𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝...

Chapter 6

"Will, what happened to you?" asked Rosemary the moment she laid eyes on her little brother. She leaned closer, inspecting the black and blue bruise that crowded his eye. "Who punched you?" 

"No one," her brother replied. "It was a mistake. Everything's good." 

"Don't lie to me," she pleaded. "Tell me who did this." 

Will looked away, toward the stairs, his fist clenching and unclenching. "Why does it matter?" he demanded. "You can't do anything about it!" 

"Will," Rosemary whispered, and she pulled him into a hug. She had seen his eyes fill up with tears, and it made her furious. Who would dare make someone innocent and cute like Will cry? "I'm sorry." 

He tentatively placed his arms around her, leaning into her embrace. Rosemary was short enough for his head to rest on her shoulder. She tightened her arms around him, feeling his tears make a wet patch on her shirt. 

"Who did this?" she asked again, quietly. 

"J—Jackson," he whispered. 

And with just one word, one name, Rosemary's fury unleashed. 

---

"Jackson Crowle!" 

Her voice was light but loud. She had never spoken that way to anyone before, but it seemed right. After all, Jackson did hurt her little brother, and he did make Will cry. 

She just hoped she wouldn't look stupid while confronting the bully. 

The boy turned, dribbling his basketball. At the sight of her, he grinned. "You looking for me?" he asked lightly and smugly. "Did little kindergartner learn how to finally talk?" 

She stopped in front of him, her light hair flying back as she narrowed her dark eyes at him. "Shut up," she hissed, her hands flying to her hips. "How dare you!" 

Surprised, he arched a brow. "Talking back too, huh?" he asked. 

"How could you hurt him!" she raised her voice, which shook with anger. Cautiously, Jackson eyed her. "How could you! He's a kid, he's my brother—he didn't deserve being hit, Jackson!"

"That kid was your brother?" he demanded, genuinely surprised. The little scrawny boy had had dark hair while Rosemary had light brown hair. But he could kind of see that their eyes were a little similar, and their noses were almost identical. 

"Yes," she confirmed. "You're—you're such a coward. Picking on girls and boys that are younger than you...pick on people your own size! My brother is the most innocent boy you could ever meet, Jackson—he had never been hit in his entire life, and he didn't have to! How many innocent lives are you ruining?!" 

 "He seemed strong enough," Jackson dismissed. "Didn't even cry. Whenever I hit a little kid, even a little, they start bawling." 

"He felt enough of mental pain," she whispered. "I spent two years in a coma, and I had been his best friend. You don't understand—" 

"SHUT UP." Jackson moved forward, his eyes blazing. Rosemary stepped back, wondering what boundary she had overstepped—she hadn't meant to. "Don't tell me that I don't understand, or that I don't know—I know, okay? Your brother isn't the only one. So stop acting so special and mighty just because you're some miracle—you're not." 

Rosemary let out a breath, her fists clenching by her side. "I never thought I was a miracle," she said stoutly. "A certain someone never let me think so." She glared at him, and he glared back. His basketball was long gone, having rolled toward the thorn bushes.