Legacy

Chapter 17: Breakfast... and Bruises

Even after a few minutes of soaking in the steaming water, the bruises on my skin still prod me, making it impossible to relax. Even after I scrub all the sweat and goop from my body, I still feel so dirty.

Water won't help. Soap won't help. Bubbles won't help.

I give up and slide down until the water is up to my chin. Just soaking for a little longer could help me forget. My eyes gently close as my hands twirl the bubbles at the water's surface.

In my minds eye I try to pull myself back to the tub back home. The one I would escape to when my dad was in a particularly bad mood. The bubbles back there smelled very flowery, which made my allergies act up, but they still smelled nice.

I lift my eyes open just enough to grab the bar of soap beside me. As I run it along my tender skin, the smell isn't flowery at all. The smell is extremely minty.

When I bring the soap up to my nose there's a knock on the bathroom door. I put the soap back in its proper place and pull myself up, rearranging my bubbles for modesty (even though it's a little redundant at this point).

"Morning Bird?" Michael's voice is so casual.

Seriously. How can he act so normal?

The door creaks open and Michael pokes his head in. To my relief, he decided to get dressed. His cheeks turn a bright red as he smiles down at me. "Breakfast is ready," he says, walking in and placing a stack of clothes on the toilet seat. "I brought you some clothes..." Michael scratches the back of his neck as he glances at the door. "Just-Whenever you're ready."

Thank god he decides to leave after that last awkward bit. How can he act like a sadistic killer one minute and behave like a hopelessly awkward teenage boy the next?

My mother raised a gentleman...

The words he'd said to me when I was petrified on that creaky mattress in the basement. When he'd insisted that he didn't molest me that first night. How strange that he'd act the same way the morning after I let him have sex with me.

And the fact that he'd credited his mother with that behavior...

He didn't stop cutting until he felt bone!

Shaking my head at that thought, I rise out of the tub. I drain the sudsy water and towel myself off.

He'd brought me my light blue sundress with little white flowers embroidered around the waist and hem. I remember it being in the back of my closet, but I never wore it. I never had a reason to. Why would Michael pick this dress? It's been so long since I tried it on, it might be too little. Will it even fit?

I hold it in front of me in the mirror. My skin is so pale and I'm not sure if it's the fact that I lost my virginity last night, or the utter lack of vitamin D in my system.

Releasing a sigh, I pull the dress on. It's not tight, but it hugs me around my ribs. I bite my lip and tie the string behind my back. My hair is still really wet from my bath, so I comb my fingers through it and let it fall lazily around my shoulders.

As I examine myself in the mirror, I start to feel better because I can no longer see the bruises, even though my face is still beaten up. I actually look like I could be going to church or something.

There are dark bags under my big brown eyes and my lip doesn't look any better. I search the drawers for something to help my lip and find some chapstick. After putting it on, I take a shaky step out the bathroom door.

Michael is waiting for me on the floor with a blanket laid out beneath him. A makeshift indoor picnic. He actually took the time to set up the plates of pancakes and eggs with bacon.

The corners of his lips turn up as I sit down beside him, taking extra care to not let him see up my skirt.

I pick up a napkin and spread it over my lap. Michael copies my movement. The bacon is nice and crispy as I bite into a piece. Eye contact is something I wanna avoid, but Michael doesn't seem to agree. I can feel his eyes watching my every move as he eats.

My plate is halfway clean by the time he finally says something. "I love that color on you. It compliments your complexion."

I allow the corners of my mouth to twitch up a little, even though his attempt at appearing normal is complete bullshit. "Is that the reason you picked it?"

Michael blushes. "I've never seen you in a dress before. I was curious." He takes the last few bites of his eggs. "Why've you never worn one before? That was the only one in your closet."

"I never had a reason to wear a dress. And the reason I got this one is because it fit and it was on sale at Goodwill."

I guess he doesn't know how to respond to that, so we keep eating in silence.

When we start to stack up our dishes, Michael makes one more attempt at talking to me. "So, umm," he clears his throat as he fiddles with the dishes, "I have some movies we can watch."

Great. How am I gonna get outta this one?

I shrug because I don't know what to say. It's not like I have anywhere to be instead. An image of his video camera flashes through my head. "Not any movies you've made," I clarify.

"Oh, Jesus no," Michael laughs nervously. "It's just..." he coughs, "I don't know. I thought you'd like to get some entertainment out of more than just books."

I sigh. "Sure." Michael stands up to leave.

When he's gone I go over to his desk and snoop through his papers and files. There's a folder marked "Trophies". I lift the top and slam it shut again at the gore of the top picture. So much blood and peeled flesh; I have no idea if it was a belly, chest or head. Sliding the folder aside, I pick up another one, this one marked "September".

I open it up and there's even more pictures than there were on his walls. One of me walking down the street; another of me reading in my room. As I flip through, the images get more intimate. I knew there was one of me sleeping, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Me coming out of the shower, a towel wrapped around my body; covering my face with makeup to hide the bruises; me crying on my bed back home, clutching my ribs.

Beneath all these pictures is a bunch of papers with my personal information. My blood type, my height, family history, my school, my library card records... As I flip through the papers, the typed letters turn into blank boxes filled in with pencil.

Where she spends most of her time: Library
What she usually wears: T-shirt and jeans
How often she cries: Once a week at least

Michael's footsteps alert me of him coming back to the room. I slam the file shut and plop down where I was on the blanket just as he steps back in.

"Are you coming," he asks, scratching the back of his head.

"Michael, can I ask you something?" He nods and I take a deep breath. "You said there were many factors that went into you choosing me," I say as I flick my tongue over my dry lips. "What were the most important ones?" He looks confused. "What made me different?"

He chews on his lip and considers the question. "You didn't spend much time in large groups of people. The less people who notice your abrupt absence, the better." Michael crouches down and starts folding the blanket.

Okay, so I was an introvert.

"You're not a fighter either," he continues, placing a hand on my shoulder. "If you were, you would've done something about your father. Your situation was almost too good to be true," he says with a smile as he brushes some crumbs from the blanket and stands back up.

Wow, even my being a fucking victim was a reason. Thanks dad.

"Of course," he pulls my chin up to look him in the eye, "it's a bonus that I happen to find you very attractive." I feel my cheeks heat up, making Michael's smile broaden. He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet.