Bleeding Smile

FIVE

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I was pacing in my bedroom as the commotion of the funeral reception well underway beyond my door remained but a muffled echo of what today was actually about.

My thoughts seemed louder than they were during the mournful procession and lengthy burial.

He doesn't mean that, he wouldn't hurt you.

But he is capable of hurting me. Teller knew me, he understood me, and worst of all, he no longer cared. Any lingering expectations that he'd hold me in some sentimental regard due to our shared history was obviously gone, and freshly evidenced in how flippantly he could allude to killing me on what was arguably the worst day of my life.

Had he still been my friend, he'd have at least asked if I was okay. He'd witnessed my painful honesty on that podium in front of the entire town and Dad's prominent casket, he understood, more than anyone, the difficulties that displaying raw emotions had always presented me, yet he still chose to approach and intimidate me, to make me somehow feel worse than how I already felt.

I had hoped, at the very least, that after years of harboring such an objectively cruel promise, that perhaps its intensity had begun to wane alongside his hatred towards me. That perhaps he'd rationalized that in every instance in which he believed that I betrayed him, I genuinely thought that I was doing the right thing. It had been a series of incredibly difficult decisions, and his actions and words and disgusting journal hadn't made any of them easier for me. Morally, I truly believed that I was saving innocent lives by essentially destroying his, and a part of me still couldn't fathom how anyone would have done anything differently had they been in my predicament.

While Teller held no loyalties and generally thought lesser of the people of Elk Point, I was still inescapably privy and sensitive to their pain; I couldn't as easily turn a blind eye to the gruesome carnage when I lived amongst their victims, when I went to school with them, and attended Mass with them, and saw their distraught faces at our supermarket.

I would never in my life have expected that I'd be persecuted for it. And by him, of all people.

There was a knock on my door and I stopped pacing. "Leslie, are you okay, hun?" Aunt Edith's voice invaded my thoughts.

I wiped my wet cheek, not realizing that silent tears had begun to stream down my face. Why did it feel like so much of my world was crumbling all at once?

"Mrs. Sinclair has brought over a fresh batch of your favorite scones," Aunt Edith informed me.

"Thank you, I'll be right out," my voice wavered despite my attempt at sounding convincingly okay. "I'm just freshening up."

"I understand. Take your time." I could hear her footsteps retreating and released a small breath.

"You seriously need to get a grip," I muttered sternly to myself, as if it was really such an open-and-shut case, as if Teller wasn't the same boy who had beaten Mayor Prescott's son within an inch of his life at my 16th birthday party.

It was the first time that I had truly registered that not only was Teller taller than most people, but he was also incredibly strong.

And, in fact, possessed his own skillfully hidden temper.

I went into my bathroom and wiped my cheeks with a damp towel before straightening out the wrinkles in my mock-neck dress. I pacified my nerves with some slow breath work technique Maddie had taught me and made my way back out into the lively reception.

The downstairs area had essentially been transformed. The foyer and living room seemed bigger due to the readjustment of furniture to allow more guests to comfortably mingle and pass through as music wafted from invisible speakers and a curated slideshow of Dad and memorable moments caught on video played quietly on the flat screen.