“Please, tell me you at least know what’s going on.” Sarah sighed with hopeful eyes. I had told her everything I knew that I was feeling inside, crying between some lines.
“What’s going on?”
“From what I’ve heard, he might like you. I’m not sure about you, but maybe you like him…?” She winced, knowing what my reaction to her theory would be.
“No, I don’t. He’s kind, and I see him as a good friend.” I corrected.
She shifted, so that she was fully facing me. “Are you trying to run away from the possibility that you might actually like him?”
“If I did, you would be the first person I’d tell. Besides, with Belle gone and everything, I don’t have time for boys.” I denied.
“Cleo, I don’t want you to take what I’m going to say the wrong way,” my heart rate increased, “but don’t you think you’re letting Belle’s death hold you down?”
I clenched my fist, hiding it from her view. It was a hard effort, trying to keep my anger in check, but I wouldn’t let it get the best of me.
“I don’t think so.” Denial. I knew it. I knew what Belle’s death was doing to me.
“I want you to be happy, Cleo. You are at your lowest, right now, and you’re not trying to get out of it. Do you think I can be of help in any way?” I knew she was genuinely worried, but I was still defensive.
“Don’t be like that, Sarah. I’m tired of everyone around me thinking I need help.”
“Look at me and tell me you don’t think the same, deep down, Cleo.” I was letting her get to me.
I managed to peer into her dark blue eyes and smile warmly. “I don’t need help.”
She sighed, obviously defeated, and sank into the couch as she stared at me.
I needed help. I just didn’t like to think about how I would have to spill my guts out to a stranger.
•
I had spent the most of Saturday fishing for a dress appropriate for a funeral. I had to stop myself from asking for Lucas’ opinion most of the time. We had not talked since Friday, and I was starting to wonder if he was okay and if he still wanted me to be at the funeral. He did text me the address later, so maybe he did.
It was Sunday, and I had put the black, lacy medium-length. It was a turtleneck, which made my neck itch because of the lace, but there was nothing I could do about it now.
I had no idea how I looked in the dress because the mirror was the last thing I wanted to look at. Ever since I stopped staring at myself in the mirror, the nightmares had subsided.
I brushed my hair, not knowing when it was good enough. Makeup would be useless without a mirror. I would look ridiculous. Besides, I was headed for a funeral.
I put on a pair of black sandals and walked out of my room to face Mom, who had been standing in front of the room. I quickly looked away as we made eye contact. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, Cleo. I didn’t know if I was allowed to come in, so I was waiting out here instead.” She laughed nervously.
Refusing to address it, I smiled. “I’m ready.”
“Let me go grab my car key. You can wait for me downstairs.” She rubbed my shoulder, leaving.
It didn’t take a long while for her to join me downstairs. She had insisted on driving over to see Lucas.
I read the address Lucas had sent on Friday out for her as she checked her GPS for a sign of the street address. “Got it.” She nodded as she started the car.
It was an extra long ride. “How far is his house?” I groaned, shifting in my seat.
“I don’t think it’s a house.” Mom said, glancing at the GPS with a squint. “It’s some kind of a field, if this thing’s correct.”
“You’re so old.” I teased with laughter as she defended her poor eyesight.
When we finally reached the field, I nodded in confirmation as I saw troops of people in black going through the entrance.
“Looks like we’re here.” Mom said as we both shut the doors to the car.
I held her hand in mine, squeezing it tightly as we crossed to the other side, where the field was.
I gritted my teeth at the sounds of sobs and sniffles. They were too familiar. I could tell Mom was uncomfortable, too. She gently squeezed my hand and drew patterns on it with her thumb.
“Hey.” A voice called out as someone tapped my shoulder. I turned, making me come face-to-face with Carlos, who had bruises on his face from what had happened back at the cemetery.
“Good morning,” He said to Mom with a small smile.
“Good morning.” Mom let go of my hand and put it out for a handshake, which he took.
“I’m Carlos, Lucas’ brother.” He introduced, and Mom nodded.
“Nice to meet you, Carlos. How’s Lucas doing?” She inquired.
Carlos glanced at me with a stoic expression before looking back at Mom. “He’s alright. I’m sorry, but do you mind if I talk to Cleo in private?”
