3|
brad is waiting
Rose doesn't say anything else the entire drive to Pine Street. She's looking out of the window, hiding her face behind her black hair, lifting her hand up from time to time to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks.
I know I should try to comfort her somehow but to be honest, I have no idea how. I can barely deal with people when they are at ease so I can't even imagine how terribly my attempt to soothe her would end up if I tried to comfort her while crying.
Gripping the steering-wheel a little tighter, I watch my knuckles whiten a little. "Rose?" I begin quietly, my voice coming out as a cracked whisper. "Are you okay?"
I know there isn't anything that could be more stupid than asking her that question but I don't know how to start a conversation with her. What happened at the parking lot definitely didn't look okay and I have to make sure the situation isn't much worse than I assume.
She's silent for a long moment, almost prompting me to repeat the question again but at last, she swipes the sleeve of her long-sleeved sweatshirt across her nose. Though she still doesn't make an attempt to face me. "Yeah."
Her voice cracks at the end and something in my chest tightens. Her guarded response should be enough of a sign for me to drop it, but I can't. I know she's lying, judging by the way she's acting right now.
"I know I'm not in any position to stick my nose into your business," I tell her, silently praying I'm not overstepping any boundaries here, "and I don't want to come off as nosy or anything but if you want to talk about what just happened, I'm here to listen."
I turn my head to look at her at the exactly same moment she does. Her eyes are puffy, the black mascara smeared underneath them, the tender skin around her nose worn out.
"Nothing happened." She tells me weakly, her dark eyes burning into mine. "I appreciate your . . . offer, but there's nothing to talk about."A long strand of her black hair falls in front of her eyes and she reaches up, pushing it behind her ear. That's when I notice.
Almost her entire cheek is bright red, though that's not what catches my attention. What does however, is the slightly purple bruise forming across her cheekbone. My breath hitches a little and she apparently notices her mistake because she quickly slips the strand of her hair from behind her ear to cover the side of her cheek back up.
"What the hell?" I search her face with my eyes but she averts her gaze to her lap, the regret written all over her. "Rose. . . Did. . .Did Roger hit you?"
"No." She says, a little too quickly as she looks back up at me. "He didn't hit me."
She's trying to force me to think that with the words that spill out of her mouth but I'm not sure she believes them herself. I've been in her situation too many times to know how this works. Most people would never willingly confess to something like that.
"Rose.." My voice can barely come out past the lump that had formed in my throat. "It's okay to say it." I try to say as softly as possible, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of my own eyes. "You're such a beautiful girl, no one should ever treat you this way."
She's practically a stranger, I know nothing about her, but I know how important it is for her to hear those soothing words. I don't want to push her, so I try to remain as strong as possible for her but I can't ignore the fact that my hands are shaking on the steering-wheel now. Her gaze falls right there and I clutch the wheel with a bigger desperation in order to keep it cool. I'm not sure whether I'm having this reaction because I hurt for her, or hurt for myself.
Her mouth parts just as another tear runs down her cheek. "You really think that?"
The pain in my chest increases even more at the sight of the broken girl in front of me. She is beautiful. And strong. And even though I don't know her, I know she doesn't deserve to go through whatever Roger Simms is most likely putting her through.
Shakily, I reach one of my hands out and touch her hand, gently squeezing it. I know she needs reassurance and someone to be here for her now and that's exactly what I intend to do. "Of course I do. No one deserves to be treated this way, okay? You can do so much better."
I wish I could say more to her, but I'm afraid if I tell her too much, the message I am trying to deliver here will be the exact opposite. I have to choose my words carefully. More than anything.
"I. . . You don't even know me, Aspen."
I wonder how she knows my name since I've never officially introduced myself to her, but the answer isn't that difficult, I guess. After all, I'm the only girl currently playing for the Highland hockey team. I'm sure that's something most people that had been attending our games have noticed. Still, Rose doesn't strike me as a hockey-fanatic type of girl. I could be wrong though, and right now, even though my curiosity is getting the best of me, I know it's not the time to ask something as silly as that particular question.
