Kaleidoscope Eyes

They had returned back to the Warped tour parking lot shortly after five. By the time Isabella had shaken off all the queries as to where she had been and by the time John had finally stepped in and pushed the nosey co workers aside he was already exhausted. But John knew that the afternoon could only get longer.

However despite him wanting to confront Isabella straightaway, this wasn’t going to happen. His band mates swooped down on him demanding his attention and saying that they needed him back at the van. Shortly after this David appeared dragging Isabella to the kitchen where she had to serve up dinner to the starving festival organisers.

She and David worked in silence until the last stir fry had been served and the cookers were shut off.

“He knows.”

It only took two words to make David drop everything that he was doing and turn around to face his best friend.

“You told him?” His expression was difficult to read, it was a mix between surprise and relief.

“No, he saw by accident,” Isabella mumbled as she folded up dish clothes and pushed them aside.

“I think you should tell him, you owe him that much. That kid is pretty caught up with you and lying to him isn’t going to do you any good.”

After smiling supportively at Isabella he left the kitchen, where she turned towards the dirty stoves and started cleaning them. The mobile kitchen was empty at this point. It was after all her turn to do the cleaning, and for once she didn’t mind being left alone in the kitchen. It gave her time to think.

Of course Isabella had spent a lot of time imagining how a confrontation of this sort was going to turn out. Ever since she had been marked with the bruises she had been making up excuses that she could play off in the even of an emergency. However this time she didn’t want to lie.

This time it was different.

Before she had to fend off questions from her friends asking her why she wasn’t wearing a bikini or why she wore long sleeve tops when the weather was warm. The constant lies to her parents why she wasn’t leaving the house as much or why she flinched whenever anyone touched her.

This time she actually felt like she could trust John and she genuinely wanted to explain everything to him, but she couldn’t do this without feeling entirely ashamed of herself.

With one last scrub Isabella finished wiping down the stove and then the counter. She was just folding the tea towels up when the door to the kitchen opened and John stepped inside. He looked slightly worried, but his eyes were set and the look on his face said that Isabella would not be able to get out of this one.

“Who did that to you?”

There was no form of hello, no gentle way into this confrontation. John wished that somehow he could sugar coat everything and make it easier but that wasn’t how it worked. It was going to be tough and painful, but at least she wasn’t going to be alone.

“My ex boyfriend Mark,” Isabella said fiddling with the edge of her tank top, trying to avoid John’s piercing gaze.

“Show me again.”

Isabella’s head snapped up as she caught John’s eye. He was pushing her to tell him everything and share the battered and bruised side of her. It surprised her that out of all the people around her, and all the people whom she spent so long convincing that she was ‘fine’, he was the one to push and make her talk about the things that she would rather forget.

With a lurch in her stomach and a sense of foreboding Isabella lifted her tank up, revelling her stomach and the sight of which caused John to take a short sharp intake of breath which spoke volumes.

He took in the dark blue marks on her abdomen, the black cauliflower like bruises on her ribs with angry eyes. He made a step towards her and reached his hand out to gently touch the bruises. Feeling the still swollen ribs caused realization to hit him, and he looked ready to commit murder.

“That son of a bitch.”

The words were said quietly, but with every possible amount of venom, anger and fury that John could muster.

In High School John had been known as the boy who respected women. So much so, that when his date would ask him to come inside he would always politely decline the offer. But for every gentleman like John, there was a man like Mark.

“How old are these?”

His voice was still laced with white hot anger, and it took a series of very deep breaths for him to contain himself.

Isabella pulled her shirt back down, and for the first time John actually saw the fear of remembrance in her eyes. It pained her to talk about it, but John wouldn’t take no for an answer. He could feel her discomfort and so he steered her towards the countertop where she gestured that she sit.

She followed his request and sat down, her tanned legs swinging whilst she watched John make her a hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, exactly the way she liked it. If anybody but John had done this for her she would have said it was just to butter her up, but because it was John he did it to make her happy and feel better.

“You need to talk about it.”

This sentence shook her a little. For the most part that sentence was always phrased in such a way that it was a question to which nobody really wanted to know the answer. “You want to talk about it?” But not with John, it was a demand on his part.

“And don’t you dare say there’s nothing to talk about,” he said hotly taking the words right out of her mouth. “Because there obviously is.”

He sat down next to her on the counter, handing her the steaming cup of hot chocolate with the first encouraging smile on his face since he had walked into the safe haven that was the kitchen.

It took Isabella a moment to realize just exactly what he wanted. He wanted to listen and he wanted her to talk, and she had no way of escaping from the situation. This time she couldn’t run because he cared enough to not let that happen, he genuinely wanted to help her.

She took a long sip from her mug, stalling for as much time as was possible. With a slow movement she put the cup down and looked up at John, who was the picture of patience.

It was now or never.