SONG: Enrique Inglesias - Bailando
🌸
April Levesque
I creak the kitchen door open, thirsty. The mumbling-discussing brothers flinch and revolve so fast, Tanner loses balance, almost floundering. Registering it's me, Derek's tense shoulders and wide chest eases. A square-like object is clutched in-between his fingers.
"Uh ... Is everything okay?"
Derek stashes whatever he is holding in his pocket. Cheeks pale, his muscled arms are bare, two canvases of scars abnormally encircling his arms like bracelets — the palms, to the wrists, to the elbows, to the shoulders, more disappearing beneath the tunic shirt. "Yeah," he mutters as Tanner picks up the broken vase and twists the neck of the upper and bottom close.
The door groans open again. Derek's dogs trot inside. Duke, the silver-collared, pit-patts to me for a caress. Honestly, as much as this lake house is so comfortably aesthetic, I doubt I can sleep properly. Since Rhett ... It is a difficulty I never thought I'd have to face. He touched my core. I wanted to ask if Derek's dogs can sleep with the girls and me in the bedroom — mostly me — though that is odd. As if sensing my discomfort, Atlas whines and joins his brother, brushing his snout against my knee.
Derek silently observes his dogs standing beside me, tongues out and grinning. Slowly, his icy stare lifts to my neck. A protective anger fluoresces. I gingerly and mildly tilt my head sideways, my brunette hair curtaining. He knows someone hurt me. To think I thought the bruise would quickly fade over the days ... No, it's stubborn, as if it won't vanish until action.
His glacial eyes barrels my warm browns, the chilliness prickling my arms in goosebumps. That vexation consolidating his chiselled jaw is menacing. I respect him for not demanding. I respect him for understanding I need to be comfortable in order to confess. Mum did for a while, but I knew she momentarily gave up — the worry got to her.
Tanner surveys us. "I'll get going." He remarks something to Derek in ... French? Derek ripostes in the tongue. Tanner sniggers. He high-fives me and leaves in a swift wink.
Derek is ... so sweet recently. A fool wishes it is all an act, as a fool is used to being lied to so many times, so easily. I can see how genuinely concerned he is — how he genuinely wants me to get better. He told me what Jasmine and Naila did without hesitation. He knew it was betrayal to a trust I willingly gave the two girls. In a way, that is enough to trust himt.
The rooftop is so marvellous, so breath-taking. For some reason, I adored how we incessantly met up — accidentally or intentionally; for either a deep deliberation of life (verbally or mentally), or for a humble read, and city, cloud and star gazing, — and how we contently indulge in the Sri Lankan takeaway he bought. Time is nonexistent in the rooftop, despite the glass walls. I once fell asleep til the brink of dawn and witnessed a glorious sun rise. I expected Mum to be furious when I got home, although she was relaxed as it was Marlene Everston's skyscraper.
And the List — that was the sweetest thing ever.
Suddenly, the kitchen landline rings. Derek answers in an instant assumption: "Gareth?" His stare snaps to me. "Yes, she's here. Put him on the line." He hands me the handset, the coil cord extending. "Take your time."
I frown, about to ask who it is, but Derek leaves with a soft smile, closing the door. I press the handset to my ear. "Hello?"
"Good ... evening?"
I gasp. "Dad?"
The phone resonates his titter. "Surprised?"
I sit down on a chair. "How ... How ..."
"Someone Derek knows contacted our unit earlier today," he says. "I think it was his aunt. Derek spoke to me and asked to talk to you. He thinks you need it. Is everything okay?"
The circumstances of the Middle East are so horrendous, it is exceptionally challenging to get Dad for a five-second conversation. Derek, his aunt, his family, must have contacts.
Rhett's grapple to my throat is a sore burn. Roy's groping; my breasts hurt. Camila. Destiny. Aasvhi. Bodie. "No. Did Mum tell you what happened?"
"You broke Aasvhi's nose. Got into a fight. Got suspended ... I'm proud of you."
