His face was rigid as he stared down at me. It was something in the way those grey eyes burned that told me I was right; he had suspected this all along. But my words still affected him harshly. The heat that came off of them in no way matched the cold etched lines of his face. I could hear the slight adjustment of the fist he gripped as he stared at me in anger, fear, and disgust.
But still I wasn't scared of him. Even with those aggressive features, I felt safe next to him... and I hadn't felt safe in a long time. No one could manipulate the man before me; no one would sway him without his consent. I wondered why I had never seen it before, even though he learned the same method of manipulation as my father- he was truly in no way like him.
And so the words wouldn't stop, my tongue wouldn't relent; I forced the cursed memories to fall away from my lips. "Everyone loved my father, he was a standard practiced family physician, he made just enough money for our family to get by comfortably but he was in no way remarkable in his work. The only thing that ever set him apart from others was his medical illustrations. His skill and ability to depict the surgical procedures and the human anatomy allowed him many opportunities to intern with hospitals while he studied. But as the years went by, there was slowly less need for medical illustrations. And so with modern technology advancing he found himself with just a basic doctorate degree, and a slowly approaching useless talent." I paused for a moment before continuing on.
"Every memory of him at his office was him scolding neighbors and friends about better health choices. But I suppose that career was also my undoing. Everyone knew him. And everyone loved him."
I looked down towards my hands, studying the bruised knuckles and joints; the ragged and raw nails. Disgust for them ran through my veins. I glanced towards Hayden's hand, noting their grace in comparison to mine, despite the whiteness of his clenched knuckles. He loosened them forcefully under my gaze.
"For how long?" that rough voice asked. It was strained and short, holding back any true emotion. I knew how close this ran to his own history, but still some greedy person inside of me didn't relent or sugarcoat her words. I wanted to say it, to truly speak it without the fear the person in front of me was on my father's side. They had all been on his side, even till the very end. But not this one before me...
"For almost as long as I can remember." I said back. "Before I was born he was compassionate and devoted to my mother. But he was also.... off. Perhaps bi-polar at the time? Unstable is the best way to describe it. There were signs of a darker mental illness but no one recognized them yet. After a while of living with his ups and downs, she fell in love with somebody else and tried to leave him. He snapped and forced her to come back. But he resented her; he could never forgive her for such a betrayal. She found out she was pregnant soon after, and neither of them were sure if I was his or not. After I was born though, there was no denying he was my father- I had his eyes and hair. Yet the thing was, it didn't comfort him in the least... because I was conceived without her consent, the night he brought her home. So every time he looked at me, he saw her betrayal and her consequence. I was born because of her punishment. He once said I was the mark of her sin, as much as she was mine."
"Jesus." Hayden growled as he moved closer towards me. My eyes began to water slightly but I shook them away quickly. I glanced upwards to the conflicted gaze above me. "You don't have to continue," he whispered, "This is fine. I get it."
But I shook my head again. "No, I want you to know." Because you're one of the few people in the world who wouldn't fall for my father's deceptions.
"He was gifted." I whispered, as my gaze ran down Hayden's face, "Very much like you. He had a technique so similar; he had this ability to be lovable and amiable. Whenever he walked into a room, people would light up with smiles and laughter. And I think that's why even when they began to suspect what was happening, they didn't want to believe it. They purposely, knowingly, chose to focus on how good of a friend he was to them... and they would never give those darker doubts any light of day."
I laughed and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. Pressing them tightly I pushed away more tremors and racks that threatened to take ahold of my body. But it was a losing battle. I suddenly felt his nearness to me, pressing up the front of me, and a hand rose to the back of my neck and tilted my head in against the shadow of his chest. He always smelled good.
"I'm not such a calloused man to let you cry like this." He murmured slowly down to me. I laughed suddenly with shock but more tears swarmed my eyes and I hid my face further into my hands. The steady pressure on my neck didn't release, and he let me cry against him for minutes on end.
"You hate pacifying people." I finally mumbled, wishing I could laugh again but never did find it.
"I'll make an exception for you this time." he said in response. I opened my eyes into my hands, though the darkness concealed my gaze. My heart began to beat a little more heavily. This time? He said it so nonchalant, like he stumbled upon me randomly. And not that he had personally come after me. Hesitantly I swallowed down another heavy beat beneath my lungs, and forced myself to continue.
"He didn't hurt me at first, at least not that I can remember. In fact I have so many good memories of my father. But I never fully understood his unusual, unfamiliar gaze that sometimes tracked me when I walked away. I always wondered why sometimes when he smiled and tossed me in the air, he'd have these moments of unsureness- like something echoed across his thoughts while he gazed upon me; something darker, untrusting, in his eyes. I would be scared he would drop me, but then he would catch me and cradle me in to his arms, keeping me close to him. I loved him, truly loved him with all of my heart."