"I know," I say, drawing my hand back to the steering-wheel. "But that doesn't mean that telling you how wrong is what Roger does to you is not true."
Honestly, I don't expect her to answer, so I'm not surprised when she remains silent. I drive past the street sign and light up the blinker, rounding the corner to Pine Street. I know she told me it's enough to drop her off anywhere here but I'm not about to do that. I need to know she comes home safe. "Can you tell me the number of your house or something please?"
She doesn't, but raises her hand instead. "It's that one," her tiny finger points to a small house crouched just a few houses away from us. All of the lights are switched on, soaking through the windows as if they were trying to make up for the shitty street lamp positioned in front of the building.
"Okay."
I switch off the engine once I pull over the curb in front of her house. She looks back and forth between the house and me, pursing her lips tightly together, before flicking her gaze to the fidgeting hands positioned in her lap. "Listen . . . what happened . . . never happened, okay?"
She's pleading. Her voice isn't giving anything away, but her big chocolate eyes say enough. This girl is asking me for a favor that's so, so wrong of me to keep, but I know it's not my business to go around telling her secrets. It's not my business, and as much as it pains me, maybe she has an actual reason why she refuses to do something to get out of this whole Roger Simms situation. A sick, twisted reason that I can't possibly comprehend, but a reason nonetheless. I mean, that could be a possibility, right?
Telling myself that, I inhale a deep breath before nodding my head. I know how wrong agreeing to something like this is, but if she's anything like me, then she won't listen to me, no matter how hard I press.
The silence spreads over us awkwardly like a blanket, prompting me to move my eyes to the window beside her head just as Collin Adamms, her brother, steps out of the house. I'm appalled at how similar they look, and for a second can't wrap my head around how I didn't immediately connect Rose to him back at the school parking lot.
He's dressed in a black worn out jeans and a gray shirt that is stretched out across his chest nicely, carrying his black hoodie in his hand. His dark brown hair is sticking up a little to every side, falling over his eyes as he walks. Even though I hate to, I have to admit the boy looks good. Too good for someone with such an ugly personality.
I slide a little lower in my seat, hoping he won't notice me but I think it's a little late for that, since he steps down the stairs and starts walking toward my car. Shit.
Rose must have noticed him, too, judging by the scared look that appears in her eyes. "Promise you won't tell anyone about this. Especially not Collin. Please."
Her voice comes out as a desperate plea once again and I nod my head a few times. It's fairly possible I am turning into a pathetic robot. "I won't. Promise."
Not that I was planning on telling her brother, anyway. It's not like he had spoken to me before today's incident in the cafeteria (I'm just glad that I always carry a spare shirt in my hockey gear bag) and I don't really consider him someone I would like to spend my time around. He has a reputation, and after hearing my fair share of rumors about him, I'd rather stay away from him. Besides, I gave Rose my word. And promises are made to be kept, not broken.
"Thank you, Aspen." The corners of her mouth curls up a little this time. "For everything."
"I didn't do anything special, Rose. Just dropped you off at your house."
"Yeah. Just dropped me off at my house." She clarifies, making sure that's the only part both of us remember. That nothing like Roger Simms hitting her after the argument that he clearly couldn't handle ever happened.
She gives me one last silent nod before jumping out of the car, slamming it shut quickly behind her as she makes her way toward Collin.
I don't wait for a special cue to make my escape. I crank the engine and pull out of Adamms' driveway in one swift motion, ignoring Collin's penetrating gaze following me as I disappear into the evening candlelight.
I'm not far from Pine Street when my phone starts ringing. I reach to the back pocket of my jeans to retrieve it, praying for the caller ID to be anyone but one of my family members.
Ugh. I guess today is not my day.
"Aspen?"The voice on the other side of the line squeaks with confusion and I immediately regret accepting the call. It's not that I don't want her to call, I just don't want her to call me.
I know I'm the more responsible one of her daughters but Sarah is her child too. It always ends up like this, with her calling me when she's so out of it that she doesn't even know where the hell she is.
And I'm so tired of constantly trying to pick up the broken pieces of her, doing nothing less than figuring out how to seal her back.
