The Artist And The Spectre

Chapter VII

TRIGGER WARNING: graphic description of lethal injury

It was almost nightfall when Charlie and Rowan realized they'd stayed too long. 
The former asked where the uncles lived, but her friend was utterly helpless and could only give a vague description of the surrounding area; which frustrated Charlie something fierce.

Nevertheless she skillfully shepherded her flock through the quickly darkening forest until they hit a main road. 
There she stopped once more, scowling in thought, before grabbing her Rowan's sleeve and pulling her along until they wound up at the foot of the hill where Rowan's uncles lived.

Here the blonde teenager smiled triumphantly and mimicked tipping her hat off to Rowan, curtsying.

"I live to serve you, my fair lady!" She declaimed, winking impishly at her friend.

Rowan couldn't help but chuckle in return, bending forward in a clumsy bow.

"Thou honor me!"

Charlie rolled her eyes, snorting. "That was the worst obeisance I've ever seen."

"Maybe because I don't respect you that much." 

The blonde girl put her hand over her heart.
"Oh, how you wound me..."

They snickered, then parted ways.
Rowan made her way up the slope and gingerly pushed the door open.

She was ushered in by her uncle's concerned faces. They took her to the kitchen, where Yasmin sat opposite her with her clasped hands on the table before her and Omar busied himself in the back to make everyone chamomile. 

"Rowie-bear," began her aunt, "you need to tell us about the things that scare you! Simone called and told me what happened. Oh, don't worry yourself dear, Ava isn't mad in the least."

She reached out and patted Rowan's limp wrist.

"But really darling, I just want to make sure you and everyone around you is happy and safe. We know you don't come to us under the best circumstances, but we don't think any less of you for it! After all, it was self-defense-"

Yasmin's eyes sprung open. "Oh dear. Sorry Rowie-bear, I didn't mean to-" she stopped, her concern slowly bleeding into a rather anxious confusion.

Rowan realized she was shaking. Violently. 
Oh god.

The dam started to break.
She was back in the dark alley.
The fingers clamped around the boxcutter felt sticky; a fetid, all-encompassing metallic scent poisoned the air.

She saw her mother's wet, red-tinted eyes dart around feverishly, the way she clutched her arm as the blood gushed out in heavy bursts.
She heard her own feet thud against the ground as she ran away; then meaty thump of a body falling to the pavement.

Rowan dug her nails into her thighs to ground herself and realized that her uncles had been calling out to her.

She weakly nodded in his general direction without daring to look them  in the eye.

Somehow she managed to pull herself together. Or at least enough to ask breathlessly how much they knew.

Omar and Yasmin glanced at each other. 
The tall, tan man placed a mug of steaming chamomile in front of her and gently pat her cheek before settling down to her side.
He cleared his throat and looked over at his wife before speaking.

"Aisha told us everything, habibi."

Rowan took her head between her hands and stared at the table. 

"We don't think any less of you for it. We know you're a sweet girl."

The little girl swallowed back a sob and excused herself, clasping her mug with trembling hands before making her way upstairs.

Once in her room she grabbed her laptop. She typed in her guardian's email address, drafted a letter, erased everything, wrote it again, then chucked her computer against an armchair.
Rationally she understood why Aisha had needed to tell them. She truly did. But the shame, the guilt, the pain felt like they would tear her apart limb from bloody limb.

Crap. She was about to cry. No. Oh no.

Rowan darted to the other side of the room and flipped through her sketchbook. Anything for a distraction.
She settled on the landscape drawing and begun filling in details, preparing it for the paint. After a moment of consideration she even drew a rough outline of Charlie's silhouette into the scene; thus forcing her brain to shift its focus away from the memories and to the task at hand.

Gradually her hands steadied. She begun laying the color foundation and a bit of shading before shambling over to her bed and collapsing into an uneasy sleep.