Intertwined

Chapter 7: Like We Didn't Just Tear The Kitchen Apart

S C A R

"Can I talk to her, please?" I say when I enter Axel's room.

I had just exhausted myself from all the arm wrestling I did downstairs. Not to blow my own horn, but I crushed Max. Parker and Heath wouldn't stop laughing when a string of curses escaped Max's mouth.

Hunter walked in just then, looked at us weirdly, grabbed a packet of Doritos and walked out like we didn't just tear the kitchen apart.

"Sure." Axel drawls, leaving skeptically, shutting the door behind him.

Juliet gets up slowly and walks towards me, the second I know Axel is far enough, I begin.

"Your condition is getting worse. We need to tell everyone. You need help."

"Excuse me? I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about." Juliet says, confused.

"Don't play that shit with me. I'm not blind and neither is Heath. The bruises, the sickness, the weakness and the nightmares. The only difference between Heath and I is that he respects your choice to keep it under the wraps." I fold my arms angrily.

"And you don't?" She asks, not a hint of judgement in her voice.

"Not if it's killing you."

"I'll tell them. I was going to. But the whole fire thing already has everyone on edge. They don't need to worry about this."

Excuse me? Does she not care about the fact that she might DIE? To her, everyone else's comfort is more important? She's crazy.

"Tell them, or I will." I say, she needs help. And we don't even know where to find it.

Not that it's my concern.

She fiddles with her hands. "I will. Soon."

Liar.

"So you admit, that you've been hiding this. How long has this been happening for?"

She stays silent for a while. "The bruise thing is recent."

"So what, you're waiting for it to get worse?" I'm beginning to get angry now.

"No. I'm just waiting for the right time." She reasons.

You have got to be kidding me. When is the right time? After her funeral?

I throw my hands up in anger. "You-"

But what she does next completely stops me from functioning.

She throws her hands up, defending herself as though I was going to hit her.

What the hell?

"No, please don't hit me, I'm sorry!" She yells, pleading and panicking.

What? I would never hit her. Does that mean that someone used to-

Axel storms in through the door.

"Hey," he says softly, running towards her. "No one's gonna hit you. He's not here."

I couldn't wrap my head around this. Someone used to hit her? What kind of a sick, cruel man would do that? I mean, Axel did say 'he'.

She allows Axel to wrap his arms around her as she sinks into his chest.

"I swear I wasn't gonna-" My voice comes out low.

"I know." He reassures me, giving me a firm nod.

"Juliet, who- Who did that to you?" I ask softly.

Axel visibly stiffens.

"I'm sorry. You should go. I don't want you to listen to this again." She tells him.

"I barely know anything. You refuse to tell me what he used to do to you." Axel says the sentence so slowly, I'm almost convinced he wasn't going to be able to complete it.

She places a kiss on his jaw lightly. "Go."

He reluctantly leaves.

She sits on the bed and a short while after, I join her.

"I know you wonder why I live here when my house is right there." She begins and I nod slightly.

Of course I wondered, I just never thought it was my place to ask.

"My mom died a few years back. My dad couldn't take it, and he started to... hit me. Badly. Often. But around two years ago, he started being around less and less. So life was good. I never told Parker and I could not tell Axel because I thought he wouldn't care."

My fists clench.

"And then a few months ago, Hunter and my father came to an agreement, that Dad would no longer interfere in my life if Hunter took care of me. I guess I just never got over it." She says.

Fury encompasses my body and so for a while I stay silent.

"How bad was it?" I whisper.

She turns her head to the side to look at me. "Are you sure you want to hear?"

I nod slightly.

"Mostly it'd be kicking. Sometimes a belt."

I'm so angry that I don't think there's anything I can do to release my frustration.

I want to kick something. Or punch something. Or break something. Preferably her father's head.

I do something I rarely ever do. "I'm sorry."

She smiles, leaning her head against my shoulder.

"I'm okay. I'm fine with the fact that I'm not over it. I just hope one day I'll look at it, not with pain, but with admiration. I made it out of there, all by myself."

She did. She was so, so brave.

I guess I was lying when I said that her death wouldn't be my concern. Because whether I want to admit it or not, I have come to care about the stupid people who live in this stupid house. Something that is incredibly rare for me.

My friend and I sit there for a while, in silence, soaking in that we're alive. And fine.

My friend. What a tricky word. What a strange word. What a beautiful word.