An Aiding Shadow [1]
(Kyle)
I’m awakened by the sound of my message tone. My skin is stained with tear streaks and glittering with white salt grains. I lazily reach over for my phone and sit up. It’s almost four in the afternoon. I check the message. It’s from Lloyd.
Lloyd: Is your uncle there right now?
Me: Why?
Lloyd: Is he?
Me: no, you nagging nun
Lloyd: Where is he?
Me: gone.
Me: Will be gone for some time.
Lloyd: Two weeks. I know.
Me: who even told you that?
Lloyd: who do you think?
How did she even get that informa-
Ron.
Me: that... little... -_-
Lloyd: get dressed
Me: What?
Me: Why?
Lloyd: I’m taking you to a doctor
Me: I’m fine, Lloyd. Bruises heal. I won’t die from this.
Lloyd: just shut up get dressed, Davidson
Just shut up and get a life, Lloyd.
Lloyd: I’m right outside the compound.
Me: WHAT?
Lloyd: omg the guard remembered me, I feel so special :O
LLOYD, YOU INSANE IGNORANT IDIOT WITH AN IQ OF 2
Me: YOU’RE ALREADY WALKING IN?
Lloyd: Tick Tock, buddy. House #2...
I immediately call her. She answers almost instantaneously.
“La da deee da deee, House number threeeeee...” she sings in an annoyingly jolly voice.
“I SAID I’M FINE!” I yell. “What’s it gonna take for you to leave me alone?”
“Come to see the doctor,” she says, “I told Bev you were sick. She said you can’t show up without a doctor’s note. Do you really think I’d put all this effort in for you out of nowhere? Come on, Davidson, you’re smarter than that.”
“You...”
“Mhm?”
“...told the principal...”
“That you were sick,” she finishes for me.
“Wow.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. This blinded bigot, this ridiculous rebel, this invidious individual... is helping me?
She’s doing this for the answers. She must be.
“Yes, you’re welcome,” she says.
Fine. I’ll play along.
“Okay,” I say.
“House number four,” she beams.
I suck in a breath, “LLOYD, I AM NOT LEAVING THE HOUSE LOOKING LIKE THIS!”
She scoffs. “I’m not an idiot, idiot. I won’t let you leave the house with a purple face. I have a plan. Just get dressed.”
“You’re insane.”
I hang up. I stare at my phone for a moment as the call ends and the screen goes back to our messages. I click the home button and wait fifteen seconds before my phone sleeps. I throw the phone at my bed.
What the hell is she doing? Why is she coming here? Why am I panicking?
I look at myself in the mirror. The bruise and cuts can only cause me to feel nauseous the longer I look at them. I study my creased, rumpled clothes. I notice my salt-stained face. I think about Malory and how fast she’s probably walking.
Damn it, Lloyd.
Damn you, Lloyd.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I shuffle through my drawers for a fresh pair of jeans. I slip into them quickly and throw on a new T-shirt. I stand in front of the mirror again, observing the bruise. I close my eyes and sigh.
I cannot believe this.
She’s insane.
What’s her plan and how good could it possibly be?
I open my eyes and begin to fix my hair. It’s all over the place –messy, strands sticking out at all edges, a perfect bed head. I smooth it out with a comb and cover my face. I’m getting sick and tired of my hair at this point, but I just knew keeping it long was going to do me some good eventually. I was right.
I realise, then, that even without the bruise being visible behind my hair, my lips are still slightly swollen. I gently touch them. They’re sore. I begin pacing the floor of my room. I hurry to my bathroom and wash my face. My skin stings the more my hands run against it –even as gently as I’m trying to be with the motions. I groan but I don’t give up. I finish, switching off the light in both the bathroom and the bedroom as I leave. I hurry to the security room. I drop into the chair, staring at the monitors... watching...waiting. Minutes pass, and Malory appears on the screen.
I stand immediately.
She really showed up. She wasn’t fibbing.
Did she eat a bad egg or do I really need to make her an appointment with a psychiatrist because either way she’s completely off her rockers.
“She’s actually insane,” I mutter as I hurry down the staircase.
The doorbell rings, and I’m already at the front door. I run to the automatic gate, open it, and pull her inside, taking her straight into the house.
