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“Is this your house?” she asks.
I nod slowly. “I spend most nights at my apartment in DC. This is for… when I need to relax. It was my maternal grandparent’s house.”
“Are they still alive?”
“No,” I reply.
“And they left it to you or your mom?”
“To me,” I respond.
“Who was the guy that came out last night?”
“Stanley,” I answer. “He takes care of the house and the grounds.”
“Are the grounds big?”
“I’ll show you them later. Hungry?”
“Thirsty. Hey, you know what, I could really do with a cup of tea. Black, please. With milk. Soy, coconut, hemp, almond or rice milk is fine. No sugar.”
She bites down on her lip to hide her mischievous smile in a way which floods me with amusement.
“Starting the trouble-making early, I see? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoyed last night’s punishment more than I realized.”
“What?” she giggles faux-innocently. “I like tea.”
“Will I ever be forgiven or my tea-making requests, Indigo?”
“No way in hell,” she grins.
“Hmm… You do realize I am going to enjoy punishing that smart mouth of yours for your impertinence?” I respond as her bare body shifts against mine.
“And I’m gonna enjoy saying things to get punished for,” she whispers.
“Good,” I respond, finally pulling away.
I get up, making sure to lay the thick brown blanket back down onto her as I head out, glancing behind me only to see her brows furrowed, and her eyes tracing my back as I walk.
I know she’s looking at the scars.
They’ve healed a lot in the last twenty or so years, but there is no mistaking the thick white lines snaked across the center and left side of my back and my tricep where the metal sheered me open, cutting through veins, arteries and muscles, breaking ribs and vertebrae in its vicious wake.
As she sees me turn, her eyes dart upwards to meet mine. “Nice ass,” she sings as a deflection.
“Not as nice as yours, Indigo. Especially after I've whipped it raw.”
She smiles nervously before I head down the hallway towards the washroom. As I wash my hands once I’m done, I catch sight of myself in the mirror I often avoid looking in—seeing my father’s face once again… and my mother’s eyes peering at me.
Exhaling slowly, my movements stilted, I wipe my hands dry and head out, taking a left towards the kitchen, one just about the size of this girl’s entire apartment. I fill the kettle with filtered water and place it onto the stove, my mind wandering to the venomous prick I call a father who will expect me to check in with him as he does every Saturday morning.
As I wait for the kettle to boil, I decide to text him so that I can relax for the rest of the day and not have to wonder what pills of poison he’s been texting to me if I don’t respond. I head towards the study at the back of the house behind the dining room to grab my phone that I put in to charge before I went to join Indigo under the blanket by the fire.
Unplugging the thing from its charger, my stomach flips as it does every time I prepare myself to see his messages.
I glance out of the window onto the trees and flowers planted so meticulously in the back yard before flipping through a few from Gideon asking if I’m okay and if I want to go for a drink tonight, an offer I decline, telling him instead who I’ll be spending the weekend with.
No more hiding.
