The Boy in the Bushes.

“Father.” I gritted the lie from between my teeth as I looked him, my eyes swallowing back anger and upset. “Please.” I muttered from my clenched jaw. I stood at the dinner table, watching my step father scream at my mother.

Day after day, month after month, every moment I see him yelling at her. Only when the doors are shut. Only because she’s one of the only people who voices her opinion to him, though she struggles, which always end up in either a heated argument, or a cool slap in the face. Maybe worse if what she says is bad enough. Lately it’s always ended in ‘maybe worse’ section this past week. Maybe she’s finally had it with him trying to dictate us or she’s just losing it. I’m not sure which, but I’m always turning my head from the scene of what he’d do to her to understand if what he’s done really has been pushing her to the point of insanity. I know her screams of pain usually indicate how badly he is hurting her. Too hard for me to watch, though I know he wants me to. But I never have the courage to, nor do I even have the guts to stand up to him to stop him.

I’ve always asked myself why he doesn’t just leave my mother and me to live like the rest who lie in the outskirts of Koah. In poverty, most dying, most too weak to even attempt to kill themselves. Just left to fend off into the darkness that’s their life.

But then it dawns on me, he needs us to keep up the happy-go-lucky family image that the more well to do citizens of Koah look up to. Even though behind closed doors, the grinning, happy family they see before them are nothing like what they expect us to be in the comfort of our own home. Sometimes I wish we were what the families saw all over the country. Sometimes I wish we were what we were when I had my father, my real one. Just my mother, him and me. Before he was taken from me.

I blink back tears and inhale deeply, watching my mother and ‘father’ argue back and forth, some smacks released upon both of them from the other and I just close my eyes, put my hands over my ears and try to shut out the world. Mostly just those two, just them, where I am, my surroundings. I want it back to how it was before, how I knew the true meaning of happiness but never truly appreciated it. I do now, but of course, it’s way too late.

I release my hands, grit my teeth once more and raise my voice. “May I be excused, father?” I asked with a twinge of anger and sadness hanging in my voice. He nods once, not looking at me but keeping his angry eyes on my mother.

I turn on my heel quickly, kicking the chair behind me to hit into the table and force it into the damned thing, spilling the soup I didn’t even touch and stormed out. I inhaled deeply, making my way up the spiral stair case, holding onto the railing to keep myself from fainting or falling. Both are the same to me at the moment. I pushed open my door, changed out of my frilly pink dress that I despise but am forced to wear along with the other putrid, vibrant dresses that my designer has assigned to me for different appearances, meetings, dinners, all that stupid stuff that means nothing to me. I stripped down to my undergarments and pulled on my green pants, my black sneakers and a faded pink shirt that had some rips in it. Of course, it’s expected to because of how I often wear it whenever I sneak out.

“Not again,” Rings a voice from my doorway and I see Ronin. His small smile that spews of discomfort once he realizes where I’m heading to. I just nod my head in a silent reply.
“Running isn’t going to solve anything, Deshae.” He steps forward to me, pushing back the red ringlet that I always miss when I pull my hair into a ponytail.
“Me staying here and losing my mind isn’t going to help anything as well.” I shoot him a look, which isn’t very threatening since he towers over me. He lets out a soft laugh from between his thin lips before he presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
“Do I need to cover again?” He released a soft sigh, his thick eyebrows raising to show that glimmer of hazel that often shines in his deep, oval, brown eyes. I nod once more. “Very well.” He leans down to press another soft kiss to my lower lip and whispers, “But if I lose you like I almost-” I cut him off.
“You’re not going to lose me. I know what I’m doing, after all, I am the” I move from his grasp, twirl and let out the a statement that only oozes sarcasm, “President’s daughter.” I give him a small curtsey before I walk back into his arms, his hands locking against my hips as he lets out a small laugh. “I know all the traps he sets and how his mind works. I’ve grown up with him, sadly, but I know him.” I lean up to plant a reassuring kiss on his cheek.
“Fine.” He lets out reluctantly, obviously battling mixed feelings behind those dazzling eyes of his. “I’ll just tell them you went for a walk to greet Lananooh in town or something.” He shrugs and drops his hands.
“Thank you.” I let a faint smile grow on my lips.

I suppose you can call Ronin my boyfriend. But really, he’s been my best friend for years. We just play up our romance for others to show there is hope. Hope of happiness, that you too could find someone who is perfect for you. He’s perfect for me as a person to lean on, a best friend. But sometimes I feel as if he’s not acting and there might be something he really does feel, but I push the thought aside. I’ve known him too long to actually want to be with him or even have some sort of romantic relationship with anyone. Not after the hardships I saw with my mother and father, which I vaguely remember. But still. Whether I was forced into a played up romance or not.

