The Curiosities Concerning Fate

∷ Chapter 29 ∷

——— 12 years ago

DESPITE ITS NAME, Queen Island wasn't an actual island. It was a coastal town by the edge of the sea that housed its own lighthouse. It was an oddity, but a good one, for it offered Adine a safe place to hide when things got a little too scary at home, much like today.

Adine hugged her legs to her chest, staring at the mass of blue in front of her. Her eyes were blurry with angry tears and she sniffled, wiping them with the sleeve of her worn coat.

"Did he hit you again?" Mike asked, frantically stumbling over the rocks to where she was sitting on the breakwater.

"Go away! I don't want you here!" she shouted over the sound of the crashing waves.

"You're bleeding," Mike yelled in return, eyes fixed on the gash at the side of her head. "We should go to the clinic. It could be serious."

"No," she said, gaze sharp as she stared at him. "No clinics. And no doctors."

A few minutes passed before he exhaled, shuffling to settle next to her. They remained in their quiet solitudes, staring at the endless sea before them until she sighed.

"I'm fine," she assured him, though she could not bring herself to look at him for fear he would see the manifestation of the lie etched within the crevices of her features.

"Why did he hit you?" he asked. "Was he drunk again?"

"You know my father doesn't drink."

"Well, mine does. And he gets nasty when he drinks, so . . ."

She glanced at him, mildly intrigued. It was the first he'd spoken of his parents in the short while they'd been friends, but she knew better than to ask. She kept her silence, letting it settle between them as she took a deep breath. She could almost taste the sting of sea salt dusting the back of her throat and after a while, she said, "It was you."

"He hit me because I helped you," she elaborated in the same unreadable tone.

"W-What?"

His eyes widened when he heard her words, feeling as though his insides had shrunk and were starting to eat away at him.

"I'm only telling you because you wanted to know. Don't you dare start blaming yourself," she warned.

"I'm sorry—"

"And don't apologise," she interrupted. "I don't want to hear it."

Mike frowned. He felt uneasy as he glanced at the way his friend's hair was matted by the blood from the wound. He didn't think her father would find out about the day he'd crept into their apartment out of sheer hunger, hoping to steal a bite of food only to stumble upon the girl who'd willingly given him whatever was salvageable of the mould-ridden loaf; despite being just as hungry as he was.

"We should run away," he blurted on a whim. "Together."

"Are you out of your mind?" she asked, startled by his sudden suggestion.

"It's not that bad, Addy. If it's us, I'm sure we could do it."

He grinned, attempting to upkeep the positivity around the idea of escape though the frown on her face was proof that she wasn't convinced.

"It's not that bad?" she repeated. "You broke into my house trying to steal food and it's not that bad?"

"I'm just worried about you. How long will you keep taking those hits from him? If this keeps up, you'll die before long. Is that what you want?"

"I'm used to it," she mumbled. "It's nothing new, and after a while, it doesn't hurt much anymore. It's just . . . numb."

"Don't you see what's wrong with that?" Mike said, exasperated. "This is not something you should be getting used to."