Blair's apartment building was old. Skylar had thought that on the day she helped Blair move in, which would've been about three years ago, and now, it looked even older. The elevator chimed with each destination it reached, but it sounded as though the bell needed to be replaced. It sounded more like a duck-and a duck with some sort of laryngitis.
She was exhausted. Each road she had crossed to get to Blair's felt like she had climbed an entire mountain. Her body ached, groaning in protest. But she wanted to see Blair.
Ironically, she didn't want to see Jude-she just wanted to talk about Jude. Wanting to sit down and talk about things with Blair was a rare event. Skylar knew she'd likely shock her best friend, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't get Jude out of her head. And she thought that, maybe, by talking to Blair about it-because she was more experienced in these kinds of things-she may be able to get the girl off of her mind.
And then her mind would be back on Blair, the way she liked it: familiar, and comfortable.
Despite waking up with her mouth dry, yearning for a cigarette to fill the void, she made sure to avoid smoke at all costs. If Blair smelled even a single trace of a cigarette, she'd close the door on Skylar when she needed her the most.
The carpets lining the hallway of the fifth floor always reminded Skylar of a hotel, and she couldn't help imagining she and Blair taking a holiday somewhere and spending days-specifically rainy ones like today, in Toronto-curled up inside their hotel room.
Shaking her head as if to physically rid her mind of the thought, Skylar knocked softly on door 54, knowing it was early, but that Blair would most likely be awake. The sun was shining, and therefore, so was Blair.
But no response came.
Knock, knock, knock. Skylar tried again and again. Confused, then, she retrieved the key from her keychain, this one gold whereas hers was silver. She rarely used it; she didn't like barging into Blair's home without knocking first. Skylar hesitated for a moment before inserting the key into the lock, thinking that perhaps Blair just wasn't home, but thought better of it: she wouldn't have left for work yet. Besides, shouldn't Jude be home?
Yes, she was.
With music blasting from Blair's bluetooth speaker, of course Jude wouldn't have heard Skylar's insistent knocking at the front door.
But not only was she blaring music so loud it echoed against each wall, and Skylar nearly felt the reverberation of the bass inside of her chest-and she couldn't believe how soundproof the front door was-Jude was standing in the middle of Blair's living room, getting changed, it seemed like. But Skylar couldn't form a coherent thought, as she stood in the doorway, staring at Jude, who stared at the adjacent wall, without her shirt on.
Bruises. Everywhere.
Some had faded, but some were so dark, they looked as though they'd formed yesterday. Skylar searched her memory for any indication of pain from Jude: last night at the bar, or the night she found her outside of it. She couldn't think of anything that would point her in the direction of clear abuse.
Jude was not the type of person who kickboxed in her spare time. Nor would she ever roughhouse with someone for fun, or have a brawl rather than a spoken argument. Jude was calm, soft-spoken, rational. Skylar knew that.
So who had done this to her, Skylar wondered, and how had they gotten away with it? Were they still in Jude's life? Clearly, they must have been cut out of her life incredibly fast, for the bruises must have been made not long ago.
And then Skylar remembered Jude's boyfriend: the whole reason that the two girls knew each other in the first place.
She had been frozen upon first seeing the bruises, but now, she couldn't control her body. Feeling herself walk the length of the short hallway, deeper into the living room, where Jude was still nodding her head slightly to the music, and reaching towards the couch for her t-shirt, Skylar firmly pressed the "off" button on the speaker.
The apartment fell into silence. Until Jude yelped in surprise, grabbed her t-shirt rapidly, and held it to her torso to hide what Skylar had already seen. Skylar frowned as she watched, Jude choosing to hide herself and her scars before even turning to regard who had seen them.
Skylar deflated. A balloon, slowly seeping helium. A balloon that had been punctured, just a thin wound, but enough to destroy it.
Who would do this to someone else? Who would do this to Jude?
"I'm sorry, I was looking for Blair," said Skylar, surprised at how nervous she sounded-surprised at how nervous she was.
Jude turned then, recognition taking place; Skylar watched it glaze over her expression, as the blue eyes grew wider, wider, wider.
"She went to work," said Jude. In a haste, she threw the t-shirt over her head and pulled it over her shoulders and down her chest quickly, giving Skylar another glance at the damage that had been done to her body.
Skylar swallowed roughly, suddenly feeling nauseous.
"Listen, Skylar," said Jude, and paused, as if waiting for Skylar to interrupt. And she would have, but it was like someone had reached inside her body, flicked a switch, and turned her voice off.
Speechless.
Jude huffed, her eyes darting around the room, refusing to look at Skylar, and said, "Whatever you think you saw, you didn't." After noticing that Skylar had silently raised an eyebrow, she continued, "I have it under control. That's what I'm saying. You shouldn't have seen it, but now that you have, I want you to know it's not a big deal. So you don't need to tell anyone, or anything."
Who would I tell, Skylar asked herself, and then names popped into her head. Blair. The police.
"Jude, who did that to you?"
"I thought you weren't one to ask questions."
Skylar ran her tongue over her bottom lip, staring intently at the girl who refused to meet her pressing gaze. "This is different," Skylar said. It wasn't like she was asking Jude what her favourite colour was. Someone had taken their fist-or something else, which Skylar grimaced when she thought of-and hammered it against Jude's body. Her innocent body. An innocent girl.
Or was she? Skylar reminded herself that she didn't know everything-or anything-about Jude. She didn't even know her favourite colour.
"It's fine. Like I said, I have it under control."
Skylar could tell that Jude wasn't just lying, but was upset about it. She wouldn't meet her eyes because she was afraid Skylar would see her crying.
Her stomach lurched. Everything inside of her felt sick. And everything outside of her felt sore. The world kept spinning, but Skylar wished it wouldn't. She wished she could freeze time, and deal with what was happening before moving on.
But she knew that wasn't realistic. It wasn't possible.
"Get out." Jude held her palms to her eyes, and turned towards the window. The sunlight now seemed incredibly inappropriate.
"Jude, I can help you. You have to tell someone-someone who can actually do something about it. Someone who can do something to the person who did this to you." Skylar stopped and sighed, letting her shoulders heave. Her hands twitched beside her rigid legs, and she was surprised at how anxious she was in that moment. She had never dealt with anything like this before. Never seen anything like what she had seen on Jude's body before. A mosaic of hatred, of abuse. Jude didn't deserve it. Even if she did something bad to the instigator, she didn't deserve this. No one did. "Or you can just talk to me," Skylar finished.
She read Jude's face as she digested her final words, and knew at once that she was dealing with someone just as stubborn as herself. Or maybe it was just the situation that was so traumatic that made Jude not want to confide to her. Both, probably, Skylar thought.
"Please get out."
In that moment, Skylar wished Jude was the type to scream, to physically push Skylar out of the apartment. Hearing her words spoken so sadly, quietly, like admitting defeat, rather than shouting and showing Skylar that she still had a fight left inside of her, made the situation eternally worse.
Without a word, but wishing she could say anything-and everything-to comfort Jude, Skylar tiptoed into the hallway, as if afraid that any sudden movements would set Jude off. Not in an explosive way. Skylar already knew that there wasn't going to be any angry outbursts from Jude. But in a saddening way. The way she had told Skylar to leave.
The way she admitted defeat.
Skylar slipped on her shoes and closed the door behind her, listening for the comforting "click." Standing against the door, she tipped her head back, let her eyes fall closed, and listened to her heartbeat ricochet inside the walls of her chest.