The Saint's Lips

Chapter Four

The distraction that school provided causes me to instinctively forget about my responsibilities when I return home. The moment I shut off the engine to my black, four-door mini cooper that my dad bought for my 16th birthday, I allow the lonely reality of home to settle in.

I unlock the intimidatingly large wooden doors that lead into the vast foyer of my house and throw my bags carelessly to the side. Quickly taking off my boots and tossing them next to my bags, I make sure to wipe the line of sweat that teases my forehead. The first thing I do when I get home is rush upstairs to check on my father. He's sleeping, as he usually is, and I nod to the nurse who is monitoring his heart rate. She gives me a sympathetic smile before explaining how the day went, and I nod along. Nurses like to use the same exhausting vocabulary as the doctors do, and in some ways I think it's just their attempt to appear more important than they really are.

What's even worse is that I understand every bit of overused vocabulary that all doctors and nurses tend to use extensively.

When the nurse finally leaves, I sit in the familiar leather reading chair across from the bed, the exact one that gives me a perfect angle to view the grandfather clock. Soon I come to realize that I should probably start on some homework. I rush back down the wooden stairs that are adorned with maroon carpeted steps, grab my backpack, and rush back into my father's room. I can hear his slight snoring as he sways in and out of consciousness. When he does wake, he's usually too dillusional to have a proper conversation with.

My father, William Marks, is a sort of hero for me. Although the times when I assume he kept his illness from my mother and I in order to find some sort of cure alternate to chemotherapy, causes my mind to rethink the hero aspect of his actions. Selfless perhaps, although to the detriment of his family.

Through the constant reminder of my tragedy, I force my mind to concentrate solely on the history homework Mr. Higgins assigned for next week, while the rest of my night slips away in strange time. It is neither fast nor slow but both simultaneously.

It isn't until I can no longer stare at my paper that I remind myself to make something for dinner.

I go to check my phone that is hidden beneath my pile of paperwork, and quickly file through the few texts I have from Kat or Liam. Usually Liam and I keep in touch the most, and I'm always happiest to receive any sort of text from him. Despite Liam being one of my closest friends, I'm not exactly blind to his looks, and I certainly can't deny that he's attractive. I've just known him for such a long time as friends that I would be scared to take it in any other direction. It's not like I haven't had my fair share of boyfriends throughout high school. Although, to be fair there might have only been two short term relationships to really refer to. Liam has had his too, first a beautiful girl from the school dance team, Danielle, and then a few years later Sophia. Sophia was his most recent, having just broken up with her before the summer began. I wonder though if he still thinks back on his relationship with Danielle sometimes. He isn't shy to bring her up in casual conversation.

I make myself something easy tonight, penne with an alfredo sauce that my dad taught me how to perfect. Luckily, along with other eclectic hobbies, my dad used to love cooking. He taught me how to make every dish I know. If I'm not sure about what I can make for dinner, I usually go to Loretta for help. She has plenty of old Slovenian recipe books that I can look at if I'm curious.

I've only just finished cooking my meal when I hear the familiar resounding of the doorbell sing throughout the empty house. It seems to echo in the loneliness, and I check my watch for the time. It's just past seven and my dinner is already late by Californian standards. I wonder who could be bothered to visit on a Monday night, and quickly make my way to the front doors.

I unlock and open them to see two smiling faces. A couple, about the same age as my own parents, hold a pot in their hands. I give them a warm greeting and they both look at me with expectant, kind eyes.

"Hello dear. We're so sorry to bother you, but we've just moved in across the street. I heard your father was ill, so I'm not sure if they do this here but back home we usually bring a bit of food. I hope you don't mind." The woman, with dark brown hair and a warm smile, hands me the pot. I notice her accent as she explains her arrival on my doorstep, and it resembles that of the moody British boy in class today.

I smile and look through the glass pot to see that it must be some sort of desert pie.

"It's an apple cobbler." The woman says and I nod and give her a warm thank you.

"I'm Anne, and this is my husband Robin." She points towards the rather chubby looking man who offers me a warm smile in return. I shake both their hands and introduce myself.

"I'm Ava, it's really nice to meet you both." I say and soon I realize that there are more than just two people standing on my front steps. At the bottom of the patio, Robin turns to reveal a boy with familiar dark jeans and a black beanie that covers his brown locks. His face remains hidden for a split second until the familiar green eyes look up to mine.

"Oh for fucks sake." Harry's lips murmur, a little too loudly for it to be considered muttering, and Anne flashes him a warning glare.

"Harry, come and introduce yourself." She says through a forced smile.

"Why couldn't you have Gemma do this shit?" Harry moans angrily as he makes his way up my front steps.

"Because Gemma doesn't actually live here permanently, now say hello to your neighbour." Harry's mother chastises him, and I can't help but chuckle under my breath at the relationship between him and his mother. From the school bad boy to a momma's boy, he doesn't seem to be acting as tough as he did today.

"I'm Harry, nice to meet you, etcetera etcetera, sorry about your dead dad now can we please leave?"

Anne gives Harry a horrified glare and he shrugs his shoulders while turning to walk back down the steps and onto the driveway.

Although I'm positive that Harry couldn't have looked at me long enough to recognize me, I'm convinced that he knew exactly who I was. As his back turns, I can't even manage to say anything in response before he's halfway across the street.

"I do apologize for his behaviour. He's been like this ever since we moved. Please forgive him." Anne explains, her tone kneaded with worry.

I give her a warm smile and respond carelessly, "Don't worry. I don't mind. I go to West Campus High as well and I saw him in a couple of my classes." I shrug and she gives me a loving grin.

"Oh how wonderful. Maybe he won't feel so left out then if he has someone from his street at school." I try not to laugh as Anne tells me about this exceedingly confident boy who could never feel "left out".

Harry's mother and I discuss something irrelevant about the cobbler, and I promise to return her pot when I'm finished with the desert. Eventually she apologizes once again for Harry and soon she and Robin retreat back into their own home.

The new information that Harry lives just across my street causes an assortment of emotions, including panic, embarrasment, and joy, to stirr in the pit of my stomach. Something about him is starting to get to me though. It's either the accent, or the exceedingly rude exterior. Either way, the first thing I do when I get back into my own house is call Kat and tell her the news. She insists that she sleep over every day for the next year while she still can, and I laugh before we hang up.

By the time I remember that I still haven't eaten dinner it's seven-thirty and my stomach is chastising me for not having thought of its hunger sooner. I shovel through two bowls of pasta while watching a couple episodes of this Documentary that I secretly enjoy, and then rush to check on my father before getting to bed. There is a different nurse at his bedside this time, and she seems less condescending in terms of his state.

Having checked on my father, eaten a full two bowls of alfredo penne, and done a majority of my history assignment, I feel confident to slip into my pyjama shorts and tank top before falling into a deep and tired sleep.

That night, I dream for the first time of a towering shadow with plump pink lips and a deep, haunting voice.

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