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She nods discreetly. Silver might talk a lot, but she doesn’t like to ask for things. She also doesn’t like to put herself out there.
I noticed it in games. Whenever we play, she asks to go last so she can observe the others. Of course, she doesn’t, because I steal the last position from her every time. Aiden and I usually win against all of them.
Xander and Kim don’t care; they only like the act of playing games, but Silver always stomps out angrily, then returns the next day demanding a rematch.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me yours,” I say.
Her brow furrows. “Mine?”
“Why are you crying?”
She crosses her arms again while still holding her doll. “I’m not telling you.”
“I’m not telling you either, Butterfly.”
She glares at me, jutting her lip forward. It’s adorable.
It’s weird to think of someone as adorable on a day like this…I suppose. But since I met Chaos, I’ve realised normal was never for me in the first place.
Finally, Silver sighs. She stares down at her dress’s skirt and plays with the butterfly at the waist. “I overheard Mum and Dad fighting and saying they’re getting a divorce.”
Disappointment grips me like when those passersby found me. Why is it so boring? “That’s it?”
“What do you mean, that’s it?” Fresh tears pool in her eyes. “They always fight and scream and say mean things to each other. Now they’re going to get a divorce. I’ll be like Sally from class. My life will be divided between two parents and two homes. We won’t live together, have holidays together, or travel together and…and…I don’t want that!”
“Okay.”
Her head snaps in my direction. “Okay? I tell you everything and all you have to say is okay?”
“Yeah, good luck.” I start to stand, but she clutches me by the sleeve of my T-shirt, keeping me in place.
“You don’t get to leave, Cole.” She pulls me down with a force I didn’t know she had in her. I lose my balance and fall on my back on the bench.
The sting creeps all the way up my spine.
Silver straddles my waist, her big skirt covering us both as she places her palms on my shoulders.
If I wanted to push her away, I could, but I don’t want to. This close, I notice the tiny freckles lining her nose that I haven’t seen before. Tears glisten in her eyes, and the view from the bottom allows me to look at the clear contours of her shadowed face.
It’s…beautiful.
“You can’t leave. You’re the first one I ever told that. You have to take responsibility for it. Papa says everyone is responsible for how they react after they see things. If you ignore something bad, you’re a bad person.” A tear falls from her eyelid, straight on to my cheek, and drips to my mouth, making me taste salt.
“Who do you hate the most between them?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t hate my parents.”
“You must. If they’re fighting, one of them is causing it, right?” I pause. “In my case, my father does, and I hate him.”
I don’t know why I tell her that. Could be because I want to conjure that look from earlier, or simply because I want to say it out loud for once in my life.
“Why do you hate your father?” she asks.
“This is about you. Who do you hate the most?”
“I don’t hate her, but I don’t like M-Mum sometimes.” She stares away as if she doesn’t want to admit it.
“Why?”
