When Bluebirds Fly | ✔

Part One : Chapter Twenty

I leaned my head against the hard wall and closed my eyes peacefully, still holding Isaac's hand. I could hear the rustling of the turning pages and his hand grew tense under mine. He would have been rereading the part about Abel since that ghastly incident was something where I was less at fault. He swore softly, "I'll kill that bastard."

I smiled coyly in my sleep, imagining Isaac trying to figure out how to hold a knife in order to viciously murder someone. I couldn't picture cold blood splattered on him. The more that I thought about it, the more I could see blood oozing out of him. There was Abel ruthlessly twisting a knife and spilling Isaac's blood all over the floor. Isaac's grey eyes were wide in shock as he collapsed with the knife pierced in his stomach. I ran desperately towards him, but Abel's face flashed before me.

That night. The burning taste of soda on my throat. A trail of insects feasting on biscuit crumbs. A photo-frame with a couple and their two smiling daughters. The net material of my purple frock scratching my thighs. Too many lights on the ceiling, too many.

I woke up, startled and Isaac's comforting hand was no longer under mine. In fact, he wasn't anywhere around and a quick check outside the window indicated that it was the middle of a hot afternoon. The diaphanous, white curtains were drawn to hinder the fierce rays of the sun and they billowed whenever a warm breeze passed by. I heard footsteps and I got up merrily, hoping to see Isaac, but there he was. Abel.

I froze midway and observed him smiling respectfully at the receptionist who seemed charmed by his rugged looks.

"Mariana," he spoke gruffly in a low voice. "I don't have much time so let's make this quick." I stared at him dubiously since I couldn't fathom what he was implying. "I'm leaving and I need money."

"I told you that I don't have any," I whispered, my eyes glued to the pastel coloured door as if I was the perpetrator and afraid that someone would catch me harassing a young girl. This entire thing felt naughty, wrong. I was supposed to alert someone, to seek help.

"Give me whatever you have on you now," he commanded plainly. "Hurry up." He grew childishly frustrated, noticing that he couldn't elicit the favourable response that he desired, he added, "I haven't circulated your pictures. You can still help yourself by helping me."

I stupidly reached for my bag and fished out my dad's wallet.

"Please remember your words," I pleaded sincerely, still defiantly looking at the door while handing him the wallet. "As promised, I helped you. You have to keep your end of the promise. Promise me."

"I promise you," he said clearly and if I had the valour to look into his eyes, I could have confirmed that he wasn't lying. I knew how fucked up it was to steal my own father's wallet while he was battling for his life and surrender it to the man who put him in the hospital in the first place. I knew how fucked up it was to help my own molester and trust him blindly. I knew that I was fucked up, completely and tragically and there was no saving me.

For the next few minutes after Abel left, my eyes were fixed on the door till Isaac entered with a paper bag.

"Hey, I'm sorry that I left without telling you. You were asleep and I thought you would want to eat soon. So I bought food," he explained apologetically and I could only manage to nod.

We ate chicken rice and salad and Isaac mostly did the talking, updating me about the events that occurred at Bailey's Nuts in my short absence and all the made-up eccentric customers' stories that he narrated to keep the conversation interesting and funny.

I enquired about my father's condition after eating and they fed me with so much medical crap that I couldn't comprehend anything. By the weary look on Isaac's face, I knew that the news wasn't good. So in the eerie night when the doctor finally delivered the climax to the story, I wasn't surprised.

I found myself in the memory lane, years back in the bustling park, cribbing at dad for biting half my ice cream when I had offered him only a lick.

"Ma'am, you would need to sit down for this," the doctor began gravely and I obstinately shook my head. He continued softly, "His condition is critical, there are less chances of him . . . "

The doctor was right, I did need to sit down before my legs gave away.

* * *

A/N :

Part One of this story is complete! Next will be part two with same characters and same timeline, but the plot turning out differently depending on Mariana's actions and thoughts.

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