“Karen, stop it!” my father snapped, grabbing my mother and pulling her back, keeping her foot from connecting again. I watched as my mother jumped and fought against my father’s grip like a wild animal, trying to claw at him, screaming loudly before all her defenses crashed and she broke down crying, doubling over in her husband’s arms, sobbing loudly.
“I wanna die…I just wanna die…” she moaned pathetically.
I forced myself to my feet, shaking my head and holding back my own tears. I ran toward the door, grabbing my big coat and scarf, sticking my feet in my boots, not bothering to pull them on completely as my father called loudly for me to come back.
I slammed the door behind me and shuffled across the street to the retaining wall for the neighbor’s front lawn, sitting down and quickly pulling on my boots properly, zipping up my jacket and wrapping my scarf around my neck. I fished in my pockets for my gloves only to find that they were gone. Trying not to let the frustrated and frightened tears overwhelm me, I also realized I had left my phone behind.
Deciding I did not care, I began walking in the cold night, moving through the dark streets, watching my feet pass over the sidewalk as I moved around the neighborhood. I found a park devoid of people and slowly walked among the teeter-totters, slides, and the sand pit to the swings, where I sat for only five seconds before completely breaking down, crying so hard I was groaning in pain from the sobs that tore my chest apart. I shivered, my teeth chattering from the intensity of my pain and the cold air that bit into the tears running down my face. I curled around my bruised and throbbing stomach and cried through the radiating pain from the injuries, remembering the look on my mother’s face as she kicked and hit me, seeing the unbridled hatred in her eyes.
It was an indeterminable amount of time before I stopped sobbing and finally found the strength to sit straight on the swing, shivering in the bitterly cold air.
It did not feel safe to go home, so I made my way toward the bus stop, trying to think of where I could go, but I was halfway to the nearest bus stop when I remembered that I did not have my phone or my wallet, which meant I did not have my pass for public transportation. Cold, exhausted, and starting to feel the pain of my mother’s attacks, I grumbled, trying to decide where to go so late at night. I had no sense of time, but with how cold the air had become, it was obvious that it was getting close to eleven.
Turning one direction, I began the long, freezing walk to the only place I could think to go.
However, when I approached the large, white house, staring at the pristine columns around the front door, I was disappointed to see the lights off. Looking around the immense driveway, trying to think of where else I could go, the tears began to flow once again, and I sat on the top step of the Markus’ porch, trying to figure out the best course of action around the tumbled and terrified thoughts inside my head.
I felt my eyes beginning to slip shut from exhaustion as the shivers wracked my body so violently it almost made me sick.
I faded in and out of consciousness and thought I hallucinated the headlights turning into the driveway. However, the humming of an engine and the growing intensity of the headlights made me blink to complete awareness, seeing the car quickly round the circle in front of the house, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the steps.
The driver’s door opened and I felt tears come to my eyes once again, this time from the overwhelming wave of relief.
“Mark…”
He was immediately crouching at my side, his arms around my shoulders. His eyes were wide with concern as he guided me upright, though my shivering and frozen body refused to stand without assistance.
He led me around the side of the house to a smaller door, unlocking it and motioning me inside. I stepped into the dark room but stopped immediately, not knowing where to go.
Mark closed the door on the cold night air and turned the light on in the pantry where we stood. He opened the other door for me, turning the light on for the kitchen and ushering me to sit at the heavy, dark wood table. I lowered myself into one of the chairs as Mark hurried to do something behind me, I assumed heating something over the stove.
I remained still, shivering and cringing.
Mark was at my side a few moments later, looking me over as he sat in the chair next to mine, looking over my swollen right cheek before glancing me over, trying to determine if I was severely hurt. He caught my eyes and looked at me seriously, silently asking about the extent of my injuries.
I blinked at him, my vision blurred from the tears that had come so many times that night.
I unzipped my jacket, slipping it from my shoulders, Mark helping when he saw me struggling from the pain in my right shoulder. He caught sight of the gashes in my arm and looked at them carefully. Motioning for me to wait and draping the coat over my shoulders to keep me warm, Mark disappeared from the kitchen.
I remained in the large, quiet room, trying to listen for any other sounds within the house. The only sound came when Mark returned with a first aid kit. He set the white box on the table before returning to the stove. Defrosted enough to turn my body, I watched the experiment take the copper kettle off the burner and pour steaming water into a cup he had already prepared, covering the cup with a cloth and bringing it to the table, setting it in front of me. He turned my chair and sat in front of me, opening the first aid kit.
I cringed as he treated the cuts tenderly. He glanced at me briefly, the unspoken question in his eyes.
“…my mom…” I hissed, averting my eyes, feeling the tears return, though I tried to push them away, tired of crying. “She lost it…she just totally fucking lost it…”
Mark paused and I could feel his eyes on my face as I tried to keep the tears at bay. I bit my lip and closed my eyes.
“If I hate her so much…why does it still hurt that she said and did all this?” I murmured, my voice cracking as I turned my head back to Mark, keeping my eyes low. “Why am I so upset about her wanting nothing to do with me…when I…when I want nothing to do with her?”
