The Misfortune of Distorted Truth

Isaac - An Introduction

The shadows cast from the light of the fire danced along the darkened walls as if they were celebrating.
This was not a day of celebration.
M, seated on her special lounge chair, sighed melodramatically. The night had grown tiresome and lonely.
With a loud creak of protest from the springs of the cushion, M stood up. She gazed into the fire with a blank stare, the flames reflected in her eyes like silent burning rage. Everyone knew that M was hiding so much more behind those eyes.
Still, some called her dull. Some called her foolish. And some... some called her heartless. M was none of those things and resented these statements. She wasn't a star-crossed lover from a fairytale, or a secret princess, or a snobby Popular. She was simply M. She despised all those things, anyway.
"Isaac," she thought aloud, crouching, as if speaking his name would make him appear. She grasped the white furs of the carpet and furrowed her brow. Where was Isaac? He hadn't been home since she had gone to school that morning - at least, as far as she knew.
M was surprised to find herself thinking of him again. She hastily blocked him from her thoughts, her face flushing red. Instinctively, she covered her cheeks, though no one was there to see. No Populars to tease her.
Isaac lived across the street from M, but he was nearly always at her house. He was her best friend, and he took care of her. Her parents were much too busy to stay with her. In fact, M couldn't remember the last time she had seen them.
She was alone.
M hated being alone. She could always expect to find Isaac when she got off the bus, waiting at the door for her, smiling his gorgeous smile.
Gorgeous?
He hadn't been there today.
M got up again, dragging her feet through the soft carpet and entering the kitchen. The phone was right there, solemn and silent on the counter. Beside it, on the smooth marble, were two index cards. This was not unusual.
M read the numbers to herself as if they could somehow tell her that her parents loved her. The emergency number was there. She could call... anytime.
Yet, she didn't.
Isaac's number was there too. He had the neatest handwriting, and he always put a little smiley face beside his name. M thought it was cute.
Her brown hand trembling slightly, her eyes never wavering from the note, she picked up the phone. Her hands felt clammy.
She dialed.
It rang.
On the last ring, M's heart dropped to her stomach. What if Isaac didn't answer? What was she to do? She was only twelve, and she couldn't make her own food.
There was a click, and she filled with hope once more.
"Isaac?" she gasped, clutching the phone tightly. Nervous sweat appeared on her forehead.
"M," Isaac's familiar voice spoke up. M let out a shaky breath of pure relief.
"Where are you?"
"Sorry I'm late, baby." She smiled and relaxed when she heard the name. She liked it when he called her that, like he was a worried parent.
"It's okay." M realized her fingers were tightening their grip around the phone again, but she did nothing to stop it. "When are you coming back?" The words came out choked.
"I've gotta get a ride home. The buses closed down."
M couldn't help but feel like he was avoiding her questions.
"Where are you?" she asked again.
"My parents should be getting me any time now. I'm stuck at Market."
M frowned. What was Isaac doing at Market at all? He had promised to take her with him the next time he went. Was he hiding something from her? She shook her head. No more questions.
"I'll be home before bedtime, baby, I promise. I need to hang up, okay?"
The girl's brow furrowed again. There were deep creases marking her forehead from how frequently she did this. "Alright." She held the phone away from her and dropped it on the counter.
M was concerned for Isaac, she had to admit. She was slightly irritated that he had gone to Market without her and that he hadn't bothered to call, but she loved him all the same. She couldn't ever be angry at her Isaac. He had been looking after her since she was eight years old, and he only eleven then himself. Isaac was her guardian, and her friend; he was the one who cooked for her and made sure she was well. M's parents had been around more often when the children were younger, so Isaac had been more of a playmate to keep her company. But now, with them away on business so frequently, the Desjardins would just send a large sum of money home every week or so - the money earned from their work - and this would pay for groceries, dog food and management, and Isaac's efforts. The boy watched M as a sort of job, which was why his parents rarely interfered. They believed him to be perfectly responsible on his own, but then again, perhaps it would have been better if they had stepped in.
She knew he cared for her more than anyone, though she hated to think he thought of her as a little sister. M wanted so much more than that.
M briskly left the kitchen and approached the stairs to the upper floor, which were made of hard stone. Often, she imagined what would happen if she were to stumble on them.
It was a rather nerve-wracking thought.
With her usual caution, M climbed the thirteen steps (she had counted many times before) to the next level. Her bedroom was up here, as well as a bathroom, a miniature library, and an extra bedroom. Isaac slept there on occasion when M told him she was too scared to spend the night alone in her house. It was true she would occasionally ask him to stay just for the delight of his company. She felt guilty sometimes, as if she was wrapping him around her little finger, but she didn't always lie about being afraid. Besides, when she wasn't spending the night with Isaac at the Desjardins mansion, she would do so at the Darrow household. Although she felt safer in her own room, this was the one time that Isaac's parents insisted on helping out. It wasn't allowed for a child of M's age to be left unattended overnight and they didn't want their good friends the Desjardins to get in trouble.
M passed the guest room, pausing only for a second to glance in. The sheets and blankets were neatly spread over the bed as per usual, hardly a wrinkle in sight. Isaac was the tidiest person she knew, even though he was a fifteen-year-old boy.
Not that there was anything wrong with those.
"Tully?" she murmured, tutting softly. If Isaac weren't to return home before bed, like he said, M didn't want to be completely alone. Tully was her puppy, a little Brussels Griffon, and the sweetest dog in the world. Tully's particular breed had two varieties of coat texture, which were wiry and rough or smooth. This dog had lovely smooth fur of his own, a mild underbite, a short shiny nose, and a domed head. His appearance was similar to that of a terrier's. He was spirited, comical, and never failed to brighten M's day.
Tully, ears alert, appeared around the corner. His dark round eyes met M's, melting her heart immediately. She bent down and the puppy leaped into her arms, eagerly sticking out his pinkish tongue to lick her face. Securing her grip around her dog's tiny body, M opened her bedroom door and padded across the carpet. She set Tully on the bed and went to the window, closing the curtains in one quick motion.
M sprawled across her warm, thick blanket, pulling Tully close. She stroked his black and grey-tinged fur and silky ears, her eyelids growing heavy.
At last, she fell asleep.
.........

"Hey, M... I'm back."
She blinked slowly and rubbed the tiredness away. There was Isaac, on the edge of her bed, safe and charmingly grinning.
"Hope you don't mind being woken up. It's just past nine, I think."
"Noooissfine," M slurred sleepily, pulling herself up. She met his gaze and smiled back wearily, struggling to return his initial upbeat energy. Isaac reached out his arms and hugged her, and the two rocked back and forth together for a while.
"I'm really, really sorry," Isaac muttered. He sounded rueful.
"Why?" Wait, she had told herself no more questions! Well, it was too late to retract her slip-up now.
"I should have called. Actually, I should have taken you with me. I... I know I promised to take you to Market." Isaac pulled a pale blue soft brush from the nightstand near him and gently pulled it through M's hair, untangling the knots that had appeared in her perhaps restless sleep. "You have beautiful hair, you know." His gaze was unfocused and his brushing movements gradually became less hasty.
"There's something wrong," M said pointedly, giving him no room for denial. Isaac didn't respond.
She put a hand on his shoulder, and he startled.
"Sorry," she blushed. "I want to make sure that you're okay. Promise that you would tell me if something was wrong, Isaac."
He searched her eyes with his own, which sparkled bright green and were full of life. "Always," he whispered, like he was out of breath.
She knew that he lied.