“Do you know how dangerous it is for you to be coming here?” I argue. “You don’t, do you? All it takes is my uncle asking that guard one simple question. ‘Did we have any visitors?’ All it takes is one wrong move on my part in erasing the security footage with you in it and both you and I are as good as dead. You’re genuinely stupid, aren’t you?”
“Yet here you are,” she says, victoriously, “all dressed.”
“I’m not going to be the one to underestimate you, Lloyd.”
“Good,” she says. She studies the room. “Now where’s the living room –or the room with the best lighting?”
The... The what? The room with the best... lighting?
“Why?”
She reaches into her signature black, skull printed schoolbag and pulls out a clear kit with...
MAKEUP!?
“This is your ticket out of here,” she informs me.
I raise a brow, baffled, hesitant, amused.
“Makeup?” I ask, scoffing. “Do I look like a drag queen to you?”
She scrunches her face, “Well...”
“Shut up.”
If she thinks she can use this to make me look like a fool in front of others, I might as well kill her now.
“Look,” she says, “are you doing this or not? Kyle,” She drops her hand with the kit to her side, “you missed two weeks of work, and you need a good excuse to give to Bev -for your regular absence and for the play. This is a valid excuse. The doctor’s note doesn’t need to have all the details. I feel like Bev doesn’t even care as much about what it says. She just wants to know there actually is one so she can confirm I wasn’t lying about you being sick. Let’s just get it and get this whole thing over with.”
I just... still don’t understand why you’re being... nice... to me, Lloyd.
I listen and process very carefully all that she’s said. Her beautifully exotic grey eyes are nothing but determined. I frown.
“Malory.”
“What?” she asks, worried.
I squint at her in suspicion. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because, nitwit,” she answers, “you’re worth at least half my good record.”
I drop my head and break the eye contact.
Right. Of course. That makes total sense.
Except the thing is, Lloyd... if you went missing for two weeks, given our history, I wouldn’t have risked my life searching for you.
I shake my head and scoff, bursting out into a humourless laugh.
“You sought out my house to find me, asked my best friend for my number, found out about my uncle’s work schedule, discovered I’ve been abused until I turned purple, and you’re ignoring all of that just for your grade? Wow, you’re diligent. And an idiot. And apparently very inconsiderate.”
Her voice goes soft. “What do you want me to say, Kyle? Do you want me to tell everyone about this? To sell you out? TO get your uncle into trouble? I’m not that kind of person.”
Not that kind of person.
But you can insult me without hesitation; without needing a second to think about what you’re going to say; without knowing that I hear the worst words from the people I have no choice but to be around the most.
You’re the kind of person who can fight until you knock someone out but you don’t know how hard I have to fight to not black out sometimes.
You’re the kind of person who is smart and sticks to schedules, but what are you hiding behind that willpower, determination or strength?
There’s something behind all of that, too. Isn’t there? There’s a reason you do everything that you do.
“And just what kind of a person are you, Malory Lloyd?”
“I’m... just a shadow,” she says. “An aiding shadow. I’m around in darkness, and I disappear with light.” She sighs. “I’m trying to help, okay? This... isn’t right. This is abuse, Kyle. Why haven’t you reported it? Why haven’t you gotten yourself out of this situation?”
I turn away, scoffing, shaking my head.
It’s not as easy as you imagine, Malory Lloyd.
She rests a hand on my shoulder. I tense up at the feeling. “You can trust me.”
As if!
“I don’t trust you.”
She drops her hand. “Why can’t you?” Tears well up in her eyes, and though it’s not the first time I’ve seen her cry, it’s the first time I’m noticing just how glassy her eyes get when she does. The grey is no longer there, but in its place, a very pale blue. “What hurt you so bad that you can’t trust someone when they’re genuinely being kind? Why can’t you trust even your own best friend? I have so many questions.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why she’s suddenly all emotional over my problems. It’s none of her business.
I decide to change the topic. She wants to put makeup on me and take me to a doctor to get an excuse for school? Fine. We’ll do that. I’m not answering any of those questions.
“The living room is that way,” I say, pointing to the left. She follows my finger. “It’s one of the brightest rooms in the house. Follow me.”
I stroll towards the living room and leave her standing behind but I can hear her falling into step behind me.