Page 13 of Vicious Sentiments

I wonder what happened to the girl that Julian implied Cape didn’t keep safe. But I’m more curious that Julian called mehisgirl. The idea causes a warm feeling in my chest that swirls next to a pit that’sformed in my stomach. Because I don’t know what all this means.

He basically rescued me from being about to let myself fall to my death but then took me straight to his mom’s.

“Take that wet shirt off so I can put it in the wash.” Margo blinks, coming back to the moment. “I’ll find you something else for now, and when Marney gets done with ballet we can go shopping.”

“That’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. I’ve already imposed so much and I’m not sure how to navigate the situation. Obviously, I don’t have any money. Did Julian explain to Margo where I came from?

It dawns on me what I’ve actually gotten myself into. I have nothing. No money or things, no prospects or plans. I’m completely dependent on Julian. Or maybe his mom that he’s left me with. Either way, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do or how to act.

Am I just a charity case Julian has dumped on his mom? Does she take in wayward teenagers often or will she be sending me to a women’s shelter that she probably donates money to?

“Don’t be silly. I didn’t see a suitcase. You need some clothes.” She looks me over. “And maybe a trip to the salon. Your hair is gorgeous but a little shaping wouldn’t hurt.” She smiles brightly, rubbing my cheek. “Now take that wet thing off before you catch a cold.”

I bite my lip and hesitate. I don’t have a bra on, obviously, since I was able to give everyone a show just a few minutes ago and I’ve never changed in front of anyone. Unless you count being forcibly undressed.

“What’s wrong, Peach? I have all the same bits as you. No need to be shy.” She shakes the towel in front of me. “Chop chop, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

I slowly do as I’m told, tugging the wet shirt over my head. It gets caught in my hair, a tag on the back snagging a strand attached to the tender part of my scalp. It takes me a moment to fiddle it free and when I can finally see again, Margo is staring down at my body.

Her lips are pulled down and the towel hangs loosely from her hands. At first, I feel self-conscious, unsure of what an older woman would make of my breasts. Do I not look normal? I could be overdeveloped. Is that disconcerting to her?

But then I follow her horrified eyes and frown as well.

The skin around my sore rib is a splatter of purple and red. I hadn’t had time to check and am equally surprised by the bruising. To be honest though, I probably wouldn’t have looked even if I was still in Bridgerock. It does no good to inspect wounds. It only reminds me of how I got them.

“Oh, Peach,” Margo sighs gently as she stares at the bruising.

“It’s not that big a deal.” I try to laugh but the only thing that comes out is a weak exhale.

I reach for the towel in her hands, eager to cover it up and pretend it doesn’t exist. But Margo leans down apprehensively, tucking the towel under her arm and getting a closer look.

I awkwardly cup my breasts to get them out of her face as she delicately brushes the tender skin.

“It’s fine. Really,” I say. The pathetic exhale that’s supposed to be a laugh comes out again.

“No,” She whispers, shaking her head incredulously. “You have a broken rib,” Her voice cracks with concern.

My lip quivers against my permission. I knew it hurt too bad, knew my dad’s work boots were too hard. I had thought maybe internal bleeding but managed to push that worry away the longer I kept breathing. A broken rib though? That’s nothing. I’ve had broken bones before. So why is my lip quivering and my eyes starting to pool?

“Has Julian seen this?” Margo looks up at me and slowly rises, bracing her hands on her knees.

I shake my head. I had tensed when he pulled me up at the gasstation but I hadn’t told him. He was a stranger. Technically, he still is a stranger.

And so is Margo. Even though I’m standing topless in front of her with stupid tears threatening to roll down my cheeks. I haven’t cried in front of anyone since I was eleven.

I suck my lip in to stop the quiver and try to keep from blinking to prevent the tears but it feels futile when I catch Margo’s eyes.

Her eyes are brimming with their own waterworks as they gaze over my arms and chest, as if just noticing how much more there is. I know the bruises and angry red marks exist, the myriad of scars that mar me. I don’t have to look to know what she’s seeing. I feel them every time I move.

I used to wait for them to heal, hoping I could one day see what I looked like without them, wondering what it would feel like to be free of the minor pains. But I gave up when every time the bruises would start to heal to a sickly yellow, they would just get replaced by an even darker, fresher one.

Margo sucks in a shaky breath and closes her eyes. Two perfect tears, one on each cheek, slide slowly down her face, and something about them undoes me.

She may be a stranger, but I don’t resist her comfort when she reaches out and pulls me against her. A sob escapes me as she buries me in her arms and I can’t stop the flood of tears that ensue.

She wraps the towel around my back and sinks to the floor of her lavish laundry room with me when my legs start shaking and give out.

She holds me while I cry every tear I’ve held in since I was eleven.

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