A S H T O N ' S P . O . V .
GINGERLY, I PUT THE Band-Aid into Rose's hands. She teetered, on one foot and then the other, as she unwrapped it and avoided every opportunity to meet her brown eyes with mine. I sought this as the best chance to attentive study her body language while her mind was on a separate duty.
I unknowingly caught myself smiling.
The smiling stopped as fast as it had started when something grabbed my attention.
The left portion of her right hand, marked up with scratches, threw me off into a flurry of confusion. Not taking a moment to ask her if I could bring attention to this wound, I carefully flipped her hand over and saw that it was larger than I first preserved it to be.
A blueish bruise was on her wrist and so were nail marks, deeply dug into her skin.
"Did you get that at the party?" I nosily asked. I wanted to say: Did Edgar inflict those wounds on you? But I didn't go there.
Yet.
"No." She backpaddled from me. "It happened at dance practice."
"You're a dancer?" She had the petite body frame of a dancer, so I wasn't entirely shocked by this revelation.
"Yeah." She said, breathlessly, holding both of her hands behind her back and out from my line of vision. "I'm the team captain of the West Vista High Dance Team."
"Impressive."
"You don't think that," she rolled her eyes. "You're probably thinking I'm prissy, air-head deep down inside. Don't worry, most of the school assumes that too until they get to know me."
"I wasn't going to say that." I announced and meant it. "Matter of fact, I was going to say that takes dedication to rise to the top and be a captain."
"It did take a lot." She puffed, returning her hands back to her sides. The bruise was back in view. "I sacrifice a lot of my free time for the team."
"I'd imagine," I mused and geared the focus back on the wound. "How exactly did you get the bruise?"
If Edgar caused it, this wasn't going to be the end of him. I knew what tactics guys like Edgar resorted to whenever they lost control of whoever they were manipulating.
They will do whatever they can to regain control and pull that person back into the relationship. I witnessed my step father so the same thing with my mum.
When Rose said nothing, I asked again, "How did you get them?"
"I told you." Her back stiffened and her stern tone shifted into a tone that lacked emotion and convention in her voice. "I got it from practice. We were doing a tricky move and it backfired. It's not that important. It'll heal itself up before the end of this week."
For some reason, I was not falling for that lie; it was a coverup story. I decided to play along –to an extent. Rose and I weren't necessarily buddies at this point. I couldn't jump to senseless conclusions without hearing the full story.
I may be an open book, but that didn't mean I expected for everyone to be like that, too. I had to respect her choice. If I was meant to know, then she would've spoken truthfully.
"What's this?" She inched in, tracing the tip of her thumb on the only part of my body that was inked. I got it on the two year anniversary of my dad's death.
I was currently eighteen; I was a minor when I got it though. I found a dodgy place to get it done illegally without my parents' consent. My mum didn't know about the existence of this tattoo on my body. She'd feed me to the wolves if she knew about it.
"Every star may be a sun to someone," Rose read the swirling text, written thinly on my arm.
"It was a quote my mum and dad always used," I mumbled. Rose silently applied the bandage on me and I pushed my head through the hole of my shirt when she was done.
That wasn't the full reason to why I got the tattoo. I gave her the short answer, which wasn't lying.
My dad was the one who first got me interested in the cosmos. I spent a large majority of my time with him, in his den, being fascinated at every new bit of knowledge that came my way. He didn't have a college degree, but he was driven by the curiosity - and that curiosity was funneled into me.
In a way, he was the center of the household; he was the center of our universe. I didn't see my mother very often. She ran a daycare in the capital. When he died, it was like a star –shinning as a beacon of hope –began to dim and fade, until finally being swallowed up by the darkness.
Technically, that isn't how stars died.
I skipped the whole supernova stage where the star explodes because imagination my dad erupt into oblivion would ruin every sentimental connection I had with the tattoo.
Could you blame me?
"I've wanted a tattoo for a little more than three years now," Rose confessed. "It wouldn't be a visible tattoo though. Just something I can see."
