Chapter 6 #2
I looked to the side, shrugging despite the pain it caused. “That’s usually how it works. Stuff like this looks worse before it gets better. Do I look like a balloon?”
He blinked at me, slow and long. I watched his lashes almost caress the tops of his cheeks. He flipped his head to the side, absentmindedly flicking his hair out of his face. “Balloon? No, man. You don’t look like a balloon. A little swollen? Yeah. But that’s nothing some ice won’t fix.”
“Hm.” So maybe Jude would be able to tell. “You got any ice?”
Crescent huffed a short laugh, blowing it out of his nose. “No, but I was thinking we could eat something at my place if you’re hungry. I have ice there.”
Black, ugly tendrils swirled in my stomach. They fought each other, the suction cups on the underside of them sticking to my insides painfully. Each grip forced a wave of unease up through my spine, settling a mere second before the next.
I started to shake my head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“My apartment is only ten minutes away. I’d rather get some food in you where I know you won’t be too uncomfortable.”
I frowned. “You can’t cook, though.”
“I kind of can now. I’ve learned a lot since living on my own.” He tilted his head back, letting his eyes fall shut. “The breeze is nice, but the sun is savage. The UV index is so high it might cook us alive.”
“The UV index?” I eyed him suspiciously. “Since when do you look at the UV index?”
He pulled at his chin, gripping the short, neat beard there. “Since I got old. Now, come on, I wanna take this nasty apron off and change out of my work clothes.”
Reluctantly, I stood and followed him to his car, which was just low enough that I had to bend forward to fit into the passenger side. It smelled strongly of pine, sharp and offensive at first.
“Just step on anything over there. Sorry for the mess.”
I looked down, pressing my foot into an empty bag from some fast food place. Crescent was never the cleanest guy in the world. I never was either, to be fair. Not until Jude came up with our house rules.
We pulled out of the small parking space in front of Love ’n Sugar, driving the opposite direction I’d go to get home.
We were silent for a minute, my attention on the outside world as we passed it by.
I liked watching the trees whiz past us, different shades of green swirling into one big, hazy color I couldn’t keep up with.
Metal glinted in the sun just ahead. When I focused on it, I noticed it was the guardrails of the same bridge I’d been on the first night Crescent and I met again.
Everything in front of me went blurry as my eyes unfocused, staring at nothing yet everything at the same time, memories racing across my vision.
Crescent’s panicked voice, screaming as he pulled me down, his grip tight enough around my stomach to make me cough.
The daisy petals as they disappeared into the water below.
The fish I never got to keep company.
The wings I never spread.
Crescent cleared his throat from the driver’s side, catching my attention. “So,” he began, “was it because you were late? That Jude… hurt you that bad.”
I hummed, stalling for a moment. Telling him felt like a broken rule. As if Jude would pop up out of nowhere, take my face into his hands, and slap me until I gave in to whatever he wanted me to do.
Shrugging, I looked back out the window beside me. “I was late, I hadn’t cleaned well enough, I didn’t have dinner ready. I mean, it’s always a lot of things all at once. I somehow manage to fuck up everything instead of just one thing.”
“You didn’t fuck anything up. He’s just an asshole.”
An asshole? Maybe. Was it deserved? That was arguable. Wasn’t the definition of insanity the act of doing something over and over and expecting different results?
A shy smile tugged at my lips regardless, though I held it in on the off-chance Jude could telepathically hear the agreement in my mind. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”
Crescent pulled into the entrance of an apartment complex, zipping through the large parking lot much faster than I would usually be comfortable with. “Do you seriously not think he is? Dude, he beat the shit out of you because of some chores.”
I didn’t respond. Or maybe I couldn’t. Maybe the knowledge that what Jude did to me was wrong wasn’t enough to counteract the subservience I felt toward him.
Strong and tall, a force to be reckoned with. Much like a demon, or perhaps a terrifying, made-up monster, Jude had the ability to instill fear even when he wasn’t visible.
In the driver’s seat, Crescent sighed before pulling his keys out of the ignition. The trek up the metal staircase was silent and strained, thanks to me. Something kept whispering to me as we walked up. It was in my chest, its volume rising as it tried to warn me what a bad idea this was.
As Crescent unlocked his front door, it grew even louder. The memory of the last time I was in his space haunted me, old ghosts and vengeful spirits gathering around to mock my silence and hesitance. Each one served a different purpose, holding a reminder that would only humiliate me.
The creak of the door hinges slowly opening was deafening, much too loud for my ears to process.
It echoed, the reverberation shaking my bones so hard I started to worry they’d push through my skin if I didn’t hold onto them.
My hand automatically went to my arm, pinning it against my chest to try to keep them all in place.
Would Jude be able to smell him on me? The essence of his home, would it follow me back to my cell?
Crescent turned toward me, already halfway through the entrance’s hallway. He’d turned a light on, soft golden tint falling on his skin. One of his eyebrows turned down further than the other as he looked at me. “You coming?”
The teenage version of him I had in my mind had nothing on the man standing before me now. I still couldn’t wrap my head around what a few years had done for him. I walked over the threshold.
I tried to relax my muscles, to find an ounce of strength to man the fuck up and stop freaking out over walking into a minefield. A minefield of ghosts and memories I was fucking terrified to face.
