Sorrow's Story

“You can come down now!” I hissed at Nathan.

He looked down at me and the clump of men that were tangled together, his jaw almost hit the floor, “What the Hell?”

“You know, you’re stupid expressions are kind of insulting,” I rolled my eyes at his idiocy.

“How do you take down five full grown men, when you’re so tiny?” he jumped down off the last step, almost falling on the ground in the process.

I laughed, “We all have our secrets, some are not to be shared,” I smiled at him, but I quickly got rid of it. I kicked the man’s leg as hard as I could as I walked past him, satisfied. I probably shattered his leg – that thought made me giddy.

Nathan walked around them, trying to get as far away from them as possible, afraid of a few gang members. I wanted to laugh again as I searched through one of their pockets of his baggy jeans, until I heard the chime of metal. Quarters.

I took all six of the coins giving two to Nathan, “Go to the nearest phone booth and call 911, and tell them that five members of the thirty-deep gang are here. Where ever here is,” I ordered.

“What about fingerprints?” he frowned, looking down at the two quarters.

“You haven’t touched anything of theirs, they won’t find anything that connects you to them,” I sighed putting the rest of the change in my pocket.

“And you? You touched them and the rope,” he stood beside me.

I groaned, his endless questions never left me alone, “Look,” I pushed my hands towards his face so he could see closely. A stupid accident when I was five had given me the idea, a very painfully long process that lasted half a year.

“What…” he trailed off, reaching for my right hand, but I brought them back before he could touch me, I looking down at my ruined hands. There were four deep lines on my each of palms and two lines on the back of every knuckle. No little ridges that would expose me to anymore needless trouble.

“I burned my hands so I don’t have anything else the police can identify me with. The less problems, the better,” I sighed, wincing slightly at the memory my hand twitched as if the flame was still tasting my skin. “You should go call the police now.”

He left without another word, thankfully.

It was a few minutes later when he returned, his hands were shoved into his pockets, “Now what?”

“We walk out of here and act like nothing happened,” I told him. “Now don’t get all sissy on me when you here sirens.”

I could feel his glared as I walked out of the alleyway. I kept a blank face as the bystanders walked past me hurriedly, afraid of being late for work.

“Aren’t you worried that someone saw something?” Nathan whispered worriedly in my ear as he caught up to me.

“Nope,” I stated confidently, “they’re all too busy with their own personal problems to notice.”

“Bu–” he started.

“Nathan, please,” I told him quietly as I rubbed the sides of my forehead, trying to ease the headache that was making my head throb, “I’m tired, just please stop.”

“Sorry,” he murmured the apology quietly.

“Thank you,” I blinked, slightly shocked, “What do you want to do today?”

“Um,” he looked taken back, “I’m going to have to study for a few tests, is it okay if we go to the library?”

“Fine,” I sighed dropping my hands, and folded them across my chest, “Anything else?”

“We’ll have to go to my parent’s house, I left all of my books there,” he walked ahead of
me, leading the way, “It’s not too far from here.”

I followed behind him silently, and he would often look at me, probably checking see if I was still here. Unluckily for him, I was.

He was right, we didn’t have to walk far, just about a half of a mile.

The house was bigger than my grandmother’s, but not by much. The front of it was made up of red brick that was aligned perfectly. It was only two stories tall with dark blue shutters framed each of the eight windows – two for each room, I suppose. The yard was clean, cut perfectly flower beds rested along the sides of the house. A wooden door that matched the color of the stutters stood out from the center of the house.

Nathan walked up the stairs and to the door, and opened it with ease. He left it open as I walked up the stairway and leaned on the wrought iron handrail.

“I’m home, Olivia!” he called out to the seemingly empty house.

“Where have you been?” a woman came down the carpeted steps, her left hand was grasped firmly around the wrought iron handrail. She was taller than me, but shorter than Richie. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, strands of grey started to make themselves known, but you could only see it if you were standing next to her. Her olive toned skin was mostly covered up by a black turtleneck sweater and plain jeans. Her face was masked in makeup, but then I saw a tiny sliver of a dark spot – a bruise.

I tilted my head as my eyes focused on the rest of her face, but there was too much foundation to make out anymore bruises.

Her light brown eyes trailed over to me and widened in surprise, “Oh hello, Miss.”

I smiled tentatively at her, “You must be Olivia, I’m Sydney,” I extended my hand and she took it eagerly.

“It’s so nice to meet you Sydney, come inside,” she pushed me through the door and I felt out of place as I looked around the expensive home. “Oh and Mr. Kendrinks? Your friend Cameron is here. He’s waiting for you in the living room.”

“Why the hell is he here,” he groaned, trudging down the nearby. “Come on, ‘Sydney’.”

I rolled my eyes, and gave Olivia one last smile before she climbed back upstairs and I followed Nathan.

“Why are you here Cameron? Shouldn’t you be back at the house,” Nathan accused him, slightly annoyed.

“Is it so bad to visit my best friend’s parent’s house?” a familiar voice shot back jokingly. “I thought you’d be here seeing that you just about dropped off the face of the earth. And you reek.”

“Thanks,” I walked through the door, making sure I wasn’t hearing thing and that the owner of that voice was who I thought he was.

“Cam?” the name rolled off my tongue as I stared at the familiar figure standing in front of me.

“Sorrow?”