He did not move to comfort me other than his thumb moving over my wrist, subtly letting me know he was there to listen. I hiccupped as a sob tried to force its way past my barriers. I lifted my other hand to my face and pressed my fist against my forehead, trying to get my emotions under control.
It felt like forever that Mark was watching me, waiting for me to continue.
Finally, one of his hands gently touched my hand, pulling it away from my face. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.
When I was no longer on the verge of tears, Mark placed bandages around my arm, pressing gauze to the gashes before carefully wrapping the wounds. When he was done, he moved to the freezer and pulled out an icepack, wrapping the compress in a towel and gently pressing it to my face.
I held the cold pack to my aching cheek, cringing in discomfort. Mark resumed his seat in front of me, pointing to my face and then my arm before looking at me expectantly.
“…she kicked me…” I whispered. “My stomach…and my back…my right shoulder really hurts…” I admitted.
Mark stood once again and moved around my back, carefully feeling around my right shoulder as I cringed and hissed in pain. He let out another sigh and rubbed my shoulder gently before retrieving another cold compress, holding it to the ache as he felt around the rest of my back, being gentle when he found a place that made me flinch away.
Carefully, he lifted my shirt off my shoulder, moving my bra strap and, as gently as he could manage, placing the compress under the strap to hold it to my shoulder.
He then moved to my stomach, trying to get me to sit straight as he felt around my abdomen, intensely focused on where I was hurt. When he stopped poking at me, he retrieved a bottle from a nearby cupboard, opening it and bringing two pills to me, putting them in my free hand before uncovering the cup of warm tea.
“…thank you, Mark…”
We sat in silence as I drank the tea, taking the icepack away from m
y face every few minutes and seeing how long I could keep it away before Mark lifted my hand to its position again.
Before I knew it, my eyes were sliding shut from exhaustion and I began to wonder what I would do for the rest of the night. I did not feel safe going home, but I was unsure if Mark would take me to the fort.
Seeing my exhaustion, Mark removed the icepack from my shoulder, taking the one in my hand as well and setting them on the table, motioning for me to follow him. Standing with more effort than should have been necessary, I followed the leader of the Eight Group through the kitchen door and into the dark dining room, through the foyer, and toward the hallway under the stairs.
Turning a sharp right under the stairs, we entered a narrow hallway with one door on each side. Mark opened the door on the right and flicked the lights on before stepping back to allow me inside. Hesitantly, I stepped in, surprised to find myself in a bedroom with a tiny window to the outside. There was a bed in the far corner with a nightstand and next to the table was a simple chair.
I walked into the bare room, looking at the quilts and blankets on the bed, seeing the walls devoid of pictures or color.
Mark walked to the nightstand and set down his keys and phone.
“This is your room?” He nodded slowly and motioned to the bed. Not sure what he was asking, I hesitated. He pointed at me and then put his hands under his face, telling me to sleep, before motioning to the bed again.
“What about you?”
Mark smiled and shook his head, motioning to the bed again before walking to the door, turning to smile once at me before closing the door and leaving me alone.
I stood still for several long moments before my exhaustion got the better of me and I moved to the bed, pulling the sheets back as I toed off my shoes, climbing under the blankets and pulling them tight around me. The bed was not comfortable, but I was too tired to take notice. I turned onto my side and stared at the wall, replaying the entire confrontation with my mother, thinking over her words, as well as mine, the way my father had more or less confessed to being unfaithful to my mother, the way my mother told me indirectly that I meant nothing to her…
I tried not to let the tears take me again, clearing my throat and blinking my eyes, trying to get to sleep, not wanting to turn the light off.
As my eyes were beginning to drift shut, I heard the door open. I remained still, listening carefully, knowing Mark had returned, hearing how quietly he tried to close the door. I heard him tiptoe to the bed and carefully drape something—I assumed my jacket—over the foot of the bed before stepping back and turning off the light.
I was still, my back facing him, wondering what he was doing. He had not left the room, which made me too curious to fall asleep.
When my eyes had adjusted and I was unable to hear movement from the experiment, I turned on my other side, closing my eyes and pretending to shift in my sleep. I counted to sixty before slowly opening my eyes again.
Mark was sitting in the chair, his arms crossed over his chest and his head dipping forward as his eyes began to close. His eyes opened and he lifted his head, trying to keep himself from drifting to sleep.
I felt guilty dropping in on Mark and then taking his bed when it was obvious that the experiment was exhausted. I had forgotten about Clark telling me the experiment was being called into the Commission to help with the cleanup of the riot. I wondered when the last time was that Mark had slept.
I was about to say something but I saw his eyes slide shut and his head went forward, dropping to his chest. I remained silent, my mouth open to speak. I decided not to disturb the experiment just to fight about him sleeping in the bed.
Before I knew it, sleep had claimed me.
Though not for long.
There was a gentle touch on my shoulder, shaking me, forcing me back to the conscious world. My head throbbed, foggy from the lack of sleep and crying. I tried to move my arm to rub my eyes, but cringed and let out a sorry sob of pain at the sharp sensation in my shoulder.
