Errant

Sacrifice

"There won't be any second chances," he tells me. I feel like a child, sitting in my pajama pants in a chair far too big for my small frame.

"Don't stare at me with those doe eyes, girl. One more missed payment, and you're out."

"I'll come up with the money," I say. "I always do." My landlord Al snorts, putting his head in his hands.

"What exactly is your definition of 'always'?"

"I was a day late last month. The fights only happen every—"

"I don't care how you get your money!" He slams his chubby fingers down onto the desk, rocking the few knickknacks he has placed there. I wonder vaguely what it must be like to have so much to eat that your body has to store it somewhere. "I want the payments on time, or not at all."

I stare at my bare feet— at the bruises decorating the top of them, finally healing from my last match— tinged purple with underlying green and yellow. If I pay the rent on time, there will be no food money for weeks. If I fight, Oliver will never speak to me again. Would he really make good on his promise to quit? Surely not. But if I don't pay it, we're out on the streets. Al rubs his eyes with one hand, his shoulders slumping.

"Look, Kestril. I'm sorry. My hands are tied. You've got to get me that money somehow."

Oliver's paper flashes in my mind. His steady eyes, never wavering from my face. He was serious. If I fight again, he'll drop out. Everything I've been working towards will be for nothing. My heart races. I clench my fingers together into a fist and tell Al, "I'll have your money."

Then I get up from my seat and walk out the door.

***

A day later, I am holding a bag of ice to the side of my face and wincing. My face looks miserable in the mirror, but inside, I am grinning. The fight I finally convinced Mattes to sign me up for was worth triple the money I usually get for throwing. Not even Oliver's threat can take away my giddy mood. Rent money, food money, even extra money. If I could just get the swelling to go down in my cheek, Oliver would be none the wiser.

I hear Oliver's footsteps on the stairs and hurry to dump the ice in the sink. Throwing myself on my bed in the corner, I snatch up a book. I am careful to turn my cheek away from the door. Oliver's key clicks in the door, and the knob turns. I meet his skeptical face over my book as he walks in, and smile.

"Hullo," I say cheerfully. "How was the library?" Oliver shuts the door behind him, one eyebrow raised.

"Fine," he says. He hesitates, squinting at me suspiciously. "What happened to you?" For a brief second, my heart races, but then I manage to calm myself. He can't know. Not with my face turned away. Finally, words manage to find their way to my lips.

"What do you mean?" My brother frowns, his face a mirror of the same look he wears when he's engrossed in some intellectual puzzle. Stupid. I am stupid for thinking I can get this past him. He's too smart.

"You just seem..." he trails off, dropping his bag on the floor. "...different," he finishes. He crosses the small room to open our fridge, and my eyes follow him, my heart racing. Maybe he won't ask questions. Maybe he can accept this and we can move on without another word. Maybe. 

"Kess."

"Hm?"

"There's food in here," he says. His voice is toneless. His eyes never leave the fridge."That's what fridges are supposed to have in them," I tell him simply. He reaches briefly for a jar of milk, then pauses, shutting the door and turning towards me.

"Kess, seriously. What's going on? There's food in the fridge, the electricity's still running when to my knowledge we were out of money, and you're acting weird."

"All things that needed to be taken care of," I say. I watch the inside of my book intently, but I'm not reading. "Did you get any studying done?"

Silence. Footsteps across our small room. Oliver's hand grabs the top of my book, pulling it down to scrutinize my face. Please don't notice. But I am already busted, and I know it. Oliver's long fingers find my face and turn it gently to my bruised side. I have his look of disgust memorized, but it does me no good.

"We needed the money." A useless statement. But it is all I can manage to say as Oliver drops his hand, shaking his head. In his mind, I have betrayed him. At this point I no longer care if he drops out or not. I would take it all back just to see the hurt leave his face.

Oliver walks back to his side of the room, his shoulders hunched. One hand hovers over the doorknob, and the other reaches to snatch his bag from the floor. That is my brother. Always keeping his school work in mind even in the midst of betrayal.

"I'm tired of this, Kess." His voice is quiet and broken. It is a knife to the stomach, and I am suddenly, desperately wishing I could take the fight back. Everything I do is for Oliver, but none of it matters if he isn't happy. I open my mouth to say something— anything— but he opens the door and is gone, leaving me with the ghost of his words and my own swirling thoughts.

***

The next morning, our trek to school is made in complete silence. Oliver came back late, and hasn't said a word to me since his departure. I am never one for talking in the morning, but today I am full of words that I can't say— of a desperate need to talk to my brother. Regardless of whether Oliver makes good on his threat, I have ruined his trust. To him, my choice to fight was not to put food on the table for us, but to put myself before him.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought from my mind. The sidewalk passes before me in a blur, and my thoughts continue to attack me. Oliver doesn't even look at me, his eyes on the road ahead. I keep mine on the ground, because I can't bear to look at him right now. There is too much pain on his face, and for something that I thought was so small.

The morning is crisp, and the cool air worms its way into the space between my layers of clothing. Children from a nearby neighborhood giggle on their way to the elementary school, a happy soundtrack to contrast my dark thoughts.

I watch a blond boy swing around a toy sword as his peers shriek. A small smile twitches onto my face. The shrieking devolves into laughter as the boy swings too hard and tosses the sword into the street. His feet patter on the asphalt as he dashes to get it. That's when I hear the motor from around the corner. Oliver and I both stop walking at the same time, as everything slows down.

A driver careens around the curve, his head buried in the blue light of a cell phone. Not paying attention. The boy is slow to pick up his sword— too slow. My heart slams into my chest as I watch, and I am momentarily frozen, but Oliver has no such problem. I know what he will do before he does it, but I am just a beat too slow. I start to run towards the street, but realize that I will be too late to help both.

My brother or the little boy. I can only save one safely. My legs burn as I try to run faster. Not fast enough. The driver still hasn't looked up. My brother is almost to the middle of the street. The boy still fumbles with his sword.

And then I realize— I can't make it.

But they can.

My life or theirs? It's not even a choice. I can't think. Thinking will make me hesitate, and every ounce of self-preservation I have says not to do this. But I can't stop now.

The car's headlights are nearly in my face now, an irony that somehow doesn't escape me in the midst of what might be my death. Oliver turns to yell at me, but it's too late.

I shove Oliver and the boy out of the way before I hear shrieking and everything explodes with pain. Knives in my skull, my gut, every bone in my body. After everything I've injured fighting, the pain has nothing on this.

Screaming, yelling, my own breathing thick in my hearing, and a strange blue light that flickers through my eyelids. There is no reason in my world anymore. The last thing I remember before I drown in pain is the sensation of Oliver's jacket in my hands, and the blond boy sobbing from a distance. Then everything is black.