Chapter 53 Lily （Past）
FIFTY-THREE
LILY
PAST
We’re sitting on the curb outside my house, scraping chalk on the pavement with hands that look redder than our normal skin tone.
“Why are you drawing a butterfly?” I ask Elijah, whose tongue sticks out between his lips, brow furrowed, as he’s deep in concentration.
“Because they’re beautiful,” he says too simply, dragging the two chalks in a zigzag, creating a pretty design on its wing. “I like how they fly through the air so pretty without caring about all the dangers around them.”
“Like you,” I point out, starting to make my own butterfly. Hoping he doesn’t yell at me for copying him.
He looks up, curious. “Why do you say that?”
I look toward his house. “Your dad is always yelling. I can hear him sometimes, you know?”
Today, he knocked on my door and simply stated his dad was acting up again. I grabbed my favorite bucket of chalk and pulled him along to the sidewalk.
“But you act like nothing is wrong, like it’s not happening. If I were you, I would be crying every day.”
“I need to stay strong for my mom and my brother and sister.” He glances back down and aggressively continues his art piece.
“But who’s going to stay strong for you?” I whisper, forgetting about my chalk.
We both stop, in fear and anticipation as Elijah’s dad’s car pulls out of the garage and into the driveway. When he accelerates at a fast speed, we flinch back. Jumping in front of me, he takes the brunt of the little pebbles on his skin that the car sends our way.
The tires squeal in the distance, causing us to snap out of our shocked state.
I don’t think he means for me to hear the small whimper that leaves his throat, but I do. When I face him, he rubs circles on his arms with his hands that have tiny scrapes all over them.
“Oh no, look at your body.”
Glancing down at himself, he frowns. Without waiting for his response, I hop up onto my feet, my favorite sneakers lighting up. I take him by the hand, and he lets me drag him into my house and all the way up to my bathroom without a single word.
“Go sit on the toilet,” I say once we enter my bathroom.
As he does what I said, I’m looking through my medicine cabinet for the antibiotic cream Mommy always rubs on my cuts. Spotting the black-and-white tub, I jump and clasp it.
Turning around, I squeeze some cream onto my palm, grab one of my best friend’s arms, and start rubbing everywhere.
With a brow quirked upward, he muses, “You really care about me, huh?”
He’s just realizing that now?
“I’ve cared about you since the first time I ever saw you.” I shrug my shoulders, starting to rub cream on his other arm.
I can hear pots and pans rattling together in the kitchen downstairs. Dad starts singing a tune from the radio Mom always listens to.
Life feels good. Happy.
“You,” Elijah whispers brokenly.
I look up and find his sad eyes already on me. “Me what?”
He smiles, full of sadness and gratitude. “You’re strong for me.”
Me? He really feels that way?
I gulp, feeling water rush to my eyes. Why am I getting upset? I should be happy, not sad.
“For infinity,” I promise, sticking out my pinkie and carving my words into stone.
He hooks his thin finger around mine. “For infinity,” he repeats firmly.