Trying To Endure

Chapter Thirty-Five

The ghost of Charlotte Marin smiles in the facing window. Her honey-brown eyes, her golden locks, her fragile body. Blood leaking from her right temple, her body motionless on the concrete floor, skull and crown fractured. I saw myself, dead on the floor, if I never left Roy.

"Why is silence loud?" he demands softly.

"It's insanity."

"Exactly," he says. "I'm glad you put those girls in their place. I didn't raise my kids to stand on the sides and watch. I raised them to fight, physically or not. Remember fear is an illusion to the subconscious — your subconscious hasn't experienced it, and so it is frightened as newness is bothering. The more you step out of your comfort zone, the easier life is, and the easier it is to accomplish riddances. All you have to do is have a plan."

"A goal without a plan is a wish," I recite. "It proposes failure."

The reflection in the window is Bodie Banks. Analytical, hooded eyes. A worn-out hoodie, flabby jeans. Dreadlocks. Ripples of the protests in the city vibrate his display. "Dad, I know something." I pray he doesn't hear my breaking voice. "I'm just ... I'm just scared. You know, Roy's assault kind of shook me." His friend's, too. "I don't feel strong anymore."

"You are very strong," he assures. "Stronger than you can imagine. It's okay to be scared. Take your time to heal. And whatever is wrong, my baby, perpetuate it wisely. Time is too good to waste, but it is also important to prepare."

***

Ambling to the parlour, the stags frowning and growling in sync of the cries of the dead. Charlotte, Ishaan, Bodie. Help us. Bad things happen to good people all the time. Those prayers to heaven, begging for the injustice to end, begging for the fairness to rise, exists in the dreamworld.

Somewhere upstairs, Ines shouts to Jasmine from one of the bathrooms for soap. I sit next to the dogs, opposite to Theo, Jackson and Tanner sprawled on the sofas.

Theo lowers his phone. "Was that your dad?"

"Yes." I catch lines on his screen. "What are you reading?"

"Bodie."

The grin drops. Everywhere I go, his name is said.

Treyvon Mensah kept texting me on Snapchat, Elias Banks on Whatsapp, requesting for more art. I politely refused. No backlashes; I sensed their frustration.

Jose De La Cruz killed Bodie. It will be a shame if you end up like him — how can it not be? It has to be Camila's father, because who else wants Bodie dead?

Jackson asks, "Wasn't he killed?"

"He was hung," counters Tanner, bizarrely avoiding our gazes, "to frame it as a suicide."

"Some acid went into his cell," explains Theo, "and his cell only. That's what the outlets are saying."

Creaks. Derek descends, end-tips of his ebony-black hair drenched. Soap aroma, a pair of jogging bottoms, shirtless. We falter at the thousands and thousands of scars on his stalwart physique — chest and arms. Deep, narrow. Long, small. All mended-white. How long has he been self-harming? He tugs on a short-sleeve shirt, patches of it wettening, clinging to his muscles and abs. He is so wide, he barricades the staircase.

He notices me first. "How is your father?"

"He's doing great," I say. Jackson clears his throat. Tanner narrows his scrutiny, humming in thought. "I don't know how you did it, Derek, but thank you. I—I needed it."

A smile reaching the corner of his icy-blue eyes, "I know—"

Theo jolts upright. "Put on the TV. Quick!"

I contort in confusion, grabbing the remote. Theo urges a news channel. The camera beholds Edgewater's police department. The autumn climate ruffling the reporter's hair, his recitation muted. Derek lowers next to me, reading the headlines as I increase the volume, my heart pounding in flabbergast. Horror strains Jackson's face as he lifts himself up on the sofa, blinking and blinking as if hoping the announcement is a reverie.

"—pledged guilty to the murder of Bodie Banks."

"A cop killed him?" mutters a feminine voice behind us. Naila.

"Prison guard," corrects Theo.

"What, willingly?"

Abnormally, Derek glances at his brother, understanding exchanged. Their expressions darken. The sombre and the sulking magnifies, the beautiful light disappearing.

"There has not been a recent update," proceeds the man, "as to why Jack Daniels did this—"

"He must know something," says Theo. "Some guys on my football team think he never assaulted Camila." My focus whips to him, the palpitations intensifying. "Bodie was arrested for a sexual offence. All of a sudden he died. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"

Jackson frowns at the vaulted ceiling. "So Camila assaulted and killed Bodie?"

"It has to be," says Theo. "Who else wants Bodie dead?"

"You know it's serious when fucking BBC are talking about this," mutters Jasmine, dismayed.

Ines heaves out the astonishment. "The people are going to be furious."

"They already are," says Naila. "The protests have stopped, but—"

"It will start again," I finished. The government issued a warrant to calm the protests in Edgewater. No protest after Derek was on the Andrew O'Doyle Show.

"It will be bigger than it was before," predicts Derek.

"It's going to spread to other countries," confirms Tanner.

"How can you be so sure?"

The others are too absorbed in the news to notice the brothers' faltering silence. I gape at Derek, the left side of his jaw razor-sharp and minacious. He meets my eyes, and I see the face I greet every morning and night in the mirror: the face of a person who knows too much.

The face of secrets. 

🌸

Derek:

Iykyk ;)