Page 20 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
‘It’s a broken nose, not a severed head,’ I yell as Dante guides him to the bar, signalling the bartender for napkins and a glass of bourbon. Every so often, the man steals looks at me. I flash him a smile, running my tongue over my teeth, and I taste the metallic warmth of blood coating my gums. The crowd, sensing the fight is over, begin to disperse with gossiping whispers.
Stranger. Their bodies are defensive, hardened by the realization that I am not who they remember me to be.
With fury, Dante is back and dragging me towards the exit, fingers digging into my bicep with surprising strength, and I stumble as I follow him.
‘Hey,’ I spit, but then spot Matilde sitting perched on the lifeguard chair, watching the entire scene, her blue eyes visible even from across the club. And then she nods her head to me, as if...
As if she’s congratulating me.
The air changes as we reach the exit of the club.
‘What the actual fuck, Theo?’ Dante lets go, but he remains too close to me. I shove him away and he stumbles a few paces back, looking down at his chest with disbelief, hesitantly touching the spot of my touch, determining whether it was real. That I could touch him in any other way than with brotherly affection disturbs him. Might as well let everyone know I’m not who they remember.
‘You have thirty seconds to take that back,’ Dante challenges.
My mouth opens in apology, regretful of how selfish I am for hurting one of the only people in the world who cares about me. The crackle of unspent energy dissipates, draining through my fingertips until my limbs feel heavy and drunk. Disgusted that I acted so irrationally, my guilt threatens to choke me.
But as I stare down at the red gravel, the image of Magdalen’s white sneakers stained with her blood, limping across this floor, stops the apology before it reaches the back of my teeth. I replay the sequence of events. Table crashing, Magdalen’s body pinned under glass, Dante reaching for a cigarette, Jo nervously tapping his foot until he could get back in the club again. Magdalen alone, Magdalen with me, Dante buying the man a drink.
He didn’t even fucking check to make sure she was okay.
Dante, eyes rolling as Anika takes his last cigarette, did nothing to ensure his little sister wasn’t hurt.
‘Why would I take it back?’ I take a step closer. A crash of thunder fills my ears until I can only hear the sound of my heart racing.
‘Why would you?’ Dante’s voice is loud against the quiet night. ‘Cazzo,’ he repeats for the second time tonight. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Beating up men you don’t know? You hitting me? Who the fuck even are you?’ He runs his hand through his dark hair, eyes huge and afraid. I bite back a bitter laugh, remembering what a selfish prick he can be.
‘Your sister’s back currently looks like a bloody Jackson Pollock painting.’ I take a step closer. ‘She’s your sister,’ I repeat, shoving my finger at his chest again. ‘And you’re more concerned about fucking Anika than worrying about if Magdalen’s alright?’
The night air stills around us, holding its breath.
‘Magdalen’s always been able to take care of herself,’ he falters, trying to avoid my glare. Shame overcomes him, staining his cheeks with red, but I can only feel disgust when I look at him. Drunk and whiny, absolutely pathetic.
‘No one should have to take care of themselves in a situation like that,’ I hiss. Dante will never fucking understand. I begin walking away, my hands shoved so deeply in my pockets that I feel the seams scream in protest.
‘Wait, bro. Let’s talk about it. I’m sor—’
‘Why the fuck are you apologizing to me?’ I spit out.
Not waiting for a response, I turn back towards Anika’s car and drive away.
13
MAGDALEN
Everything hurts. I get out of bed slowly, the old frame creaking as my feet hover over the edge, skimming the floor as though it were hot sand. Not ready to face anyone yet.
I stretch my limbs, testing the extent of my mobility. I can move my arms despite the stiffness, but the tenderness of my back is a reminder of what I let happen last night.
Theo Sinclair dissected my bloody back while my tits were out. My face heats with embarrassment, like flashes of a drunken memory rushing towards you at the first sip of coffee. I limp to the bathroom and check my reflection. Is this what Theo saw last night? My eyes are slightly too big, but green in the morning sun. I edge closer to the mirror, my heart giving an involuntary thud at the proximity. A lot of freckles. A brief flash of him touching the freckle above my eyebrow causes me to blush. Black eyelashes. Unruly eyebrows. One finger touches my cheek and I imagine the hand is someone else’s. I trace the length of my nose where there is a slight bump in the middle – a Savoy family trait. I outline my mouth, the divot beneath my bottom lip.
Stepping back from myself, I turn the faucet on the tub and sit on the edge while the water fills up. Steam begins to fog the corners of the mirror so I strip off my shorts, and then my shirt. I look at myself and pantomime my actions from last night. Cupping my breasts and turning to the side to envision what Theo saw. My hair falls down my back in long, dark auburn strands and I’m struck with not hating what I see in the reflection. This is new. I see a woman. Sure, the burn marks are still ugly, especially in the bright light of the bathroom. My eyes close shut when I remember Theo’s lingering fingers on the raised skin, but I calm myself knowing that he’ll never have to see them again. Taking a deep, centring breath, I continue observing myself.
The curvature of my spine is alluring. If I didn’t know better I’d say I almost feel content, and even if Theo found me unpleasant with weird burns and small tits, I think I could be beautiful all the same. Someone would be lucky to see me, I tell myself. Repeating the affirmations I’d heard from Emily and Anika. Someone would be lucky.
Well, Theo? Did you feel fucking lucky?
My mother is outside gardening when I’m finished in the bathroom.
