“What’s on your arm?” I asked quietly, trying to see in the dark. It felt rough and thick and long. Like a deep scratch.
And that was when all hell broke loose. If I thought she had been fighting me before, I was completely wrong. She pushed at my chest with one hand with all of her strength and tried to pull her hand away.
“Stop, Oliver. Get off me right now!” She was still whispering, but she sounded panicked and terrified, and I immediately moved off her but not before I noticed the long, deep scratches all along the inside of her arm from elbow to wrist. So many.
She stood next to the bed, jerking her sleeves down and straightening her hoodie.
“What happened to your arm?” I was twelve. I didn’t know what I had seen. What those long cuts on her arm meant. And I damn sure didn’t know I shouldn’t ask about them.
She pulled down hard on the wrist of one of her sleeves and looked at the floor, but it was too late, I’d already seen the tears shimmering in her eyes. It was dark, but I could swear her legs were trembling. “What are you talking about?”
I stared at her, not understanding. Not liking this version of Hazel at all. She looked scared and meek, and it surprised me because Hazel was always bold, if not a little melancholy. But she never felt weak, until that moment.
“Your arm, Hazel. How did it get those scratches?”
She shook her head, a tear breaking free from the corner of her eye, and turned, jetting for the bathroom that was connected to my bedroom. She closed the door quickly behind her and I stood there even more dumbfounded than before. Walking to the door quickly, I jiggled the knob, already expecting for it to be locked. Still, my stomach sank.
“Go away, Oliver.” Her voice sounded shredded, broken, ruined. There were thousands of emotions that my young boy brain couldn’t begin to comprehend in her tearful voice.
All I understood in that moment was that she was upset and I needed to fix it. I pressed my lips to where the door met the frame. “I’m sorry. Whatever I did. Whatever I said. I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
I heard a small thump and what sounded like something sliding along the other side of the door. “It’s fine. Just go away.”
I didn’t think it was fine at all. Jesus. She sounded like she was sobbing. What the heck was I supposed to do? She was in my room in my bathroom crying on the other side of the door and all because I asked her what happened to her arm.
She sounded to me like she was sitting on the bathroom floor right on the other side of the door, so I slid down and sat on my side, feeling like the biggest asshole ever.
“God, I’m so sorry, Hazel. Please forgive me.”
I could hear a small hiccup through the door. “It’s okay, Ollie. Just go to bed.”
I picked at the lint on the carpet around me. “I can’t just go to bed. I made you cry.”
A long sniff sounded through the door. “I’m not crying. And it’s not your fault. Just go away.”
I ran my hands through my hair. It was a nervous habit I’d had my whole life. I couldn’t just go away. She was in my bathroom. And it wasn’t in my DNA to do that. It wasn’t who I was. Scarlett and I had amazing parents. The kind of parents who taught you how to care for people and to value the people you love. My mother would have never left me sitting on that bathroom floor alone in Hazel’s condition. I had a feeling Hazel didn’t have that same kind of mother. My chest hurt at the thought that she would ever be alone in a time like this one.
I thought of what my mother would do. She wouldn’t pester me or hound me or make me come out. She’d let me have time. But she wouldn’t leave me alone.
So, I sat there waiting, wringing my damn hands and trying not to panic. I felt like I had broken Hazel. Ten minutes later and I knew I had to do something. I stood up, pacing, thinking. I just couldn’t sit there and do nothing. It was driving me crazy. I finally walked over to my desk and grabbed two pencils and a piece of paper.
I sat back down next to the door and after struggling for almost a full minute, I finally managed to squeeze one of the pencils underneath the door to Hazel.
I didn’t know what I was going to write on that paper. I wanted to see her face and make sure she was okay and wasn’t crying anymore. I wanted to hear her voice, but I figured this piece of paper and pencils were going to have to be it instead. I didn’t want to pressure her.
Before I knew what I was doing, I drew out a tic-tac-toe board. My dad and I always did them in restaurants while my mom and sister talked each other’s ears off waiting for our food.
After drawing an 0 in one of the empty spots, I slid the paper under the door and waited. It felt like an eternity but was probably closer to just a minute when I heard her lift the paper from the floor and the quiet scribble of the pencil on the paper. I breathed out a long sigh of relief. Hopefully she wasn’t writing go away on the piece of paper.
The white sheet appeared back on my side of the door a second later with an X in an empty spot.
I was even more relieved and put an O in my spot, sliding it back under the door. And that’s how we spent the remainder of the night. On two opposite sides of the door, playing a game of tic-tac-toe. I didn’t know what had set Hazel off so badly. But I knew it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that she had someone right then. And I was plenty happy to be that someone.
I was running like the fucking wind, the sun bright in my eyes and my brow heavy with sweat. But I was almost there, the end zone and the ball was just right—fuck me. The football soared right through my hands and hit the number eleven on my chest before dropping to the fucking ground. And that might have been okay if it hadn’t been the fourth ball I’d dropped at practice today.
“Knox!” Coach yelled across the field and the whole fucking team looked over at me. “Get your fucking head in the game!” Being a wide receiver for a competitive college team was no joke.
I knew what was going on, but I knew from experience that Coach didn’t want to hear about my girl problems. I’d been playing for the Mustangs for four years. No, football always came before girls. Hell, in the South football came before everything and Coach Potter of the Mint Valley University Mustangs didn’t give a flying fuck about my girl problems.
I walked to the sideline and our quarterback, Knolls, gave me a hard knock on the helmet. “What the fuck is going on, man?”
I took off my helmet and shook my head. “Just bullshit.”
He looked as annoyed as I fucking felt. Just call me fucking butter fingers.
Coach gave me a disgusted look. “Let’s call it a fucking night. Looks like we aren’t getting any good plays out of Knox anyway.”
Jesus fuck, it was no fun being the reason Coach called it a night even if we were ten minutes over usual practice.
The walk to the locker room was quiet, solemn even. I wasn’t the only one who’d had a shit night. The whole team just wasn’t gelling tonight as a cohesive unit and we had our first game of the season in less than two weeks. But that hadn’t been why I’d been off. That all came down to Hazel. I hadn’t heard from her in two days. She hadn’t been on Hadrian’s Wall either. Or she’d blocked my ass. Who the hell knew? The last time I’d spoken to her was when she and Scarlett had brought Scarlett’s car. And the last time Gray Wolfe had spoken to her had been that day as well. Our last conversation had been about the color green. I couldn’t imagine why or how that would cause her to not speak to me, well, Gray, again.