"Tell Mum that."
He chuckles. "I did and ... I love her, but you know what she's like. She was also right, baby-girl. You let your emotions take a hold of you—"
"I couldn't help it. They said horrible things—"
"Okay, okay, but at times you have to be the bigger person. Tell me everything that happened."
After I finished, Dad grumbled, "Some bitches, alright." I laugh loudly. "I bet your Mum and Aachchie wanted to join. You're with some friends right now, yes?"
"Yep." I tell Dad the history of the lake house. It's surprising Mum allowed me to come here. Maybe she knew I needed a break from home, a break with friends. When Ines came in her Porsche, when she hugged Mum, I saw a glint in Mum's eyes she never had with my ex-friends: she knew this group is better than the last. She couldn't figure out why.
"That's interesting." I can undoubtedly hear the reverence penetrating each word. "I never knew his family did that."
I grab a tissue from the kitchen counter, wiping my nose. I miss Dad. I miss him so much. "I broke up with Roy."
"Yeah, your Mum told me." He sighs heavily. "What a dickhead, you know?"
"You were right from the beginning."
"Of course I was. Roy chose gold. It was supposed to be lead."
I roll my eyes. "You and your Shakespeare ..."
"Hey, he's a famous writer for a reason—" A distortion in the background "Hey, hey—lads! Come on, calm down a little. I'm talking to my daughter."
"Heyo, how are you doing, Levesque's kid?" someone hollers. Silence. Then: "Sorry, chief."
Soft guffaws. Dad is quite intimidating and stern, a bit hard-headed.
Through the curvature windows, it is so dark, not even the awfully-close smudges of the meadow is visible. "Are you coming home soon?"
Dad sighs deeply. "I don't know, baby. I was hoping for Christmas but ... it seems unlikely."
Not another Christmas without him. No. I refuse. "Is it getting better over there?"
"No," he murmurs bitterly, miserably, hopelessly. "It never will. More bombs, shootings, deaths and more deaths. Little kids are dying — kids about Kais's age. Killed in front of their parents."
"Dad ..." Ishaan Ali's face plays like a movie in my mind's eye, manifesting in the architectural window. A soft beard, tall, slender, a cheeky smile. His happiness changes into a dead body, a body that was never found. Where the hell did the basketballers hide him? "You always tell us that silence is irrational and pointless."
I know a lot of things that could get me killed. Rhett touched me in plain sight, in the school's premises. He wasn't afraid to. Who knows what else he is capable of, or his friends for that matter? Makayla advised me to evaluate the outcomes of each decision, but now I don't even know. I'm so traumatised, it's draining.
The ghost of Charlotte Marin smiles in the facing window. Her honey-brown eyes, her golden locks, her fragile body. Blood leaking from her right temple, her body motionless on the concrete floor, skull and crown fractured. I saw myself, dead on the floor, if I never left Roy.
"Why is silence loud?" he demands softly.
"It's insanity."
"Exactly," he says. "I'm glad you put those girls in their place. I didn't raise my kids to stand on the sides and watch. I raised them to fight, physically or not. Remember fear is an illusion to the subconscious — your subconscious hasn't experienced it, and so it is frightened as newness is bothering. The more you step out of your comfort zone, the easier life is, and the easier it is to accomplish riddances. All you have to do is have a plan."
"A goal without a plan is a wish," I recite. "It proposes failure."
The reflection in the window is Bodie Banks. Analytical, hooded eyes. A worn-out hoodie, flabby jeans. Dreadlocks. Ripples of the protests in the city vibrate his display. "Dad, I know something." I pray he doesn't hear my breaking voice. "I'm just ... I'm just scared. You know, Roy's assault kind of shook me." His friend's, too. "I don't feel strong anymore."
"You are very strong," he assures. "Stronger than you can imagine. It's okay to be scared. Take your time to heal. And whatever is wrong, my baby, perpetuate it wisely. Time is too good to waste, but it is also important to prepare."
