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Aware of how I must look I know I should explain, but I don’t want to. Noelle’s bright blue eyes assess me. Whether she’s looking for signs that I’m broken or mistreated I don’t know, but she must get her answer when she lifts the bow once more, sliding it against the strings with the flick of her wrist.
The low whine of her violin starts again as I turn the corner into my bedroom and try to drown out the noise by turning the shower on. Leaving the light off, I strip out of my clothes and stand under the spray, closing my eyes. It’s not thoughts of Adrian that fill my mind, but thoughts of Steven, Noelle’s Dad, assault every vulnerable crevice and dark corner of my body. Sometimes I don’t know what triggers these feelings, and it doesn’t have to be anything bad that happens.
I can’t help but look at Noelle and feel guilty that I’ve denied her of something she deserves because I chose the wrong person to have a kid with. Steven has been out of our lives for twelve years, but every insult, judgmental look, accusation, and broken promise is always just under the surface, waiting for small moments of vulnerability to come lurking out of the dark.
Emotional damage is harder to see because it sits below the surface and embeds itself into your DNA. I am not the person I should be because of it. Bruises heal, but words, especially the hurtful ones, stay with you forever.
Steam fills the bathroom, fogging up the glass doors of the shower. My body shudders as I place a palm to the glass and sink against the tiled stall. I sit hunched over my knees, letting the water wash over me until it turns cold, giving myself a moment to feel… but like I do every day, once it passes, I pick myself back up again.
Before I sink into bed, I notice the violin has stopped and the house is eerily quiet. If I stand still enough, I can hear her breathing heavily in her room, fast asleep. It’s a sound that has always comforted me.
On the bed next to me, where I tossed it earlier, my phone lights up with a missed message. There are only two people who would text me in the middle of the night, but my breath catches at the thought of only one. Hesitating, I grab it off the bed and look at the text.
A: Definitely don’t call me tomorrow.
Sinking deeper into the pillow, I fail at suppressing a smile. Holding the phone to my chest, I close my eyes to the darkened ceiling.
Fucking asshole, I think while smiling.
* * *
Bird by Billie Marten
The hot morningsun filters through the shutters, thanks to me for forgetting to close them before I fell asleep last night. Yanking the lever closed does little to shut out the light, so I resolve to stay awake andmake my way down the hall towards the kitchen.
Noelle sits at the island with a steaming mug in front of her. Mindful of the broken tile, which my toe has slowly recovered from since the last time I stubbed it, I avoid it. Noelle looks up from her phone, her big blue eyes peering at me through the steam.
“There’s coffee,” she says, pointing to the pot next to the sink.
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing a cup from the shelf and pouring some.
Sitting on the island is thePhoenix New Times, still wrapped up with a rubber band.
“You grabbed the paper?” I ask, surprised.
“I went for a walk early this morning,” she says.
“I hope you wore gym shoes,” I remind her while opening the paper and fanning it out in front of me. “Rattlesnakes are out.”
“I did.”
Taking a sip of the coffee, my mouth puckers in disgust. “Did you use the whole bag of beans?” I ask, pushing the cup away from me.
“I like it strong,” she says with a defiant look – that unfortunately she gets from me.
“Since when?” I ask, pouring out my cup in the sink.
“Since always,” she says, but I notice her cup is still full as she hops down from the barstool. The awkwardness between us has to come to an end at some point.
“Do you want to go toBerdena’sfor some French toast?” I ask, hopeful. “It won’t take me long to change.” I start to move towards the hall but she stops me.
“I can’t. I’m going to the mall with Grayson.” She tosses the contents of her cup in the sink and sets the mug next to the pot of coffee I fully intend to discard. “And then we’re gonna work on our history project together.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointed, making my way back to the kitchen island. Noelle and her boyfriend, Grayson, have been dating since last year. I want to know what’s going through her mind, but I’m not going to force her to open up to me. I’m not sure right now is the time to talk to her about it. This is uncharted territory, and right now the waters are choppy. I’m afraid I don’t know how to navigate because I’ve never had to.
Before I can broach the subject, Noelle is already down the hall towards her room out of earshot.
Turning back to the island, I flatten the paper with the palm of my hand when I hear her flip flops smack against the tile behind me. There’s an uneasiness in my stomach because I don’t like the distance between us this morning.
