Blood

Lorna came back the next day, and the day after that.

I don’t really understand why she keeps coming by, but she does, and I don’t want her to stop. I want to be able to stand and fucking move without my brother or my father screaming at me and for Lorna Owens to still come back. And then I feel stupid for thinking it. Not the moving part, since I think that makes sense, but I feel stupid for wanting Lorna to be around me. And I had a chance to keep her away. More than one.

At the pub, I could have just let her get angry and go back to her cousin and that would have been the end of that. Mind you, I was drunk. I mean, I think that’s a well-known side-effect of alcohol—the whole lack of control, saying stupid shit.

And then, the day I finally got my cast off—when Lorna cut it off for me—I’d had a perfect chance to send her away. Make her think I hate her, let her be nasty when we see each other. Might not exactly be enjoyable, but it would keep her away from me.

But…I hadn’t told her, since I wasn’t exactly proud of it, but I was pretty near hammered then, too.

A couple days after I “fell” I had been able to convince Justin to go out and buy me a 2-4. It was actually pretty damn easy. All I’d had to do was tell him it helped with the pain that I’m not actually in. I mean, it helps with the…what do the Mainlanders call it…emotional pain.

So I’ve had a case of beer under my bed for about a week now, which I can kick in a way to make it reachable, and there, easy beer, albeit it’s almost all empties now.

With all that in mind, the past two days I was completely sober when Lorna had come by, yet I still hadn’t told her to go away. I hadn’t told her that I didn’t want her here. I hadn’t let my brother convince me that she was going to be bad for me, albeit that’s mostly because I know I’d be the one that would cause Lorna problems, not the other way around.

So today I get to be left with myself and all of the self-loathing that comes with it. And I deserve that.

Mind you, I do not deserve to be left with a brace around my neck, holding me in place. You’d think a simple piece of plastic would still let me stand, walk around, everything of that sort. But I can’t. The brace’s arms run all the way down my back, keeping my torso straight, which makes it incredibly hard to stand up. And the two ruddy times I managed it on my own my brother came in and almost shoved me back into bed. I’m sure that was great for my neck.

So I had—past tense—decided to try and get it off.

I’ve tried just pulling it apart, but I couldn’t get a good enough grip.

I’ve tried hitting the arms with the hilt of my knife, but they wouldn’t break. I’d just stab them, except I really don’t want to stab myself with an iron knife. That hurts. I know. I’ve done it before.

I was so desperate yesterday that I tried to convince Lorna to help me, but she couldn’t figure out how it worked. So I’m stuck like this.

“Mallory?”

I try to look at the doorway where my father has to be standing, but my eyes have started to really hurt from looking at such weird angles.

“Yeah?” I ask as I close my eyes.

“I brought you some dinner.”

It’s the second time he’s tried to bring me food today.

My father’s feet stomp as he enters the room, likely holding something relatively edible.

I frown and say, “I’m not hungry.”

It’s a lie. Actually, I cannot for the life of me remember the last time I was this hungry, but it hurts to eat. It really hurts, so I haven’t eaten in maybe…three, four days.

“You have to eat. You’re going to lose your strength.”

I laugh a little bitterly. “What good’s strength if I’ll never have the chance to use it.”

Since I was young, I have only been truly angry with my father a handful of times, and this has to be one of them. He knows how quickly I heal. He knows I hate lying down. I don’t even understand why he called the stupid doctor. Scared or not. Nobody would have ever known I was hurt; there’d be no need to pretend I still am.

And spirits I hate him for it.

How long will I have to fucking stay like this? A month? Six? A year? If it’s any more than that...well, it won’t be since I will kill myself. Actually, I don’t think I could make it for the whole six months.

I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it for one month at this rate…

“You’ll need it.”

My eyes snap open, and I see my father leaning over me, concern etched into the lines of his face. Fuck him.

“When?”

He frowns, moving away. “I…the doctor…”

“The ruddy doctor doesn’t know anything, Timothy! You know that!”

“What am I to do, then, Mallory? What will I say when people ask?”

I throw my arm in the air, which hurts. “Tell them that Richard Hawthorne’s a quack! I really don’t give a damn,” I say.

“Just, give it a month…” he says, trailing off.