The hand moved away and I blinked my eyes into focus. Mark stared at me worriedly before glancing over his shoulder. I turned in the same direction and saw a familiar face in the doorway.
“…Dad?”
My father moved forward and sat on the side of the bed, smiling sadly as Mark stepped back.
“I’m so sorry, Lily,” he whispered. “I don’t know what came over your mother…”
“Well, whatever it was, I don’t want to be around her…” I groaned, forcing myself to sit up.
“I understand,” my father nodded. He sighed heavily and placed his hand on mine, as though he was about to tell me some bad news. “I think your mother had a mental breakdown…so I took her to the hospital…she’s going to stay there for a week or so…”
I blinked stupidly, surprised that my father would check my mother into the mental ward. My father cleared his throat.
“I don’t want you to listen to what your mother said,” he told me strongly, looking into my eyes. “Okay? You are the most important thing to us, and…even though you are having difficulty with what’s going on…sweetheart, what you’re getting involved in is dangerous.”
I looked at the blanket on the bed, acutely aware of Mark watching quietly near the door.
My father gently placed his hand against my hair.
“We’ll figure things out…” he assured. “So, what do you say we go home?”
I tensed. Even with my mother gone, I felt safer with Mark than I did in my house. I turned to the experiment, seeing the conflict in his eyes. He was stuck, unsure if he should show that he knew what my father was saying and find a way to make me stay, or continue with his act and be obedient to my father’s wishes.
My father also looked at Mark and smiled, standing.
“You really are something,” he grinned, reaching a hand out to the experiment. “Thank you for taking care of my little girl.”
Mark looked at the hand, before slowly taking the hand, bowing almost fully at the waist.
“Dad…I would rather stay with Mark…” I protested weakly.
I tried not to notice how hurt my father was at the words. He turned and smiled, trying to hide the pain.
“So you can see your boyfriend in the morning?” he grinned. “I don’t think so. You’re not old enough to be having sleepovers, yet…”
I rolled my eyes and looked at Mark for help. He looked just as concerned.
My father turned back to Mark and pat him on the shoulder twice, causing him to flinch away.
“Don’t worry,” he assured. “She’s safe.” My father walked back to me and picked up my coat, waiting for me to move. “He’s really protective of you, isn’t he?”
Seeing no other option in my exhausted state, I extracted myself from the blankets and sat on the bed while I put my shoes back on. I took as much time as I could, hesitant to return home. Finally standing, my father held my coat out for me, which I put on, cringing in pain as I moved my bruised body.
I walked past Mark, reaching my hand out to touch his arm.
“Thank you…” I whispered.
* *** *
With my paranoid mother gone, I could go out on the weekend, though my father still wanted me back before it got dark. He only brought up my interaction in the terrorist group once on Sunday before he left for his meeting with Dana.
I wanted to text Clark back after he asked if I wanted to meet and talk about why I had been at his house, but my face was bruised and I was moving stiffly, so I did not want to bundle up and fight the cold while I still felt so miserable. Therefore, I did not answer him. I figured it was easier than coming up with an excuse.
I was uncomfortable, out of place, and I wanted to leave.
It was something Clark had discussed with me. We knew that being in the parade would put us out in the open as people allied with the domestic terrorist group, the Central Angels, but leading the double-life at school with the revolution was becoming impossible. We were both
waiting for the right time to run away and live in the fort until the revolution came to its conclusion.
When my father returned home, we ate dinner in silence. I asked him what his meeting with Dana was about, but he just said it was about the press conference to do with the riot, since it had become international headlines.
There was tension in his body that worried me.
I went back to school on Monday and moved through the hallways as though I was not really there, observing the school life through the eyes of someone else. I was staring out the window, watching the melting snow as winter slowly came to an end. I got a lot of questions about the bruises on my face, but I told them I slipped on ice and fell really hard, which got a lot of laughs.
Becca seemed to be the only one who could see the dilemma in my eyes.
So, Tuesday, at the end of the school day, she ran up to me before I went around the side of the building to meet with Mark.
“Listen…” she whispered, “if you need me, for anything, you can always call,” she said sincerely. I smiled and looked at my feet before stepping forward and hugging her tightly. As I pulled away from the hug, I chuckled and shook my head.
“You might regret saying that…”
“No,” she shook her head. “I’m rooting for you. You’re my hope.”
I swallowed the tears and nodded, walking to the car. However, Mark was not the one waiting. Hiroki waved to me and I quickly ran to him, frightened. Dana had not had Clark and me at the Commission for over a week, which made me completely blind to what the leader of the Commission was doing. Seeing Hiroki as our driver made me nervous.
“Hello, Lily,” he smiled.
“Hi,” I said quickly. “Is everything alright? Where is Mark?”
Hiroki looked at his feet and my hand went to my mouth, frightened that something horrible had happened to the leader of the Eight Group.
“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Hiroki said quickly when he looked up and saw my horrified expression. “He’s just really busy right now.”
“Don’t do that!” I gasped, letting out a long breath and slumping forward.
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