"I'm on my way home already, Mom." I mutter flatly, hoping for the call to end as soon as possible. I don't really want to end up like a blurry bannock smashed between the car components because she can't seem to stay on the safe and sane side of the 'river'.
"Why aren't you home yet, Aspen?" The apparent confusion in her voice increases even more. "Brad and I-- We wanted to go out for a dinner but he said he won't go anywhere without you and I didn't want --"
"I'll be there in five." I interrupt her incoherent rambling. "Do you want me to go to TacoBell and get you something?"
"No. We're going out. I just told you."I know she just told me, but somehow, I doubt Brad will be in the mood to push up his lazy ass off the couch. As if affirming my thoughts, something in the background loudly clatters and my grip on the steering-wheel automatically tightens. "Just-- just come home already. Brad is waiting."
The line goes dead before I get the chance to respond, which is probably for the best anyways. I'm not sure I'd be able to keep my mouth shut if I heard her say something more about him. She's always doing this, and it's all because of that asshole.
Because at the end of the day, she isn't the one who's in charge. Brad is. Even when it comes to her own life because he seems to be invading every single thought that runs through her zonked mind. Or at least, that's what I keep telling myself to feel a little better.
Time seems to be running extremely quickly, and before I know ten minutes have passed by.
I should be stepping out of the car now, making my way inside so I can find out what the hell is happening again, but I'm not.
Instead, I remain sitting silently in my mom's Toyota, attempting to push myself to finally stop being such a coward. I flick my gaze to the Humphrey's huge house behind the window as I sit in the driveway of the house opposite theirs, few blocks away from ours. I am pretty sure that if whoever lives in this house were about to look out of the window, they would find me sitting here more creepy than not, but I couldn't care less right now. I'm not ready to go home yet.
The lump in my throat grows and I have a hard time swallowing it, thinking of what's about to come next. God, I hate living here. I hate being seventeen and I hate not having almost any kind of say in my own life even more.
With one last calming breath that escapes my mouth, I put the car finally back in motion. I can't be hiding here forever. He's probably going to be beyond furious anyway.
The thick window curtains are tightly shut as always, the little sling of light being the only indication of actual people occupying the room while preventing the rest of the world from seeing what's going on inside.
I sling the bag with my hockey gear over my shoulder, quickly locking the car. Before I reach the last porch step, my hands are a shaking mess once again and nothing seems to be working to calm them down. Get yourself together, Aspen. He can't see you like this. It'd only give him the feeling of having even bigger power over you.
Filling my lungs with a sharp breath after taking a moment to mentally talk myself into appearing more brave than I might feel on the inside, I push the door open, the stuffed air swirling out from the house instantly choking me. Tears spring to my eyes and I clutch my chest to stop myself from getting into a middle of a coughing fit. I should be used to this by now, but I'm not, and God knows I'll never be.
"The little skeeze is home already."
His faint murmur echoes from the living room just as I drop the bag onto the cold tile floor in the rammed hallway. I can hardly remember how the space actually used to look like before Brad had stuffed all his shit in here. The rest of the house not being an exception.
A movement in the mirror catches my eye and I turn around just as he leans against the dowdy door frame, crossing his arms in front his muscular chest.
"Mind explaining where the fuck were you this late?" He raises his voice, the words coming out obscurely, thanks to the aglow cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
I should have been awaiting his little outburst, it's nothing unusual or surprising, but the intensity and sharpness of his voice make me flinch nonetheless.
Bad move.
My scared reaction only prompts him to take a step closer to me, a wicked grin taking over his sharp features as he takes my chin between his calloused fingers. His touch is ice cold and I want nothing more than to close my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at him, but I push the thought away. I had closed my eyes too many times already. I'm not backing down this time.
"Tell me," His rotten breath fans my cheek and I have to bite my tongue to refrain from throwing up inside my mouth, "where have you been, Aspen?"
•
please don't forget to vote and comment if you enjoyed this chapter!
Q: Who do you think Brad is? And what do you think about Roger Simms?
thank you so much for reaching 300+ reads btw.