Page 11 of Miserable Marionette

Mom never uses the side door. She just left, right?

It’s locked, always.

How long have I been asleep?

My heart picks up in my chest as I lift my head, tracking the sound of boots on the hardwood before slamming it back down to the pillow, when they get duller as they meet the shag rug in front of me. I don’t look at him, embarrassment keeping my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

Gideon, leave.

Please.

Just go.

He takes another step forward, closer to me, and I fight to keep my breathing steady.

His clothes brush together, sending a waft of clean linen and woods into my nose as he squats in front of me. He doesn’t move, not for so long, there are a few seconds where I wonder if he’s left. He doesn’t speak, just watches. I swear I stop breathing when his ever-deepening voice towers over the sound of the Big Red commercial in the background. “Your mom said you were sick. You don’t look sick, Audrey.”

There’s something in his voice that makes the hairs on my arms stand up, a sudden chill to the room that wasn’t there seconds before.

“You suck at pretending to sleep,” he offers again.

My eyes slam open as his cool hand grips my chin harshly, his fingers digging in for a moment before they ease up. A gasp so ragged ripping from my throat, I nearly choke on it. His ocean-colored eyes are heavy, incensed. A cold, bitter, scary kind of anger I’ve never seen on a human before. “You scared of me now?” he asks, his voice calm, so calm, but his chest is heaving. His warm, minty breath rustling my bangs. “I didn’t hurt you,” he says the last bit to himself as much as to me, like he’s reminding us both.

My chest tightens at the feeling of him tripping me in the woods, the way I’d hit the ground so hard my teeth had gnashed together. Hard enough, the long sleeves of my shirt hide the nasty dark bruise on my elbow. How he could’ve softened the blow, but he chose not to. He’d gotten in front of me so fast, posted up… ready to make me fall. Like that day on the bus with Jeremy, there was no hesitation, no remorse as he sent me careening onto the forest floor.

I swallow hard, lost in his stare.

I can still feel his knee digging into me as he got on top of me, the tenderness of the bruise there too. His hand finding my jaw just like this, except harsher, meaner. How badly I wanted to cry, not because it hurt, which it certainly did. Not even because I was scared, but because he was. I’d never seen Gideon look so… undone. He was terrified, worried, in his own way. I should’ve said something, anything. He just kept demanding… getting rougher and rougher. Asking over and over where I was going, why I was leaving. I was so overwhelmed…

His cheek is dusted with a light bruise from where I’d hit him.

I’d hit Gideon.

My best friend in the entire world, I’d hit him in the face as he held me down in the dirt.

He’s still staring at me, watching it all build on my face. He doesn’t so much as blink when I erupt, a harsh wailing sob leaving my throat. I don’t fight him as he lets go of my face, sitting calmly on the couch before pulling me into his lap. When I fight him, he tenses, his grip hardening, but I don’t move away. Only adjust my body to keep my bottom part off him so he doesn’t feel the bulky pad that feels like a diaper between my legs.

I sob as he holds me, telling him I’m sorry at least half a dozen times in a matter of seconds.

His hand makes soft passes in my hair while I cry, leaning down and inhaling the scent of my shampoo, but still, Gideon says nothing. And he won’t, not until I do.

“I-I’m not scared of you. You didn’t scare me, I just… I was embarrassed.”

“Why?” he asks, ignoring me as I fight to keep my face hidden in his chest. He uses my hair to steer it toward his anyway; it tugs at my baby hairs, but I don’t mind much. His eyes are warmer than before, by Gideon standards at least. If pulling my hair a little makes Gideon feel better, I really don’t mind.

“I-ugh, Gideon, stop. I don’t want to talk about it.” I sniffle, trying to force snot back into my nose and failing. Pamela would never snot in front of a boy like this. The mere thought of the effortlessly pretty, popular new girl at school is enough to make me break out in another round of sobs.

He waits until those quiet down, oh so patient now that he has me how he wants. Stubborn jerk. “We tell each other everything,” he reminds me.

I pause for a moment, my lip wobbling. “You don’t tell me about your work with your dad.”

“That’s different, Audrey. You think it's gross and it creeps you out. You wouldn’t—"

“Understand, whatever. Just give me back my Krissy and pencils and go! I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” I snap.

He doesn’t move, and god, I hate it when he does this. This silence imploding in the space like a grenade until it forces whatever he wants from my throat. I struggle in his arms, trying to get up, but he isn’t budging. “You’re a stupid, mean, selfish jerk, Gideon Bell, and I hope it hurt when I hit you.” I don’t mean that, and immediately I regret the words just as much as I regretted it the moment I did it. The way I hated seeing the shocked look on his face as I scrambled up and ran the rest of the way home.

“Were you scared?” he asks again, ignoring everything else.