"One night, I couldn't find mom. She was in her room and crying and wouldn't come out. I found dad sitting on the porch and so I curled up on his lap without thinking anything of it. I asked him why mommy was crying and if we should make her dinner- and the whole time I was talking, he had that look. That resemblance of something darker, somebody else, in his eyes. And you know, he always appeared so remarkably calm. That was the first time he hurt me. With gentle steadiness he merely grasped my hand and led me back into the house. He calmly, but steadily, guided me for my room to put me to bed- but the grip around my wrist began to hurt badly. I didn't fight him hard, just enough as I knew something was wrong, and when he put me under the covers- he dislocated my shoulder."
"I cried all night until mom finally came into my room and helped me reset the joint while she sang softly to me. Even as she explained an excuse, I had already created the same one in my head. I knew it was relatively easy for children my age to dislocate their shoulders, a kid from my first grade class had his because he jolted them from the monkey bars, so I tried to convince myself that dad didn't know his own strength- he didn't know what he was doing. She tried to convince me of that too. I think we both thought at the time, this was it- a onetime thing for me. But just this once. Only once. It was by the time I was in fourth grade, I had watched dozens of her beatings and dealt with just as many of my own."
Hayden's tight breath rose from beyond my head, clearly unable to keep listening. "She was an adult, Alys! She could have left! And she did nothing to help you!"
"I know." I murmured, "I had to take classes for therapy once it was all said and done, they tried to explain to me about the emotional damage and neglect that comes with domestic abuse; how most woman become trapped by it, fear it, and in turn chose to never try to get out. She was like that. She took her days one at a time, dealing with the tripwires of my father. He demanded of her to maintain a picture perfect housewife persona, even though behind closed doors my parents were nothing more than betrayer and executioner."
For a few moments I said no more; the silence beginning to settle on our shoulders. But then I tilted my head again to look up at his face, tracing my eyes across his molten metal gaze. "I hated them," I finally whispered, "I hated all of them. Every last sheep who surrounded themselves to my family."
His eyebrows creased heavily as he comprehended those words.
"I had bruises, Hayden. I had marks. Mom might have turned a blind eye to my screams; left the room and walked away- but her picture perfect world should have never stretched beyond the threshold of our front doors. So why did it? Why was it when I could feel the neighbors lingering gazes, and even tried to speak to them for help- they were suddenly and wondrously invited over to our house for a family feast."
"They would stare at my father as he would laugh. He would rumple my hair when he pretended he thought no one was looking. He would silently scold me about playing too rough with the kids at the playground. And I would sit in horror, staring into the eyes of those around me and see their pliable gazes warp into relief under his presence."
"I called the police. Officer Andrews was already a relative acquaintance of my fathers; their line of work brought them together before. But I, who was always falling down steps or tripping over stones, became the cherry on top it all; making Officer Andrews more at home and interwoven in my father's lies. I was suddenly a "problem child". The words to describe me suddenly became, "Well you know how she is". My silent cries and pleas were suddenly translated to annoyances and disobedience. Friends and neighbors suddenly disregarded my fears of going home laughably; blaming my distrust and anxiety on a child's imagination. On nothing more than a monster under her bed."
"I choked on the lies of those around me. But what broke me, truly broke me, was realizing some still knew, deep in their hearts, what was going on. And they decided it was easier, more convenient in their god-awful lives to just let things be. Suddenly, I began to struggle with social contact. Everyone had their own agendas, their own woven egoistical lives, and it was destroying me on the inside and literally breaking me on the outside."
"Dad's episodes got worse. The more I began to look like mom, the more I would find his angry fist in my face. But he learned as much as he could about not leaving marks. The times he did, he would have me go to the playground and publically, visibly fall. I would slowly step through the gravel littered yard, staring into the eyes of someone- anyone- who might help. My bruises were already evident- I wouldn't hide them. And then I'd fall... crumple my knees into the dirt and beg them with my eyes please don't believe this. Please help me."
"And they never did. Those pathetic and self-centered bastards around me would look away. For who would ever want to believe the beloved Anthony James Westbrook, local hero and friendly practitioner, would beat his daughter and wife behind closed doors."
Hayden suddenly slid his arm around me tightly. I jolted instantly. I had barely adjusted to his new tendency of touching my neck and cheeks, but the sensation of his fingers dragging down my spine made me tighten uncontrollably.
"That's why you hate people." he laughed frigidly, a humorless joke cutting through the air. He could feel my squirming in his grasp but he didn't let go. "I didn't understand it. I couldn't figure out why, if something just personal happened to you, you had managed to condemn the rest of the world along with it."
"The world condemned me," I whispered back, something cracking my voice.
"I know." He said gently, slowly leaning his head away from mine. He seemed to realize how close he still held me, so finally his arms loosened. But only slightly. I didn't know what I must look like, but I could only imagine it was exceptionally bad if Hayden had reached out for me.
"And then it all ended with Child's Lie?" he finally said.
I nodded. "By then I had given up on people. Dad had gotten worse, he had befriended most everyone who could legally help me, and inside I was defeated. I was overcome by those around me, by the lies of others and not just my family's. But then suddenly, a teacher stood over me and scolded me not to tell lies... People shouldn't tell lies. And still being a kid, I heard it as the lies were somehow my fault. I think that was the first time I officially snapped. It was small, internal, but when I thought I couldn't be hurt anymore- her words managed to break that last barrier I held up."
