Page 8 of Love and War

“You don’t know that.”

But I did. Because every Saturday we passed the park going to Zander's house. He lived across the street, and while they played video games, I was always stuck on making sure she didn’t get hurt or worse, kidnapped. She always showed up early in the morning, and didn’t leave until mid-afternoon, sometimes even when the sun was setting. And she always left in the same white Honda, the same woman yelling her name, Aziza.

It made me angry. Made me think of my own piece of shit father. I always kept an eye on her arms and legs, just making sure she didn’t have bruises or burns covering her skin.

She never did. Thankfully.

None of us spoke as we continued down the street, the park finally coming in view. Both of our eyes searched, waiting for the blonde girl to pop up. But she didn’t. She was nowhere in sight.

“Well, shit, she’s not here.” Z sighed, throwing his hands in the air.

“Told you,” I smirked. “She only comes on Sa—”

“Told you what?” That sweet voice I’ve only heard once came from behind us. Z swung around, his smile too wide for his boney face.

“Hey, smalls!” he cheered happily. I don’t know why I didn’t move. Instead I kept my gaze anywhere else. I mean, I was glad she was safe, and she was here. But it was Friday… Why was she here?

“I’m not small,” she huffed. If she truly thought that she wasn’t small, then Tanner did more damage to her head when he hit her with the school bus. Just like that the thought of Tanner laying a hand on her made me angry. The way she just laid there, letting him threaten her.

Turning around I told myself it was just to make sure she was okay, not because of anything else. I mean I was ten, and she was much younger than me. I couldn’t have a crush on her.Gross.

Instantly our eyes met, and she didn’t shy away from me like others did. Z, Zander, and Ma were the only ones who didn’t scare from my dead eyes as others called them.

Aziza wore some dark blue overalls, a large flower painted in the middle. A large yellow long-sleeved shirt, and her shoes had some type of checkerboard on them. Her long blonde hair hung in two braids. She was definitely small compared to us.

“Whatever you say, smalls.” Z scrubbed his hand through the braids, messing them up. She smacked his hand away, glaring at him.

“If I’m small, then you’re a giant,” she said sticking her tongue out. She ignored us as she spun around heading towards her favorite spot. The sandbox. She always played there for hours until the sun made it too hot, then she’d go play under the tree.

Z followed her right away, whereas I stayed back. I don’t know why, but I felt the urge to run. Don’t know where, but it bothered me that he could act like his normal self where I couldn’t. I wanted to hide myself away.

“Popsicle, you gonna stand there the whole time?” Aziza sing-songed, smirking at me.

“Popsicle?” Z laughed.

“Yeah, popsicles are cold and frozen until they meet that one thing that can warm them up. Then they melt and become a puddly mess. Popsicle over there is cold, distant, frozen. Once he meets his warmth, he’ll become a puddly mess.”

If only she knew what a puddly mess I was going to become because of her.

Only I was cold, distant, and frozen once more. The others may not have ever picked up on it, but since Aziza I was never the same. That blonde little girl had an attitude problem, still does.

When Zane, Dimitri, and I got back from our meeting with Taylor I never expected to walk in, finding Aziza dancing on the coffee table in the middle of the living room with Mila. I didn’t even pay attention when Zane grabbed Salem or when Dimitri grabbed Mila. Aziza was all I could see. The blonde girl, her hazel eyes, the way her bell bottoms hung to her hips, an oversize sweatshirt that hung just right. Her hair was a little darker, not as blonde as it had been six years ago. Only this time she walked with a slight limp, and her eyes had dark purple bags under them. Her eyes were dull.

It angered me.

She no longer had the sass she had before. It took more provoking than I wanted for her attitude to shine through. Longer than it had before. It was barely there. Sure, she called me a shithead, and finally that old nickname I hated. Popsicle. But it wasn’t until she said our safe word that I realized I may have fucked up more than I thought.

She just didn’t know the reason I left, why I had to go. I couldn’t protect her. But now with her being here, I wasn’t about to let her go.

Not again.

She’d be mine again.

Even if she didn’t want to be, she was mine.

***

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

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