My step father chose him because I’ve known him the longest and the presidents daughter MUST look and seem irresistible to the men in town. And how can I be irresistible if I’m single? Surely there must be something wrong with me if no one would want to date me, right? That only brings more to the painting of the perfect family.

An obedient wife, a faithful husband and a gorgeous daughter. What else could a family want besides of course a strong boy. But the fact is, my mother hasn’t been able to corry another child without risking losing her life. The first try we had for another child was horrible and almost made my father look terrible in front of the country. It’s a problem no one’s really talked to me about and why she can’t have another. Why my father was so angry with her when it was clearly out of her reach, but all I know is that I was some sort of miracle child. Which in some twisted way, only pulls together the perfect family image. I’m not sure, I’m actually not sure of a lot of things, but what I can’t figure out, I ignore.

“Go.” Ronnin nods towards the window before kissing the top of my head one last time and mumbles, “Be careful, you crazy girl.” He laughs, gives a playful spank on my bum and heads out of my room.

I shake my head, stifling a laugh to myself and walk over to my mirror. I pull out the hairband that barely controls my out of hand red curls and allow them to fall past my shoulders. Apparently, many people in the country are jealous of my red hair. It’s not like that orange red that many have, it’s an actual red but with brown highlights to dull it a bit, but it’s still very bright and very natural, despite how unnatural it must look. Many spend tons of money to get the perfect shade of red like mine and some just spend a ridiculous amount to just get the ringlets like mine. No one knows how much the amount is to get both the curls and the red. Either way, I’ll never understand why people make such a fuss over my hair.

I glance over my own face, my light skin with not one imperfection, something my stylists have made sure of. They gave me their own manufactured face wash that gets rid of any freckles, sun damaged skin, or blemishes that could crawl onto my face. Again, trying to work the gorgeous angle for many of the boys in town.

My green eyes always scare me, even when I was little. I could never understand why they scared me so much until I saw my own father’s eyes the day he died. It’s almost as if someone took his eyes and implanted them into my own head. Not that my father scared me, just the fact that our eyes looked so similar is what frightened me. Our long lashes, wide eyes that spell out innocence and for some reason, perfectly groomed brows. Even if we never touched them, they’d never get out of line. That’s probably one thing my stylists never bother to touch are my eyes.

Many say my hair matches my personality. I’m not sure what they mean, but just like anything else I don’t understand, I ignore. I mean, people say I’m beautiful. I don’t see anything special about me. I’ve seen prettier girls in town but they never get the attention like I do. It’s only because I’m the president’s daughter. Or so I tell myself.

I shake my head at the girl in the mirror, always puzzled if it’s really me or something others have created. We didn’t really have mirrors before so I only looked at water reflections and the only things I could make out were my hair and my eyes. I think it’s fair to say, we were once living on the outskirts of Koah. I barely remember any of it, but the things I do remember stick out to me. I furrow my brows at the thought, reach for my hat and bunch my hair under it. A precaution I always took when I snuck out, because though many sleep while I’m gone, I can’t take the risk of getting caught. Who knows how mad my step father would be if he found out his precious little baby would wonder out into the jungle by herself. But he’d only really be mad because the press would ask why such a ‘gorgeous’ girl feels the need to retreat to such a ‘hideous’ place. To them it’s hideous, to me it’s beautiful.

I tuck that last strand that I always miss under the hat, go towards the window and climb onto the vine covered branch that hangs near me. I slide down the strongest vine and climb my way over my mansion’s fence. I hum a soft tune to myself, trying to block out the fight that I had seen earlier and try not to wonder what happened after I left. I don’t even remember the words they were saying. I guess I tuned them out pretty well.
While I try to battle the thoughts out of my mind, I hear a crack under my feet and realize I’m in the jungle already. I left out a huge sigh of relief, grab a few flowers from the nearest bush and pluck them free of their pedals, leaving them scattered behind me to make sure I never get lost. I wander deeper into the jungle until I reach the little log circle I made for myself and sit myself down, kicking off my shoes and laying back on the log. I close my eyes for a moment and hum to myself the same tune I did earlier.

I suppose I dozed off because the next thing I know, I wake to feel a cold blade pressed to my neck, heavy breathing against my ear and my arms and legs pinned to the log. I don’t dare open my eyes.