartment is only ten minutes away. I’d rather get some food in you where I know you won’t be too uncomfortable.”
I frowned. “You can’t cook, though.”
“I kind of can now. I’ve learned a lot since living on my own.” He tilted his head back, letting his eyes fall shut. “The breeze is nice, but the sun is savage. The UV index is so high it might cook us alive.”
“The UV index?” I eyed him suspiciously. “Since when do you look at the UV index?”