I reach out and grab my father’s collar, dragging his face within half a foot of mine.

Stop, I tell myself…but…

“I can’t give it a month!”

My father’s eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them. “Mallory, please,” he says.

My father is terrified of me.

I let my fingers go lax and Tim pulls away faster than I can ever remember him moving.

I touch my fingers to my temple, willing the darker part of myself to go back where it came from: my mother.

“I…I’m sorry.”

My father shakes his head, but in a way that says that he’s trying to decide what to do with me.

Spirits, what am I supposed to do with myself?

An image of my knife lying on the floor beside my bed steals through my mind.

After what feels like eternity, my father says, “Fine. Sit up.”

“W…What?” I stammer.

“I know you can do it. Sit up.”

I try to obey, bracing myself with one hand and using the other to lever myself up. It hurts, so badly, but…after what I just pulled, it’s the least I can do…

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

There’s a moment where I just cling to the wall. Maybe two minutes, and then I glance at my father. “There.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, but he looks a little ill.

“Hold still.”

“Hold…why?” I ask.

“I’ll take off the brace. Just don’t move.”

My backs already angled towards him, so I don’t have to move.

I realise as my father fiddles with clasps that I couldn’t find that his hands are shaking. He’s still afraid of me. Terrified.

What had felt like a thousand pounds of pressure releases from my neck. I can breathe.

“I think it slips off forwards, although I’m not quite sure,” my father says.

I try pulling the plastic mass forwards, but it’s still caught with all of the metal arms. I yank at them a couple times, until they all come loose.

I laugh as I throw the mass at the floor, where it smashes amiably.

I glance at my dad, but he’s frowning. “That was expensive.”

“Sorry,” I say, although I don’t mean it in the slightest.

I roll my neck around a few times, first to the right, and then the left. The cracking is almost sickening, but it makes it feel even better.

Tim doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t frown either. I think my father goes along with our home pretty well. “Eat.”

With that, he turns and heads back out to the hall, partially closing the door, leaving me alone with my reacquired freedom.

And then I’m struck with the feeling that I have no idea what to do with it.

Standing might be a good start, I think.

So I stand, and it feels strangely amazing. I never realised how much I took standing for granted, until now. It just makes you feel so much more…I don’t know…maybe powerful, to be able to stand on your own two feet.

My stomach begins to hurt and my throat feels kind of tight.

I glance at the plate of eggs and potatoes sitting on the floor beside my bed. They look like they have gone cold, but I still kind of want to eat them. So I sit on my bed and reach for the plate. The fork slips off and clatters to the floor. When I reach for it, I see Moby Dick lying on the floor, half way under the bed, and smile slightly. I’d been reading it to Lorna yesterday. It had been a little odd, since I didn’t expect her to want to be read to—she seems too proud for it—but she had. And then she’d just talked for a while, and I’d listened, just because it was nice to listen to her talk. It was mostly about Sean, the little Owens. After hearing her, I get why Justin has said she might as well have been the boy’s mother. She talks like she’s his mother.

I had been right, my eggs are cold, but I eat them anyway, since I really am hungry.

I reckon I should bring the plate back to the kitchen, but I still feel a little unsettled with the way I keep treating my father, so I don’t want to see him. And I really don’t want to see Justin. I don’t know if he is home or not. Maybe he won’t be since Lorna won’t be here. He seems to enjoy making a point of bothering her whenever she’s here, and he’s making an ass of himself. I can’t ever remember my brother being like this, and he won’t tell me why he’s doing it. He’ll just say something about her being a whore, or being mad. It’s a bit rich, coming from him.

I drop the plate onto the floor and leave it there. I suppose it’s not the best idea, but I don’t really care. I want to change my clothes.

So I go through the third drawer of the dresser until I find enough clothes to be able to go outside without freezing to death.

And I want to go outside, even though it’s already getting dark, but I don’t really feel like wearing a jacket. I can normally tolerate quite a bit of cold, so it shouldn’t be a problem as long as I cover my arms.

The screen door slams as I pull a belt through my jeans. I’d figure it was either my dad or my brother, more likely Justin.

Except the voice that calls my name from behind the door before it pulls the rest of the way open is a girl’s.

“He—you’re standing,” says Lorna, her lips parted in surprise.

