Page 5 of Violent Skies

It’s been two years.

The last time I laid eyes on her was his funeral and she spat at me.

“I don’t ever want to see your face again, Riggs Monroe.” She had been so serious I could hear the tone of her voice to this day.

So why? She could have gone to the hospital, to her mother’s. But she came here.

I carry her into the garage and carefully lay her on the couch, only for her to push herself up and away from me with a pained grunt.

“Careful,” I groan and back away from her. I leave her on the couch and dart back into the rain to check the car—make sure whatever she’s running from didn’t follow her. I stand in the downpour, listening for anything out of the ordinary, letting it cool the heat that builds between my shoulder blades and across my chest.

I swallow the nausea and run into the house, grabbing a change of clothes and the first aid kit just in case she needs it before returning to her. I stop in the doorway at the sight of her, like my brain’s forgotten she’s real. Her damp curls stick to her neck and her cautious hazel eyes scan the garage as her fingers dig into her ribcage. Even from here it’s clear she’s struggling with every breath she takes.

Her head snaps in my direction when my boot hits the pavement and I raise both hands, “it’s just me.” This doesn’t soothe her but she breathes again, her brows pulling tightly.

“I’m not wearing those.” She stares at the clothes in my hand.

“That’s good, because they’re not for you.” I throw the first aid kit at the end of the couch away from her and tug off my soaked shirt, never taking my eyes off her as I exchange it for the dry one. They were for her but her attitude is feral and I won’t admit it.

Cress reaches for the first aid kit and hisses in pain. Before I can stop myself, I move across the divide and hand it to her. She snatches it away and sets it in her lap.

“Let me help,” I say to her and the look she gives me is vicious. “Alright.”

There was a time she begged for my help, my attention, my voice. Now we’re nothing but strangers, caught in a bloodthirsty circle of memories and mistakes. If I close my eyes I can hear her laughter as Koa causes a scene, dancing across tables in restaurants, opening boxes of cereal in the grocery store to taste test, or driving too fast just to listen to the world whip by.

But that’s not who’s in front of me.

Cress is tired, exhausted even, and as much as she hates me, something brought her here.

“What happened?” I ask, finally finding my balance as I trip over memories.

“Three guys showed up at the house. Threatening me and demanding shit.” She doesn’t look up from digging in the first aid kit. “This is useless… everything in here is expired, and I bought these for Rafe when he was eleven…” she holds up a box of Spider-Man bandaids.

“You’re still there?” I ask, stuck on the house.

“Yeah,” she snaps, “it’s mine.”

“I didn’t…” I sigh, “I know it is. I just assumed.”

“You assumed wrong,” she’s quick to shut me down and the memory bubbles up without warning. I can hear him plain as day like I’m stuck in it and unable to run.

“You think she’ll like it?” Koa jogs up the step, and spreads his arms out wide on the porch. The neighbours across the street rake their lawn and stare at us. I don’t blame them, Koa looks fresh out of jail with his tattooed caramel skin and harsh style of leather and work boots. The Cuda probably doesn’t help, it’s not meant for streets like these. It’s loud, messy and fast.

“It’s not exactly… close.” I say as he shrugs, that’s Koa. When he gets a plan in his head there’s no stopping him. It’s full send or nothing. That penalty apparently applies to purchasing homes in neighborhoods where kids like us don’t belong.

“The hospital is five minutes away,” he says, pointing over the trees to the west of us. “She finishes school this year.” It’s logical, I’ll give him that, but it’s a whole thirty five minutes away from the garage. “There’s a shop out back and three bedrooms.” He sounds so excited and I just feel abandoned. “So Birdie can live with us.”

It’s selfish.

“So?” Koa smiles at me, that stupid smile that I can’t say no to.

“She’s going to love it,” I respond.

When I recenter myself in the present Cress is lifting her tank top and inspecting a nasty purple bruise forming on her ribcage. I sit straighter and try to control my emotions but it’s nearly impossible after seeing the state of her body.

“Who were they?” I ask her and she drops her wet tank top.

“I don’t know.” She inhales slowly and takes the expired antiseptic out and dabs it across the split skin on her cheek with her fingers without flinching.