Her sigh is softer than the hand she lays upon mine. A surprise. I had never felt anything as soothing and yielding as her skin.
"Are you sure this is the right choice, sweetheart?" she asks in her sugary-sweet voice. Her voice usually conjures up images of fairy floss clouds and graceful rainbow streamers. But not today. Today will forever be recalled as the day that storm clouds crowded around to watch the buzzsaws moving independently and finding my neck to chew.
"It's the only choice that is right for me." My eyes alight on a piece of lint that has integrated into the fluff of the jacket I am wearing. I know what it's like to be small and unassuming, to barely hang onto the fabric I no longer belong to. I know that feeling all too well.
She takes a breath, letting it out in a cool gust, melodic with words left unsaid. "You know I will support you every step of the way," Madge says, but her eyes say different.
Madge's eyes are deep, warm and strangely hypnotic. I have always been attracted to bright and clear blue eyes, the kind of eyes that always look mischievous and happy, but brown eyes possess a different allure. They pull you in with promises to embrace and caress. Sometimes they break you, and sometimes they heal you. Madge is a healer.
I doubt her abilities could help with this situation, however. There's so much I need to uproot and toss aside, so much that needs to change. How can you heal battle scars when they have been cut out and cleared away?
It was time to leave. Pulling the wooden box out from under her hands, I wince when they fall to the table. She looks up at me, exasperated.
"I'll see you tomorrow. Leave your phone on. Dee may want to call you," I say in response, bending down to kiss her cheek. She sighed again. Surrender.
Swallow your fears, Kain.
Now standing beneath the midnight ink partnering with the frosty July night, the reality of the situation hits me, fast. What am I doing? I can't guarantee the success of my actions.
Nevertheless, I know it needs to be done. Drawing the ridiculous jacket tight across my chest and clasping the ends with white knuckles, I plunge my hand in the surprisingly deep right pocket and utilize Madge's breathing techniques as I borrow the little light that the new moon provides me with to pick my way to Dee's townhouse.
The house is conveniently located two streets behind Madge's flat. It is a short walk, even when taking a leisurely stroll, so my anxious half-walk-half-jog finds me on her doorstep within seconds. Or so it feels.
The door swings upon to accommodate Dee's wary face as she processes my arrival. "Oh, good. It's only you, Kain," she mutters, apprehension clouding her usual cheeky facade. She opens the door wider. Her slender hands smooth down the wrinkles in her black midi skirt, the ring on her hand looking ominous, as if it were about to shrink and slice off her finger.
I don't need to say anything. She cocks her head, implying invitation, though her eyes - the same as Madge's - scream refusal.
I move to the living room on impulse. The armchair is occupied. A heavily tattooed hand holds a glass of whiskey in a lax grip. The television is playing softly; Law and Order SVU is on. My mind darkens as I contemplate the irony of that. What a dark night.
"Have you come to visit me, Kain?" His voice, the voice of cold handcuffs and danger, speaks from the armchair. "I'm flattered."
He makes no effort to rise to confront me. I take the initiative and step forward. "Dad-" I begin. My voice falters. I try again. "Doug, I know everything."
He scoffs. No other noise is granted to me. The glass raises, disappears for four seconds, and then reappears above the arm. If I know anything, it is that I know my father's actions and what they mean. He just issued a challenge, an action akin to saying "go on, I dare you." I wasn't backing down. Not this time.