I walked further, closing the door behind me and bracing for the subsequent click.
I let out a breath, forcing the invisible wings stuck between my shoulder blades to relax.
They were getting ahead of themselves, clinging to the safety of being in Crescent’s presence.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t logical. With so much fucking fear racing and mixing inside of me, there was no room for anything else. No room for hope. No room for calm.
Crescent’s apartment smelled… nice. Like cinnamon and honey buns, a light air of vanilla wafting in the mix. I followed him through the apartment, looking around at the measly decorations scattered throughout. A few knick-knacks here, a random picture frame there.
“How do you feel about turkey burgers?”
I paused at the counter in front of his kitchen, watching him rummage through his fridge. “Like your mom used to make?”
He closed the fridge door with his hip, opening the freezer next.
“Of course. Can’t make them any other way.
” A bag of frozen broccoli dropped onto the counter, with enough noise to make me flinch.
He winced before his lips turned down into a frown.
“Sorry. This is for your face. I always have some frozen broccoli.”
“Thanks.” I picked up the bag, pressing it against the swollen parts of my face. It burned against my skin, the bag sticking to my cheeks if I left it there for too long. I wondered if I should wrap it in a paper towel, but the wounds were mine to bear, so I might as well handle the consequences.
Seeing Crescent cook was weird. He’d always burned shit when we lived together, which turned into me cooking for us if his parents didn’t have the time. I watched him until the frozen broccoli became uncomfortable enough I wanted to squirm.
Walking around his living room, I perused the bookshelf by the TV. All the books were cookbooks of some kind, a lot of them about pastries or other confectionery. He really took baking seriously.
By the wall closest near the front door, picture frames hung in a pyramid.
One of him and his parents was at the top, his curly hair sitting just at his shoulders.
His mom looked older. Wearier than I remembered.
His dad, too. They both wore graying hair with pride, and the most refreshing smile lines.
Crow’s feet dotted the sides of their eyes, creasing just right.
Even in a picture, they exuded nothing but safety.
Below that picture and just to the right was a picture of Crescent, Moon, and Star, all hugging each other from the side with scowls on their faces. Despite the grimaces, they looked happy.
Smiling, I shifted the frozen broccoli to a new spot on my face and looked at the final photo.
My throat closed around the guttural gasp that left my mouth.
Every inch of my body froze, the chill rivaling that of the vegetables against my face.
My fingers tingled, curling into a fist of their own volition.
There, displayed proudly on his wall, was a photo of us.
His arm was around my shoulders, pulling me into his side while I held the painting I’d been working on for his mom in my hands.
We were in art class, a bustle of students whipping by us in the background.
Their faces and clothes were blurred, all of them coming together in a kaleidoscope of colors I couldn’t even name if I tried.
My eyes were so full of life then, the light in them much brighter compared to now. We looked so young, and so carefree. And in my hands, I held that painting like it was the most precious thing to me. I’d been proud. Excited.
Before Jude had ruined it, along with me.
“Oh.” Crescent’s voice was almost right behind me. I heard his footsteps as he got closer. They were slow, methodical.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the photo, despite how much I wanted to. I wanted to see his face—to compare it to the one in the picture and see if he really was the same. There was so much about seventeen-year-old us that I missed. Like how easy it was back then.
How easy it was to smile for pictures like that one on a whim. How easy it felt to hold that painting, proudly displaying it like it was what would take me places in the future. All painting ever ended up doing for me was causing pain.
“It’s the last photo I have of us. And the last painting I ever saw from you.” He sighed, so close I could feel the waft of warm air against the back of my neck.
I was so stunned I could barely blink. All this time, and he still kept a piece of us here? “I don’t deserve to be right next to your family, Cres.”
“I think you do.”
Shaking my head, I lowered the broccoli to my side. “We looked so happy.”
I heard him huff. A small, weighted thing that could’ve passed for a laugh.
“We were. This is gonna sound stupid, but…” he trailed off, coming around to stand right beside me.
“I put this one on the left because it’s the furthest from the front door.
In my head, I thought… well, it’s like I wasn’t letting you go again.
If you weren’t close to the door, you wouldn’t leave.
I wouldn’t lose you—or this frozen memory of you. ”
I glanced at the front door, then back to the picture of us. There was nothing more to say, no matter how much I wanted to. Little whispers started back up in my chest, vibrating within me. “I loved that painting.” Barely a whisper, but much softer than the steady war inside my body.
Crescent leaned closer to me, our shoulders almost touching. “Then why did you ruin it?”
His words cut deeper than any slap Jude could give me. They sank, deep into the treacherous lake under my feet. Heavier than daisy petals, unable to be carried by the wind. “I didn’t.”
We stared at each other, lost in a realization years too late. While my face was shattered by the force of fists, and my neck was bruised by palms much too eager to hurt, Crescent’s heart had been shattered by the idea of his best friend turning into someone he didn’t recognize.
Purple and blue. Green and yellow. They’d dotted the skin underneath my clothes, and he’d never known.
“I thought it was my fault, honestly.” His gaze turned down, no longer making eye contact with me.
“You just changed. It wasn’t like one day, you were a totally different person.
It happened so slowly that when you finally left, it all came crashing down at once.
I thought I’d done something. Caused the change. But it wasn’t you, was it?”
“No. And it wasn’t you either, Cres.”