Allégro

Chapter 02: Request Denied

          Gnawing on the inside of my cheek, I held back a frown as I gazed into the mirror attached to my desk. Lifting my chin, I turned my head slightly to the right. As a child, I used to hate the freckles splayed across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. I used to wish I could just wash them off like ink and never see them again.
          I was always told they made me 'look younger'. Well that, paired with my high cheekbones and pouty pink lips. All of which I apparently get from my mother. A woman I have never met. According to Aunt Vic the two attributes I got from my dad were my round grey eyes and my chestnut colored hair. Although, I got my hair texture–my loose ringlets–from my mother.
          I bring my right foot up to rest on the edge of my chair. Hugging my leg to my chest, I place my chin on the top of my knee. How is it possible to have an even mixture of attributes from two people and never have met them? My parents died in a car accident when I was a baby. Uncle Jax says they were killed on impact and that it's a miracle I made it out.
          I take a deep breath as I straighten in my seat. Gathering my curls at the top of my head, I wrap them in a neat bun–making sure to leave two strands out at my temples to frame my face. As I let my arms drop, I felt a twinge of pain in my lower back. I drew in a sharp breath. I guess it beats yesterday's sharp stabbing pain.
          Leaning forward, I clenched my teeth together as I tugged the heating pad–which has gone cold–from it's spot between my lower back and my chair. I let out a sigh as I sat back in my seat, tossing the rubber red container onto my desk with a small thud.
          It took a little bit of convincing, but I finally got Uncle Jax to stop hovering. Everytime an injury comes up, whether it's reoccurring or not, the protective side of my Uncle takes over–leaving the injured no room to breathe. For example, tonight at dinner, I excused myself from the dinner table and was standing up from my chair. Uncle Jax was immediately on his feet, ready to assist. At this, I shared a glance with Aunt Vic–who raised her napkin from her lap to her mouth in an attempt to hide the smile making its way onto her face. It was only when I told Uncle Jax that I was 'more than capable of going up the stairs to my room by myself' that he took his seat.
          I'd gotten a little more than halfway up the carpeted stairs when I heard the sounds of a chair scraping against the hardwood floors and plates clinking against one another. Aunt Vic's hush voice joined soon after. "She's looking more and more like Jess everyday."
          Uncle Jax let out a breathy chuckle. "She gets her stubbornness and determination from Nik, that's for sure."
          Aunt Vic and Uncle Jax never talk about my parents. I've always just assumed it was too painful. When I was younger I asked about them once–what they were like. Were they kind? Would they have been strict parents or lenient? What did it look like when they would smile and who made who smile more? All things I'll never know.
          A soft knock sounded against my bedroom door, interrupting my thoughts.
          "Come in," I announced, turning slowly toward the door. Aunt Vic entered the room. Signs of exhaustion glimmered behind her bright chocolate colored eyes. Although you'd never know it by the comforting smile decorating her face. Her jet black hair is in her usual style–half held back by a clip while the rest flowed freely at her shoulders.
          "I was just about to call it a night, but I thought you could use another one of these before I do," Aunt Vic states, handing me another rubber red container. A smile spreads across my face as I take the warm container from her hands. She always seems to know what I need before I need it. "Don't stay up too late."
          With that, she takes the old container from my desk and starts toward the door. Aunt Vic has always been more nurturing, more kind hearted. Although I've seen her and Uncle Jax spar, I can't imagine her ever using it unless in emergency situations.
          "Aunt Vic?" I say, placing the hot compress on my lap. Aunt Vic turns around, her brows lifting ever so slightly as her head tilts to the side. "I was wondering if we could do our lessons in the woods tomorrow. You know, like we used too."
          Aunt Vic's face drops at my question–like she hates the answer she has to give. "Ryn, you know we can't. It's not safe."
          "Why not?" I press, fighting to keep my irritation at bay. It's the same answer every time. It's not safe. I don't know what she saw the last time we were out there, but whatever it was, it was enough to keep me confined to the perimeters of this farm for the foreseeable future.
          Aunt Vic clicks her tongue. "Emryn, don't do this. Your Uncle and I–we're just trying to keep you safe."
          "Safe from what?" I chuckle, my frustration getting the better of me. "It's not like any of the animals out there are dangerous. One snap of a twig and they're on the run."
          "Watch your tone when speaking to your Aunt, please, Ryn." Instructs Uncle Jax. He comes to a stop in my doorway, his arms folded across his chest–amplifying the intensity of the muscles. His messy chestnut hair and matching stubble make him look more rugged than he is. His hazelnut eyes are locked on me as he continues. "You're already doing ballet with the Archers tomorrow. I think it's best, with your back injury, to not push it. Don't you agree?"
          "Yes, sir." I say, turning to face my desk. I take the hot compress and wedge it between my lower back and the chair. As I lean back in my seat, my eyes flicker up to my mirror where I spot Uncle Jax moving to the side as Aunt Vic exits the room.
          "Goodnight, Ryn." My Uncle states, reaching for the doorknob.
          I don't bother masking my irritation as my Uncle and I make eye contact through the mirror. "Goodnight."