A Season of Firsts

Chapter 15 - Blaze

Before December 31st

BLAZE

Emma stands as still as a statue. In fact, she probably could have fooled me, if she didn't take a wobbly step backwards and almost fall.
Instinct makes me reach out and catch her before she does.

Gripping her shoulders, I pull her upright but I don't let go. I can see her swallowing and her eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at me.

"Emma," I say. Finally, she fixes me with a look. I know that look. It's Emma trying to be brave.

So, she's still scared of me.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were only coming tomorrow."

"Guess I got here early. Miss me?" I grin. Her face twists a little and I wonder what's going through her mind.

She tries to shrug my hands off. "Stop touching me," she orders. But I still don't let go.

I honestly couldn't explain it if I tried to. The way I want to make someone feel as small as my dad made me feel. The need to make them feel all the pain, the frustration, the helplessness.

And Emma was that someone. Is still that someone, if the way she's shaking like a leaf beneath my touch is any indication. Too small and defenceless to do anything about it, just the way I was when my dad would beat me with a cricket bat as a young boy. When he would yell about how useless I was, about how he couldn't believe he was stuck with a son like me.

But it was worse when he would hit mom. She never told anyone, she covered up the bruises with makeup, and she took it. She just took it.

It made me angry, her silence. Her enduring. I wanted her to fight back for us, to fight for and with me, but both of us were too afraid to do that. And it's no wonder.

I remember the night dad threw a vase, flowers and all, at my head. I remember mom screaming and wailing for him to stop. I remember how the next morning dawned with my head hurting so bad I thought I would die, as my parents went to church and I lay in bed. I remember feeling sick thinking about how they'd walk in there, and dad would shake hands with everyone, smile pleasantly and sing along to the hymns. How he'd tell everyone that, sadly, Blaze was home, sick with a cold.

Again. How often I was at home, 'sick'.

But that was one of the worse days, because Emma saw me in the state I was in.
She was just twelve, I was fifteen.
I was lying in my bed as still as possible because when I moved, my temples would throb with pain. There was a knock at the front door, not far from my room. I forced myself to get up and walk out to open it. When I did, I found myself blinking down at a wide eyed Emma, gazing up at me.

"Blaze?" she squeaked, as she took in my bandaged head with concerned blue eyes. "What happened?"

I ignored her question. "Aren't you supposed to be in church?"

"We left early. Daddy dropped me off so I could see you and give you this." She held out a small card, and on it were glitter glue words that said 'Get better soon'.

I took it and exhaled deeply. She'd never know that I wouldn't get better, not because of a stupid cold but of something much worse. Because of the deep ache inside. "Thanks. See you at school." I started closing the door. I wanted to get rid of her because I could feel the suppressed anger swelling inside of me again, and I didn't want to take it out on her.

"Wait," she stopped the door with her foot. "Don't you wanna hangout for a bit? And what happened to your head?"

"I fell off my bike," I lied. "And I'm sick. We can't hangout today."