“Not at all.” Mom said, looking at me. “If you can’t find me, call.”
I followed Carlos toward a large tree. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I replied.
“First off, I want you to know that my head was in the worst place on Friday. I’m sorry I was rude.” He apologized, looking around carefully.
“I understand.” I nodded with a smile.
“I also want to ask something of you. Whatever it is that you have with Lucas, can you put it on hold for now? He’s not coping great. After what happened on Friday, he’s taken a turn for the worst.”
“Lucas is my friend.” I stated.
“I don’t want to know what he is to you, Cleo. Just steer clear. He seems to be attached to you, in a way. It’ll mess with him in the worst of ways.” He warned.
“So, what if he talks to me? Do I just ignore him?” I frowned.
“I don’t think he’ll be doing that anytime soon.” He patted my head and walked away, paying no regard to whatever I had to say.
I muttered insults at the air as I found my way toward the crowd. I got a clear view of the white coffin on the grass, a group of people on a straight line in front of it. Carlos joined the people in front of the coffin with Lucas.
My breath was caught in my throat as I saw Lucas. If I had thought Carlos looked bad, Lucas looked worse. He had series of bruises on his face. Even from the distance between us, I could tell that he was angry.
I watched as he stared blankly at the coffin. The lady beside him went on her knees as a shrill scream escaped her throat. Tears, sniffles, comforting hugs that would diminish as time went on. I knew it all too well.
I felt someone’s hand rub my right arm soothingly. Mom.
“I wonder what happened to him.” She whispered, referring to Lucas.
Me too, Mom.
The funeral was almost over in about an hour. All they had to do was take the coffin to the cemetery and bury it with her.
People filed out of the field as fast as the had come, leaving the family and friends to be with her, one last time.
Mom and I watched from a distance as they all stood in silence around their mother.
I was too lost in my head to notice that Lucas had seen me. When we made eye contact, I suddenly wished we didn’t. He looked beyond hurt, and I couldn’t help but feel like he did not want me to be there.
“I think we should go.” I told Mom.
“Oh, but I really want to talk to Lucas.” She protested.
“He’s not in a good place for now. Maybe some other time, please.” This time, I managed to look into her eyes for more than one second.
“Okay.” She sighed as we went on our way.
Before we could get into the car, a familiar voice prickled my skin. “Hey.”
Mom turned with a big smile plastered on her face. “Lucas. I didn’t think I would get the chance to talk to you. A certain someone was in a hurry.” She not-so-subtly gestured at me, while I stood there and tried not to give my awkwardness away.
“Oh, we’ll also be leaving soon. I just wanted to say hi.” He gave her that grin I had not seen him put on for quite a while, not batting a eyelash in my direction.
“You can talk to me about anything if you want.” Mom took his hands in hers, giving it a soft caress. My stomach turned at the way his eyes widened and softened.
“Don’t worry about me.” He smiled, pulling his hand away gently.
“And the bruise on your face?” She questioned.
“I fell. I’m quite sloppy with my movements in the bathroom.” He chuckled. Lie.
I didn’t notice that I had scoffed until his eyes met mine, his lips curved upward in an apologetic smile.
“Take care of yourself for us, Lucas.” Mom encouraged, stepping back and leaving just us both.
“So, it’s done.” He sighed, glancing back at the field.
I nodded, everything that could make up a proper sentence leaving my head. There was nothing I felt I could say that would be a perfect fill for the silence, so I let the silence sit instead.
“Can we talk about what happened on Friday?” He finally brought up what I had been trying hard to bury in the dark recesses of my mind.
“We can, but not now. How about the art studio, tomorrow? If you’re coming, of course.” I suggested.
“I’ll be there. Lunch break?” He raised a brow.
“Lunch break.” I nodded.
“Thanks for coming.” He smiled, taking a step forward. Before he could take another step, someone called out from behind him.
“Lucas.” He froze, his eyebrows knitting as he clenched his jaw.
“Carlos.” He replied, not looking back. Carlos walked up to us stoically, most likely keeping whatever he had to say in check because my mom was a few feet away.
“We need to leave now.” He announced as he reached where we stood, pulling Lucas back. He was yet to tell me what his problem with me was.
