Beautiful Tragedy ✔️

eight;

"N-no I don't just mean a bad body image." I inhale deeply and let the words rush out, "My father abused me. He used to get drunk and reflect upon the fact that I killed my mom, his wife, in childbirth and how it was all my fault. How everything is my fault. He would wait until I got home from school and beat me. Sometimes it would happen in the middle of the night when he came home from working a night shift and he would drag me out of bed by my hair." I reach up to twirl a piece of my hair and a sad smile pulls at the corners of my lips. "It didn't used to be this long, you know. After I turned twelve I shaved my head until the day I graduated high school. It kept him from using it against me." I had been teased countless times for having a buzz cut throughout my teenage years, ridiculed by most of my peers as they called me disturbing names.

Finally, I turn my head back to steal a peek at Alex.

His eyes are sad, but the rest of his body emits an aggressive anger that I know he's trying to keep bottled up. The muscles in his cheeks are pulled taut against his clenched jaw, and his fingers are nearly white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. It should startle me, being so close to his rage, but it doesn't. I know that Alex isn't angry at me, but rather for me.

"Is the fucker at least in jail?" he hisses from between his teeth.

"He was a cop," I explain. "Do you really think his cop buddies wouldn't bail him out?" It's the same line my father used against me to keep me quiet, and it sounds just as bitter coming from my mouth as it did his.

"Jesus fuck."

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," I mumble. It wasn't my intention to get Alex to angry, I only wanted to give him some background information as to why I freaked out and made a fool of myself earlier.

"No, I'm glad you told me," Alex says softly. "I'm just so sorry that you had to go through all of that. You're father is obviously a prick, and he doesn't deserve an amazing girl like you for a daughter."

His kind words wash over me with a flood of emotion. I never would have guessed nearly a month ago that I would be sitting with Alexander Woods in his truck rambling about my past, nor would I have ever thought he would be so understanding.

"Thank you, that means a lot," I tell him earnestly, heat flushing my cheeks.

When I look out the window again I find that we've entered a small town. There's still a lot of trees in the mountainous landscape, but they break apart every now and again to make way for buildings and houses. Alex follows the road further into town before pulling into a parking lot. I realize that he's brought me to an ice rink.

He reaches into the back seat of the truck and I hear the sound of a zipper as he rifles through the contents of a gym bag.

"This can't be where you guys practice, it's far too small," I say, peeking up through the windshield at the rundown, brick building.

Alex laughs as he slings a pair of ice skates over his shoulder by the laces. "Our home games and practices are at the rink on campus. This is just where I come to get away from it all. It's the closest place where I can just...skate, I guess. Without a crowd and without my coach up my ass."

"I've never...I've never ice skated before," I admit sheepishly. Great, I'm going to ruin it for him.

"Not a problem, I'm a great teacher," Alex replies with a wink. "Come on, it'll be fun. I promise."

I follow him inside, trailing behind at a comfortable distance. There's a small arcade near the entrance that holds old-school machines, and a concession stand that sells candy and rents out skates.