Page 76 of Boy of Ruin
Along with the bandana, she always carried a knife, and when we got to this tree, on our run back, just like this, she stopped me, flinging out her arm, catching me mid-run. I’d stopped, watched her peel away the bark.
When I realized what she was doing, I helped her.
Then she slipped the knife from the small pocket of her jogging pants and carved this. It was so unexpected. So…strange coming from her. A girl of shadows, made of darkness and regrets. Memories of trauma she barely survived, hidden behind a black curtain in her mind to keep her somewhat sane.
She was never one for romantic gestures, too busy trying to hold herself the fuck together.
It was so fucking strange, that all I could do when she was done, slipping the knife back into her pocket, was stare at her.
It didn’t seem real.
It was cold that morning.
After New Year’s. After one of my many fuck ups.
But she was smiling up at me, her silver eyes full of…love.
I’d thrown my arms around her, spun her around as I picked her up, listened to her laugh, husky and so goddamn sexy, I wanted to fuck her right there in the woods.
And I did.
She felt so fucking good, like she always did. But that was one of the only times I fucked her and cried. Because I knew she loved me.
My stomach churns now as I think of it, sitting in the living room, watching as Ophelia and Julie play with Finn, shooting glances my way, talking to themselves about nothing.
My heart tightens, and I think I might be sick.
Thinking of him fucking her.
Of her loving him.
Would she do something like that for him? With the fucking knife and the fucking tree? Would he love it like I did?
Would he love it more?
Does he deserve her more?
“You okay?” O asks me quietly, pulling Finn into her lap. A year and a half, he’s in a corduroy jumpsuit, light blue, matching his eyes. He has small wisps of blond hair, drool pouring from his mouth, a teething ring in one chubby fist.
O glances down at him, one arm wrapped around his middle, both of them on the floor, Julie a few feet from them, her legs crossed as she glances at me, then the two of them. Julie’s hair is up in a sloppy bun, and O has a long braid over one shoulder, both of them in cropped leggings, O in a red tank that shows off her cleavage, and Julie in a tight, white T-shirt.
“Yeah,” I tell O, flexing and curling my fingers, leaned back on the worn couch, glancing around the tidy living room. There’s a fireplace that I’m sure Julie never uses, a few photos atop it. Mainly Finn, none of me, thank fuck.
She told me she’s working as a recruiter and Finn goes to daycare during the week. Her voice shook when she spoke about the kitten head. How the doorbell had rung, and she’d taken a knife when she answered it, because no one ever came here.
She doesn’t have family.
Few friends.
It’s why she was a good target for me.
She had screamed when she saw the white head, stained with blood. No note. No body. Nothing.
Finn had cried when she screamed.
I keep my eyes on his blue ones now, running my palms over my thighs, thinking of how shitty of a father I’ll probably be.
But maybe better than mine.