"I guess after I left, she called the police with my poem in hand. They disregarded her words, informed her they had made many house calls before and that I had an affinity with making things up. They said they would still send someone out as protocol, but something about their words made her realize they didn't believe my poem at all."
"What she didn't know was Officer Andrews called my dad, who was already home that day. He let him know about the permission slip and poem and how I was relapsing into my lies again. Dad laughed heartily on the phone and told Officer Andrews to come on over after his shift, pick up some milkshakes first though, and they would talk with me again about this.
When I got home, dad was standing there waiting for me. I didn't know Officer Andrews was on his way after his shift was done, but it didn't matter in the least. Dad knew how to not leave any marks...."
I stopped, the words faltering in my mouth as I stared at the nothingness to the right of me. "I suppose she saved me. She could hear it in the officer's voices that they weren't taking it seriously so she drove to our house right away. When she got there she found my backpack forgotten on the porch and the door wasn't latched closed." Hard fingertips began tightening against my spine, a small tremor in his forearm muscle the only evidence that belied the calmness around. "She went inside without knocking. The noise from the running bathwater led her right to the room ..."
"I guess he couldn't control his anger that time. I guess his mental illness had finally, fully appeared. He held my head under the water, straining his hands tightly to the point his tendons jutted out. But you know, it was meaningless in the end. For I had long since stopped fighting."
.
.
.
It was like those words fractured something mentally in the man before me. I saw the moment in his eyes; a fissured eruption that distorted his face in such a sharp movement. He pushed away from me instantly as if I had become too hot, turning away quickly before finally bracing himself on the far wall; hands slammed flat against it for support and head dropped low under strained shoulder blades.
"Hayden?" I asked unsure. The coolness that settled against my flesh made me realize I had been standing in his warmth. The hairs on my arms rose slightly in response, and I tried to rub away the sensations, and emotions, that accompanied his sudden absence.
"Don't." he whispered, aware of my sudden approach. "Just... just give me a second."
Another tremor seemed to tighten his hand, and he ground the tips of his fingers into the wall as if to control it. He had always appeared so calm, so in control of his actions and emotions. I could sense how tight his jaw was clenched at the moment, and remembered his attempts to loosen his fists when he caught me glancing at them.
It seems you're not as in control as you want people to think, Hayden.
But if he didn't want me to see this or know this, he was shit out of luck. I walked towards him again ignoring his previous words. His head rose slightly in response to the noise before he finally tilted a cheek to the side and gazed coldly at me from over his arm; his breathing now the only tell he was still struggeling. It left him uneven and choppy, but slowly he was forcing it down. Those cold, controlled eyes suppressed any new thought that crossed his mind.
"What an angry mask." I commented mildly, completely ignoring his attempt at composure. I didn't mind the times when he felt voided and cold; those were true parts of him and I always thought they were beautiful. But this glacial stare was not one of those; this was a vain attempt to lay unyielding ice over molten metal. It was a chaotic moment of opposing emotions meeting in the middle. And I wasn't going to let it settle and harden the forged disguise if given enough time.
My fingers reached up, like his own had done to mine, and pushed back some light brown hair that fell over his gaze. It was the first time I had ever touched his face, and I paused in wonder- having for years traced these lines with only my pencils. But now my fingers rested along his cheek bone, and I let my fingers run the whole way back as I finished moving his hair. His pupils had contracted just a fraction of an inch as he unmovingly watched me. Hesitantly my hand lowered and fell to my side again. I met his eyes. "You look stupid right now." I informed him softly.
It felt good to say those words back to him and I had to bite down the small smile at how his eyes widened. Until dreadfully I remembered under what circumstances he had said them to me. Lying on his uncle's bed, under him, being cohered into kissing him. Those words worked though and slowly he raised his head before straightening over me.
"Which reminds me." he whispered as he found his full height. I grimaced at my own dumb mistake. "You never gave me an answer." he continued.
Aw, yeah that: Would I agree to fix our problem for the mural by convincing Doctor Augustine that Hayden was my boyfriend, hopefully covering his true motive for the mural?
Bah.
"I didn't forget," I mumbled instead, averting my gaze. "I merely didn't get a chance to answer." I paused and mulled over the letter in my head; the reasoning why I had dropped the phone and ended his question. "You should let me finish my story first," I finally said.
I glanced up at him, finding him more composed now, and this time not with a false façade. My words truly had distracted him enough to calm him down, though something dangerous still prowled behind his eyes. They tracked me as I moved.
"Then please continue." He finally inclined his head slightly, crossing his arms in a rigid manner while he evaluated me. For a moment I was disappointed while gazing at his closed arms. Then in horror I realized what my own mind had just done. I shook my head and walked away, needing to find clarity away from him.
I only took a few steps though before stopping and wrapping my arms around myself too. I breathed in deep trying to find the right words to start with, but suddenly Hayden said from behind me, "You told me when you were younger, lawyers were hostile to you. That was why you couldn't see the perverse intention on Mr. Steward; you were comparing him to the adults of your past."
My head nodded as he continued, "Even with
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