“I’ll be right there. I just need to—”
“Now.” Carlos repeated tightly, glaring at his brother.
Lucas stared back with just as much fury, if not more. He eventually sighed and looked at me. “I’ll see you in school.”
They turned and walked into the field like complete strangers who had met coincidentally.
“There was a lot of tension back there. Do you want to talk about it?” Mom inquired as she opened the door to the passenger side for me.
“I have no idea what’s going on, either, Mom.”
•
I rushed through the hallway as I was headed for the art studio that Monday. I couldn’t waste any more minute, as curious as I was.
I opened the door to Lucas painting with his back to the window and the back of the easel to me. “You continued your project.”
“I have to get the grade I want, so yeah.” He gestured for me to sit on a bench facing him.
I crossed my legs, waiting for him to start the conversation since he was the one who had some explaining to do.
“The amount of gloom you exude is waning.” He started.
“Speak English, Shakespeare.” I teased with a roll of my eyes.
“You seem…cheerful.”
Taken aback, I raised a brow. “Oh? How so?”
“Well, you’re not exactly cheerful, but you have changed,” He explained. “For the better.”
“How are you doing?” I made an inquiry, tracing with my eyes the bruises that had become shades between inky blue and purple on his dark brown skin.
“I’m pushing.” He shrugged, mixing paint and swiftly smudging the easel with his brush.
“So, we were going to talk?”
He exhaled sharply and dropped the palette and the paintbrush, turning on the stool and facing me. “Before anything, I want you to know that I’m sorry for reacting that way toward you.”
“Can you tell me what your brother had said to get you all riled up like that?”
He hesitated, and then he shook his head with a frown. “I don’t want you to hear it.”
“I won’t force you.” Even though my curiosity had just been spiked by his response, I would let him have his privacy. If he didn’t want me to hear it, maybe I wouldn’t like to hear it.
“But it was about you, I’ll tell you that.” He revealed.
“That just makes me want to know what he said.” I mumbled.
“He’s not in his right senses right now, so you won’t like what he had to say.” He indirectly refused to tell me.
“It couldn’t have been that bad, anyway.” I shrugged nonchalantly, like I was not dying to find out.
“I don’t care if it was that bad or not. I won’t allow anyone say shit they don’t know about you, especially Carlos.” He fumed.
I could feel my heart swell and my palms get clammy. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Lucas, but you really shouldn’t get into a fight with your brother for me. It’s on top of the list for things that aren’t worth it.”
“I do what I want if I want to do it for you, Cleo.”
I looked around, not being sure of whether my heart ached due to his words or the paintings on the walls. “And how did you get the bruises on your face?”
“A match.”
“What kind of a match?” I narrowed my eyes to slits as I stared at him.
“I fight. Sometimes, at least.” He informed.
“What!? How come I didn’t know that?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I can’t go asking people if they’re fighters, now, can I?” My voice was strangled as I tried hard not to yell at him for being a callous goof, putting his life at stake.
“That’s a good point.” He nodded.
“I thought you didn’t like sports. And why do you fight, even?”
“I don’t see it as a sport. I find it fun. Plus, it’s a good way to relieve stress and make money at the same time.” He explained.
“I don’t think it’s worth it.” I muttered, more to myself as my eyes travelled along the bruises again.
“I usually don’t lose. I just wanted to get beat up on Friday night. I thought it would make up for yelling at you like that, if an apology didn’t work.”
I laughed, not because it was funny but because he was crazy. “God, Lucas, I don’t think you should do anything for me anymore. I didn’t want you to get beaten.”
“But I did, and I do what I want for you.” He stood up, stretching. The sun didn’t pour into his eyes to create that magical mixture of golden brown as the sky was full and full of clouds, but that did not make him any less attractive in any way.
“Again, it’s not worth it. I can do well on my own.” I announced as he sat beside me on the bench.
“I know you can. I just can’t help but want to care for you, just like I can’t help whatever this thing is that I’ve always felt about you.” On instinct, my head whipped in his direction.
He stared at me with the most serious look I had ever seen him put on. His glanced between my eyes and my lips with a flick of his eyes.
“I want to be there for you, more than I already am.”