Page 16 of Together We Rot

My fingers brush the yellowing bruises beneath my sleeves. Unlike butterflies, scars are so very easy to catch.

What will he do to me if he finds out I was gone?

The conversation turns alongside the screech of wheels, diverging into unfamiliar avenues. I sink into the back seat, getting lost in the background. There’s a whole world between them that I don’t know. Days crashing at each other’s house, late-night drives, and inside jokes. Their friendship sinks into my gut as sharp as any blade.

I scratch idly at my thumb. My mom’s never been successful at stomping this out of me. I pick and pick at my thumb until my skin is as raw as I feel.

The air changes as we get closer to my house. Everything changes. The rest of the town might’ve progressed with the times—telephone poles and wires strung like stretches of ivy—but my home and the church feel more like a page ripped from a history book.

Lucas and Kevin are like the cars flying through our unchanging expanse of wood. They come and go as they please, but I’m rooted here forever. It hurts for a second, but in the end, it’s better this way. When I leave, they’ll forget about me. I won’t hurt them, not as much as I hurt Wil.

My family would never kidnap someone, Wil. Do you hear yourself?

She’d looked off to the forest’s edge, staring past the thick veil of pine. You’re siding with them?

They’re my family, Wil.

She’d huffed, incredulous. Family only goes so far.

I stare out the window and let the snow bury what’s left of the memory.

Through the hollow parts between the trees, the shadows take shape. Darkness twists like a writhing eel, a curious ripple in the night air. I don’t only see it; I feel it deep within my chest.

“You really need to stand up to your parents at some point,” Lucas says abruptly over the murmur of the stereo. I can tell he’s been sitting on it for some time now.

“It’s not right to go against your parents,” I say, as if I haven’t done precisely that.

Lucas is unrelenting. “My dad was pissed when I applied for Chicago. Absolutely red-in-the-face, foaming-at-the-mouth pissed. He had this whole make-believe fantasy in his head that I was gonna spend my life here in town and work at the mill. Here I am, doing it anyway. You’re not just their child. You’re your own person.”

The words fly from me untethered. “You have no idea what it’s like with my family. I will never get what I want. I don’t even know what I want in the first place. But at the end of the day, it really doesn’t matter.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

My anger gives way to a cold, crushing fear. I shouldn’t have said that. I really, really shouldn’t have said that. Thou shalt honor thy mother and father. Thou shalt—

“I think we’re all tired,” Kevin says, though I’d be a fool not to notice how weak his smile has become. “We shouldn’t have pried about it.”

Tired. Is that it? Maybe. My exhaustion manifests itself in deep black bruises beneath my eyes. Just looking at myself in the rearview mirror is enough to make me yawn. Nothing sounds better than warm covers and a waiting pillow. I long to watch the woods fall asleep with me. The wind tamed back to a lull, the moon breaking over the trees, drowning the world in cold, pale blue.

But the woods show no sign of falling asleep.

The car slows against the gravel, and Lucas shifts into park. Behind us, the forest spreads out thick and unyielding.

“Thanks, guys,” I mumble, at a loss for something better to say. I’ve never enjoyed goodbyes. The guilt of leaving doesn’t help.

“Get some sleep, Clarke,” Lucas jokes. “See you...” His voice cuts off, uncertain.

I swallow. “Yeah. See you.”

I watch their car until there’s nothing left to see.

Beneath my coat, a shiver works its way up my back.

I glance toward my window in the distance—fear wriggling inside my chest for the first time. What will the consequences be this time? How many more scars can I acquire before I’m no longer a person but one large blooming bruise?

No. I focus on my breathing, on every wicked, whistling breath in. Maybe my parents won’t even notice. I’ll slip back into my window, go back to bed, and everything will go off without a hitch. For once, my dad’s hand won’t lurch back to strike me. He’ll lower it gently on my shoulder, proud of me for once.

The late-night Mass is over. My parents are asleep. I chant the words like a mantra, something I can manifest and make true. There’s no reason they’d be awake. My father’s life is one never-ending routine. He goes to sleep as soon as his sermon is over. He’ll take as much sleep as he can before the morning bell rings.

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