Ruby Red Marionette

twentysix | island

"I used to write poetry in middle school." Yvette sat on Batul's pink and black duvet, her legs folded into her in an almost fetal position. She gazed at the tapestry that separated Tyler's side from Batul's; the noon sun left a glossy reflection in her eyes that showed the intricate patterns on the purple sheet in her shiny brown marbles.

I was sitting on the floor, my back against the wall and my head hanging low. Since yesterday, everything I did and thought about drained my energy. Just looking at them, looking at myself, felt like trying to lift a gallon-heavy box after running twenty laps. It took something from me that I no longer had.

Batul, who was sprawled out on her bed, looked over at Yvette with bored eyes. "About what?"

Yvette began to give a long, detailed, and seemingly fabricated answer about her inner feelings and the experiences that she couldn't verbalize to the people around her, but no one in the room was listening. We all knew that Batul's question was rhetorical; she didn't actually want to know what they were about, but she was simply implying that there was nothing a privileged airhead like Yvette would have to open up about.

Even though Yvette and the former Geneva were privileged in different ways—Yvette with beauty, the former me with money—I could understand her. People on the outside may not know that economic circumstances don't change the fact that life is usually shit, for everyone. So despite my irritation with her, I could understand her.

"Yo, Batface. Did you eat all the mayonnaise?" Tyler shifted the tapestry and looked at Batul.

"One, do not call me that. Two, I do not like mayonnaise."

"It's in the mini-fridge, Ty. Next to the beer." Isaiah told him, crossing the room's separation to plug his phone charger into Batul's outlet.

"Can you pass me that please?" Batul asked me. I gave her the Chinese food menu she pointed to behind me. She opened the menu with her phone next to her, examining the list to prepare to call for delivery. I considered ordering something also; I didn't eat breakfast this morning. I haven't had an appetite for the past two days, ever since we left the police department. It was after twelve, and if I didn't eat soon, gas pains would probably start kicking in within an hour. Tyler had nothing in his mini-fridge but beverages and condiments, and the main fridge had salad dressing, burger buns and leftover rice.

Shrimp and fried rice was more appealing than rice covered in ranch dressing.

"Where's the rest of the beer, Isaiah?" Tyler asked, his head stuck in the fridge.

"There's none left?" Isaiah asked.

"There's one."

"Oh, I drank the rest. Sorry about that."

Tyler stared quizzically at him. "There was a full case of beer."

Isaiah responded with a hefty burp. "I know."

"Geneva, what happened to you after that night when we ran?" Yvette's innocent, inquisitive voice sent a chill through my ears. That sound, along with her question, were enough to make me get up and leave. The last thing I wanted to confront was the past, especially the time between said night and now.

I looked up at her. She was still staring at me, patiently waiting for my response as if there was nothing provocative about her question. I was going to ignore her, maybe tell her to go write a poem instead of bothering me, but something changed my mind. Not one thing, but three other things: Batul, Tyler and Isaiah staring up at Yvette, just as I was. They were all looking at her with the same bewilderment and dread that I felt. No one moved.

And then I had an idea.

"What happened to you?" I asked her.

Her eyebrows immediately furrowed, and an upset frown formed on her face. "I asked first."