"What would it be of?"
"I'm not telling you." She went into the connecting bathroom and tossed out the trash from the Band-Aid wrapper. "I told someone before what my idea was and they said it was stupid."
"They were probably an asshole."
"Well, it was Edgar who called it stupid so that assumption is correct."
"It can't be that bad. What is it of?"
"Nope."
"You want to tattoo the word nope? Well that's definingly a stupid tattoo idea," I teased but she didn't laugh. "C'mon, what is it?"
She turned off the light to the bathroom and turned closed the door, clasping on the golden doorknob and sighing with her eyes fluttering shut. "It's a work-in-progress kind of tattoo."
"Which means....?"
Her eyes flew open. "I would get the word shell tattooed, but not filled in. It would just be the outline of the letters that make up the word. And each time I do something significant in my life, I fill up one of the letters –making it bold. I'd do this until each letter is filled in."
"What in your life would be classified as significant?"
"Little milestones in my lifetime. Going to college for a business degree, opening up my own store, having kids, getting married. Things like that." She said wishfully, staring at the ceiling. "Once I've given all I can to the world and filled in each letter, I'll have nothing else to offer it."
"Which would make you nothing but a shell of a human," I concluded, understanding the meaning to the tattoo. I didn't expect such a sad concept to come from a girl who –from what she told me and from what I already knew from circulating gossip—was quite popular at West Vista High and was paraded as a likable student.
She lived in a modest, gated community; I lived closer to city. I peddled around on a used bike; she had two luxury cars parked in the driveway when we pulled up. I would've figured she'd be happier.
Whoever thought popularity and money equated to automatic happiness was unequivocally wrong. I'd like to believe us humans were more complex than that.
Nothing was a one-trick fix to eternal joy and prosperity. The only thing that was certain in life was death - not happy and wealth. I didn't dwell on that too much though. I learned right after my dad died that wallowing in your own tears for too long or constantly chasing against time would only make you miss out on the little things in life.
The bedroom door cracked open and Michael appeared, popping his head in. "Hey, it's getting kind of late. We're going to have to leave now if I'm meant to make it on time for my curfew."
"Oh, right, sorry. We can go." I walked to the door. "Thanks for helping, Rose."
"No problem." She replied. "Before you guys go though, can I talk to you Michael?"
I took that as my cue to scurry away. I let them have the room and waited for Michael in the hallway. Out of respect, I didn't want to eavesdrop, but they didn't do their best in speaking quietly. Anyone in a ten feet radius could hear them.
"...He has a spare key to this house, Michael," Rose said. "I left it at his place accident over a week ago and never got it back. Do you think he'll use it?"
"Are you really asking that? It's Edgar, Rosie. This is the same guy who broke into your locker last term so he could take out that photo of us from when we were kids that was taped on the inside."
"He didn't break into it."
"He did break into it. He temporarily stole the master keys from his dad and got in to your locker," Michael fumed, "I would consider that breaking into your locker."
What the hell was up with Edgar? How couldn't she see how crazy he was? He was reminding me of my shitty step dad more and more. He was abusive and brash. Two things I desperately strived to not imitate and add on to my own personality.
The voices died down and I couldn't tell what they were talking about. At last, I heard their parting words right before Michael left the room.
"When I drop Ashton off, I'll come back here and you can stay over at my house. Call your mom and see if she's okay with you sleeping over at my place."
"I'm sure she'll be fine with it."
The door reopened and Michael emerged from inside the room. With me trailing behind him, not saying anything as we walked, we left Rose's house in the awkward fashion you could think of. I could sense something bothering him but I left it at that. I wasn't bubbling with elation either; I wasn't anticipating this portion of the night at all.
I was planning on taking the city bus after leaving the party. But at this hour, the buses were coming forty minutes to an hour apart. I couldn't wait that long. Having Michael drive me was my last hope.
I didn't like lying, but one thing I liked to keep hidden was where I lived. I would have to tell him to drive five blocks away from where I actually stayed so he'd think I stayed somewhere else.
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