Heat rushes to my cheeks. If she had have opened that door less than a minute ago I wouldn’t have been wearing any pants.

“Uh, ye—” I start to say, but before I can finish she’s thrown her arms around my neck and I don’t understand why.

“Holy fuck,” she mumbles, looking up at me. I am really glad I’m wearing pants.

She disentangles herself just before I can wrap my hands around her waist, which I’m glad for. I’m being an idiot.

“Sorry,” she says, her face burning scarlet.

“Uh, that’s alright.” I look down at my feet.

“You were getting dressed.”

I glance at my belt, still undone. “Yeah.”

“I’m a moron,” Lorna says.

I look back at her, but she’s turned away, which I take as an opportunity to do up my belt and reach for my shirt, which I’d left on the bed.

She turns back to me. I haven’t the slightest idea what she might be thinking. “Jesus,” she mumbles, staring.

“I’m sorry?” I say and pull on my shirt. I figure she’s upset, maybe she thinks I lied about my neck. People have done it before.

“I…” she says in a faraway voice. She shakes her head. “I was just surprised. I didn’t…expect…”

I try to smile at her, “I told you the doctor’s mad. I was able to convince my father the same.”

Her eyes narrow, pushing the red out of her freckled cheeks. “And you can walk?”

“It was only…a week,” I frown a little and then add, “I think,” to myself.

She doesn’t say anything, but she does glance back at the door.

“Uh, I didn’t think you would be here…I would have shut the door. It’s late.”

She turns back to me, her hair swirling around her shoulders. I think she wears it down the most, but I’ve seen her with it braided as well.

She’s smirking. “You ain’t shy, are you?”

“A little,” I admit. “Uh, I was just going outside to see the cattle.”

Lorna mutters something that ends in either cattle or Christ. Maybe Christ, since she’s scowling. Albeit, I don’t think she really likes cattle. I’m not sure why I think that.

But her scowl somehow changes to a smirk in a gradual way, which doesn’t make sense since her face doesn’t look at all strange for even a second, and I think I’m watching her rather intently. “I’ll make you a deal.”

I tilt my head a little, unsure of what to make of her. “A deal?”

“Yeah. I’ll go and see your cows, even though they’re stupid, and you have to take me to the pub and buy me food. I’m really hungry.”

I’m not sure if I’m frowning or smiling. “Cattle aren’t stupid.”

She shrugs and keeps staring up at me. I wonder how tall she is…and how old. She looks young. I think she’s sixteen, maybe fifteen. Shit, how old did she say Sean was? Four? Five? Maybe six. I think she said it’s a ten year difference.

“How…old are you?”

“Sixteen. Why?” she asks, stepping closer for whatever reason, maybe she’s trying to make me uncomfortable…in my own room.

I didn’t want to feel like a pedophile. “Nothing, you just look…young.”

She scowls and shrugs. “Well you look old!”

There, send her away you ruddy bastard.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

Her eyes change, and she does something with her mouth that is something like a smirk, but not really. “So, what? You like little girls?”

“What? No! I…” she starts to laugh. “You’re teasing me.”

“No,” she says, smiling. Her teeth aren’t quite white, and they’re all pretty crooked, but there’s something beautiful about her smile. And then she sobers, all mirth leaving her face. “Deal?”

“Uh, I dunno,”

Her eyes narrow. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she doesn’t say it maliciously, but like she was just asking my height.

“Sorry?”

She’s gotten close to me, so close that she’s almost touching me. I don’t understand how she can do that without me even seeing her move. “You say you like me, you won’t let me just leave, but I give you these easy fucking chances and you just kind of brush me off and I’m pretty damn tired of it.” Her voice has grown colder, colder and a hell of a lot crueler. “So say no. Don’t just say I dunno or I don’t think I should because it is really fucking annoying!”

There you go, Mallory. Silver platter. Just say no.

“Okay.”

Lorna frowns at me, which is better than a scowl. “Okay?”

I smile, just a little. “Come on, I’ll take you to the pub.”

She looks confused, her brown eyes wide and her eyebrows knitted. “You wanted to see your cows.”

“Yeah, well. I’m kind of hungry, myself.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling with her eyes as well as her mouth and turning towards the door.

“Okay,” I mutter.

I’m such an idiot.