Colors Always Bleed Together [DUFN]

Chapter Fifteen: It's Not Love (Part II)

There is a knock on the door literally seconds after he leaves. Nicole doesn't wait for an okay before opening it and sticking her head in. "Is Brent okay?" She asks in a voice filled with concern and not even the slightest bit of sleep. She must have been awake the entire time. "I passed him in the hallway, but he didn't stop for anything." She walks in, closing the door as quietly as she can behind her. "I thought I saw some blood on his face, what little I saw of him before he was gone."

I am still trying to process all that I have been told in the last hour, if it was even that long. She continues to ask me questions, and I stare at her with my mouth open and my eyes widened; probably looking like a fish out of water.

"Ryan!" She shouts. I involuntarily shake my head. "What happened?!"

"Oh, um." I start. I'm fairly certain Nicki would already know something like this, but I don't want to tell if she doesn't. So I respond with a simple, "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to let you know."

"Personal?"

"I suppose so."

She takes a seat beside me. I think up something quickly, a question that she could easily take a hint about. Something to test whether or not she knows without giving it away. "Nicki?"

"Huh?" She says and a small uncomfortable silence descends on us. I'm almost afraid to break it.

"Do you know anything about-" I look away from her and my eyes fall on the same spot on the wall that Brent was staring at, "about Safire's father?"

A pale and frozen horror seems to take over her. She knows. She knows much more. And that's not exactly a satisfying thought.

"I do." She answers softly, as if hoping I didn't hear her and forget the entire thing. It becomes apparent to her that I'm not just going to brush it off. Not if Brent was that beat up over him - more figuratively than literally, but honestly a little bit of both. Despite the old phrase, I really don't want to see the other guy.

"How he-" Abuses her? No. Not that Brent would ever lie, especially about something like that, but what if she doesn't know? "Um-" I continue to think about the wording until something acceptable pops into my head, "treats her. Do you know anything about how he treats her?"

"Yeah. . ." She answers, being extremely vague, bust still not technically lying either. "Why?"

"Tell me what you know and I'll answer after that." I try to compromise.

She isn't so much set on it. "I asked you first, Tedder."

"Fine." I agree. What's the harm? If she's as bad off as Brent predicts, then she'll be asked anyways. The truth will come out eventually. Why not save her the trouble if reliving the horrors? "Something happened between him and Brent. He said he saw her father hit her." She becomes unreadable. "Anything you know about that?"

At first, I receive a head shake saying she didn't know a thing. Then, shaking everywhere else ever so slightly, it turns into a nod. She does.

"I'm not sure if she would want you to know the entire story." She whispers. "So a quick summary it is."

I try to get comfortable. Well, as comfortable as one can get while about to be told a tragic back story concerning somebody who is seemingly happy and then about to learn they have been suffering nearly their entire life. So, basically pins and needles in any position, and a lot of mental questioning on why I'm still trying. Eventually, after an awkward amount of time where Nicki was staring at me flopping around in a hospital bed, I sit there and let her continue like nothing ever happened.

She didn't seem to even notice that it looked like I was having a mini seizure or anything. She has zoned out big time. Probably questioning herself about what to take away from the big picture to make it harder to grasp the true meaning behind the fine brushstrokes it took to make it.

But you know what they say about artwork. If you use too much paint, the colors always bleed together. And once that happens, there is no going back. It becomes something new, something far more complex, but it can also make it more beautiful than it could have ever been without it.

Just like with the wreck. Without that, I would never know the woman sitting in front of me. It blended our lives together. We bled together.

And after all, red is a primary color.

"Ryan." She says softly and sighs. It's clear that she's worried, either for her best friend at the hands of the devilish man or how I'll take whatever is about to slip off her tongue. "You can not repeat this. Not without asking her first. She'll probably kill me if she figured out I'm telling you this much."

"I know." I answer calmly. "I won't."

"All right." She says, barely audible, then leans in a little closer as if the walls would tell her secrets.

"She was everything to him, her father. Her and her mother were his world. But that ended the day his wife died. He didn't talk to her afterwards. For a six year old, having to pick up on all the work around the house while your once loving father was constantly wasted or passed out on the couch, there is no debate. It was hard for her. But it was the easiest when him being drunk was the biggest of her problems.

"He started criticizing her work. Every little thing she did, even when it was something he asked her to do, it was wrong to him - and he let her know it. Even if she was hardly old enough to be in school but a few years, she had herself convinced he was just angry. He didn't mean it.

"But that's when it started. First, it was just slaps. She would have a red cheek for a day or two, and that was the worst of it. But then it just. . .

"It spun out of control. And now she keeps coming back to him. Her excuse is different every time I ask her why. Sometimes it's that she's trying to change him back. Others is that she is afraid to leave. I think we both know which one is true."

That's the problem. We do.

"I don't even want to know what is going down between them right now." I say truthfully. "As concerning as it is, I really don't want too."

She nods. "I understand. Me either."

Yet, I can't stop. Who knows how this will end? Someone could be hurt, even hospitalized, or worse. I want it to end. I hate the thought of someone doing that, and I just want it to stop.

"Well," She says and stands. "I better try to get some sleep; if I can clear my mind long enough."

"Sounds like a good idea." I comment and lean back, my head touching the pillows.

"Oh, and Ryan?" I turn my head to look at her. "I'm sorry."

Confused, I raise an eyebrow. "For what?"

"Yesterday. Or, earlier today. Whichever it was." She shakes her head.

I smile slightly. "Don't worry about it. It was just a little disagreement is all."

She nods and takes a step towards me. She hesitates, as if deciding whether or not to do something. She takes another step until she is at my bedside.

She bends down, her soft lips gently touching my forehead. I close my eyes and force my sigh to come out slowly so she won't notice. A feeling of pure bliss overcomes me.

All too soon, she stands back up. "Goodnight, Ryan." She whispers.

Feeling my forehead tingle where her lips once were and a yearning for her to stay, along with knowing she won't, I softly mutter back, "Goodnight."

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