***
Ambling to the parlour, the stags frowning and growling in sync of the cries of the dead. Charlotte, Ishaan, Bodie. Help us. Bad things happen to good people all the time. Those prayers to heaven, begging for the injustice to end, begging for the fairness to rise, exists in the dreamworld.
Somewhere upstairs, Ines shouts to Jasmine from one of the bathrooms for soap. I sit next to the dogs, opposite to Theo, Jackson and Tanner sprawled on the sofas.
Theo lowers his phone. "Was that your dad?"
"Yes." I catch lines on his screen. "What are you reading?"
"Bodie."
The grin drops. Everywhere I go, his name is said.
Treyvon Mensah kept texting me on Snapchat, Elias Banks on Whatsapp, requesting for more art. I politely refused. No backlashes; I sensed their frustration.
Jose De La Cruz killed Bodie. It will be a shame if you end up like him — how can it not be? It has to be Camila's father, because who else wants Bodie dead?
Jackson asks, "Wasn't he killed?"
"He was hung," counters Tanner, bizarrely avoiding our gazes, "to frame it as a suicide."
"Some acid went into his cell," explains Theo, "and his cell only. That's what the outlets are saying."
Creaks. Derek descends, end-tips of his ebony-black hair drenched. Soap aroma, a pair of jogging bottoms, shirtless. We falter at the thousands and thousands of scars on his stalwart physique — chest and arms. Deep, narrow. Long, small. All mended-white. How long has he been self-harming? He tugs on a short-sleeve shirt, patches of it wettening, clinging to his muscles and abs. He is so wide, he barricades the staircase.
He notices me first. "How is your father?"
"He's doing great," I say. Jackson clears his throat. Tanner narrows his scrutiny, humming in thought. "I don't know how you did it, Derek, but thank you. I—I needed it."
A smile reaching the corner of his icy-blue eyes, "I know—"
Theo jolts upright. "Put on the TV. Quick!"
I contort in confusion, grabbing the remote. Theo urges a news channel. The camera beholds Edgewater's police department. The autumn climate ruffling the reporter's hair, his recitation muted. Derek lowers next to me, reading the headlines as I increase the volume, my heart pounding in flabbergast. Horror strains Jackson's face as he lifts himself up on the sofa, blinking and blinking as if hoping the announcement is a reverie.
"—pledged guilty to the murder of Bodie Banks."
"A cop killed him?" mutters a feminine voice behind us. Naila.
"Prison guard," corrects Theo.
"What, willingly?"
Abnormally, Derek glances at his brother, understanding exchanged. Their expressions darken. The sombre and the sulking magnifies, the beautiful light disappearing.
"There has not been a recent update," proceeds the man, "as to why Jack Daniels did this—"
"He must know something," says Theo. "Some guys on my football team think he never assaulted Camila." My focus whips to him, the palpitations intensifying. "Bodie was arrested for a sexual offence. All of a sudden he died. Doesn't that seem suspicious to you?"
Jackson frowns at the vaulted ceiling. "So Camila assaulted and killed Bodie?"
"It has to be," says Theo. "Who else wants Bodie dead?"
"You know it's serious when fucking BBC are talking about this," mutters Jasmine, dismayed.
Ines heaves out the astonishment. "The people are going to be furious."
"They already are," says Naila. "The protests have stopped, but—"
"It will start again," I finished. The government issued a warrant to calm the protests in Edgewater. No protest after Derek was on the Andrew O'Doyle Show.
"It will be bigger than it was before," predicts Derek.
"It's going to spread to other countries," confirms Tanner.
"How can you be so sure?"
The others are too absorbed in the news to notice the brothers' faltering silence. I gape at Derek, the left side of his jaw razor-sharp and minacious. He meets my eyes, and I see the face I greet every morning and night in the mirror: the face of a person who knows too much.
The face of secrets.
🌸
Derek:
Iykyk ;)