Two Truths and a Liar

XII • Not what they say

Harley

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As always, nothing could be done.

At least that's what they told me, blank faces, worry lines that disappeared seconds after like they were never there before. Scrubs. Clipboards. My desperation hanging in the air ghostlike as they let me go with bandaged wrapped arms, face peppered with gauze and the taste of defeat.

"Sorry, there's not enough proof. You'll have to issue a statement against him and testify in court,"

The nurse said to call her Margarie. She meant the best.

But two long, and any word against my father was dangerous. He'd find out. He'd kill me, I swear, by god, he would. How can you take testimony from the dead?

"Forget it,"

I could deal with it myself, it was the only thing I could do.

Survive.

It would get better, right?

Cheap bike pedals squeaked under my weight as I rode, balanced between worn gravel roads and tearstained skies, icy wind striking my skin raw.

It isn't that hard to cover up a few bruises.

My lip was cut, that was the problem. The swelling hadn't gone down much, and it still boasted the purplish hue and flushed redness of the skin around a slash.

It stung in the cold.

I kept myself busy thinking up an excuse that wasn't getting into a fight, but after distractedly squinting into the road ahead and swerving unsteadily for a while, I'd come up with nothing. Nothing believable, at least.

It's amazing how easy it is to be blamed for something that hurt you, that you couldn't control even if you wanted to.

"H-hey,"

I'd pulled up to the entrance, and sliding my bike into the bike rack I was met by a shadow, stretching tall along leaf-smattered sidewalk pavement. I fixed a lock fastening the bike frame to the rack, and watched as a tall shadow stretched along the leaf-smattered sidewalk. Sunlight rippled over my dark hair obscured eyes, and squinting, I peered up at a face I recognized with first panic, then annoyance bubbling up in the pit of my stomach. Slowly pulling away from the bike rack, I grasped for the strap of my backpack and surveyed.

Same blonde hair falling in waves, catching the sunlight just enough to glow golden and pierce my eyes through. I blinked. Hazy blue colliding light, coarse cold breaking my thoughts.

Something was off. A scar sliced across his eye sewn up with thread and band aids, band aids covering most of his face too. His stance was awkward, unsure even, eyebrows pulled up like he was concerned and drawn against tightly knit worry lines, eyes spilling over with dry, fearful doubt.

But why?

He held out his hand, sudden silence shattering. I looked at it blankly, then back up at him. He was much taller than me, but somehow seeming much smaller. Was it the hesitation that cut down that extra height?

I didn't take his hand.

"I'm Leon," He smiled, disappointment gleaming like water. I could see right through him.

"I know,"

We stayed there, two statues facing off in the autumn glow. I looked him in the eyes. He looked away, then back. Confusion spread across his face, and shifting from foot to feet I could almost see the gears turning in his head. What to say, what to say? Clearly it wasn't going as he had planned, whatever his plan was.