Page 60 of UNAwere

He shrugs a shoulder. ‘I guess that opinion comes down to perception.’

‘For you,’ I say, squinting at him. ‘Was it bad for you?’

He nods.

‘I’m sorry.’

He shakes his head, about to say some nonsense about me not needing to apologise, but I hold up a hand to stop him. I guess the one-and-a-half beers I’ve had have made me brave.

‘No. I am sorry. Parents are supposed to look after their children. They’re supposed to care. They’re supposed to provide.’ I’m getting worked up, but I can’t help it. As someone who felt they had to become a parent to their sibling, I want to scream at anyone who can’t care enough to try. ‘It’s not… fudging hard!’

Briggs’s brows have risen slightly.

‘Okay, it is hard. But it’s not hard to show you care. Show you’re trying. Instead of…’ I shake my head, taking a breath. ‘Sorry.’

‘You keep saying that word, Red.’

‘Maybe it’s the beer.’

He lets out a small, amused huff, eyeing me as I light another cigarette. I offer it to him, and he takes another drag.

‘Sometimes I get worried that I’ve turned out just like him…’ he murmurs, and I hold my breath. I’ve never seen this side of Briggs, and I’m desperate to not ruin this open vulnerability by blurting out something stupid. ‘I did everything I could to protect Ma and Hannah.’ He blinks. ‘Everything. And yet, a part of me holds so much guilt over the fact that I had to hurt someone to stop them from hurting others.’

For a moment, we both stand in silence. I wait. For him to continue, if he wants to, or at least for his words to settle around us like falling ash. His gaze is fixed on the ground, and I study the emotions flickering across his face.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I tell him softly.

His eyes flash to mine.

‘I don’t know if you’ve ever been told that before, Briggsy… So let me be the one to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.’

He nods. Minutely. And then takes the cigarette from me again and draws deep, eyes glassy. I watch him as he does. Waiting. Hoping I haven’t crossed a boundary and said the wrong thing again.

‘Do you know wounds from family don’t heal with Weres?’ he murmurs when he hands it back, smoke puffing from his mouth as he speaks.

I stare at him. ‘So you mean…’ My eyes slide to his scars – the one on his face and the big, twisted thing on his forearm.

He nods. ‘Scars from family don’t heal.’

It suddenly dawns on me.

‘Is that why this little one from my sister never did?’ I ask, holding my finger up to him.

He frowns and grasps my hand, electricity gliding up my arm and along my shoulder. I shiver, but he doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on the little crescent-shaped scar near the knuckle on my index finger. I watch him, holding my breath, as he stares at it. And then he leans forward and presses his warm lips against my skin.

It’s a chaste action. Something utterly thoughtless. Entirely instinctual. But it still hits me like a semi-trailer.

I suck in a breath, and I see the realisation break open on his face. He quickly drops my hand, and we both start trying to talk over the other, to quickly skirt from the very thing we’ve been drinking to forget.

‘It’s a really nice night tonight, hey?’ I’m saying.

‘Do you want another drink or would you rather go to bed?’ he’s asking.

‘Oh, um, sure. I’ll go.’ I pass him my half-smoked cigarette and gesture back to the bar. ‘I’ve gotta pee anyway.’

He nods, clearing his throat, and I dash back towards the doors and inside.

There’s a line of women in front of the bathroom mirror when I get there. They’re all laughing and talking. One turns to me, and her eyes widen.