ANGEL FACE ➵ DARYL DIXON [2]

Chapter Seven: Already Gone

Chapter 7

We're going to be okay. We always are.

Was that the warm truth that kissed her cheek? Or was that the cold lie stabbing her back? She couldn't tell as it forcefully slipped down her throat again, like she never spoke it. Like it failed to existed.

The bedroom is feverish ice, not even the thin blanket keeping her warm on the soft double mattress. The clear night, no crystal stars or rocky moon, makes everything so calm. She shivers, her toes curling and feeling a gentle kick to remind her she is never alone. She has no names picked out yet, neither boy or girl. When the time comes, comes. But she does see it as important, so one name does stick to her like golden tenacious honey.

She smiles gently, gripping the corners of the blanket as her decision is made. Let's hope it's a boy.

The trees blow leaves, knocking and rubbing on the window marking their territory for a spilt second, then falling to their decaying death.

It has been over two hours, Fava not sleeping yet. Her dark, twitching thoughts keep her up, remembering things: her old friends in school, the hot porridge she got in the morning, the smell of her mother cooking brownies or chocolate chip cookies when she got home, her and her brother's treehouse and seeing her old neighbour who always use to sneak her a few dollars.

"Keep that for school. It'll by ye somethin' nice, eh?"  He would say with a wink and a cheesy smile, the red, long scar on his neck where he got his throat slit in World War II.

"Thank you," she would reply, walking to the bus stop with her hand held tight with the green money. Only for the thieving bullies at school to steal the extra money, kicking and punching her until she gave in with her throbbing purple bruises. Crying softly in the girl's bathroom with her knees held close to her chest, she was thankful for her neighbour because if he didn't give her them few extra dollars, she would of been straving with no food in her system from the greasy canteen.

She decided she wanted to give back to him, hearing a rumour going around the school like a plague that Jason, the most popular boy at school, is daring someone to dye their hair an outrageous and ridiculous colour. And keep it that way.

For $83...

Getting herself up from the bathroom floor, wiping her tears and clutching her aching stomach, she knew this would make him happy. She wanted him to smile. She wanted him to feel good about himself. Someway. Somehow.

"Scozzafava?" Jason said in a shocked voice once she approached him in the playground, "you?"

Trying to keep herself from shaking with fear, she replied, "yes."

The infections laughs and mockeries from the other students made her feel belittled from the centre of her core.

"What colour?" Jason tried to say without laughing, holding up boxes in her face.

Orange, yellow, light blue, green, white.

All the colours seemed horrible, imagining wearing them and the stares she would receive walking home.

"Can I mix colours?"

And just like that, the boys mixed the light blue, green, and a little bit of white, introducing her to a pastel mint colour. It wasn't the best, but it was better than the originals.

As she's in bed, she strangely misses her mint hair, dragging her fingers through her now black hair and feeling she lost a part of herself.

She takes a deep sigh, suddenly hearing glass being shattered from downstairs. She jumps up, her heart hammering as she knows Daryl hasn't came up stairs yet. Is he in trouble? Was it an accident? Is he drinking?