Where The Dandelions Grow

10 - Bat

Brandon's POV

No matter how much I try, I can't keep my eyes off her.

Maybe it's the way her lips twist when she's thinking or the perfect curls falling down her shoulders that I find so fascinating. She doesn't care for how she looks; she's not checking herself out every five seconds. I don't know if it's because she doesn't want to see herself or already knows how perfect she looks.

We've been walking in the rain slower than we could've been, and I think it has something to do with the fact that Echo seems to enjoy the rain.

She's been complaining about it, sure. But I haven't missed how she holds her hand out to feel the droplets hit her skin. I haven't forgotten how she occasionally looks up into the sky and smiles. It's like looking at a damn kid in a candy shop.

But eventually, we arrived at my mom's house. Echo mouth parts when she sees it. "Wow," She whispers. "What does your mom do for work? This house is fucking nice."

I take my keys out of my pocket and unlock the door, letting Echo walk through first. I cringe at the question. I hate that fucking question. I sigh and take a while to build up the courage to answer her, and I must've taken too long because Echo turns around with a cute, curious expression on her face.

I laugh and pace a little, wondering if I should say something full of shit or tell the truth.

"Uh," I let out softly. "She is a stripper."

Echo's eyes widen as I motion her to the downstairs bathroom with a hand on her back. She gasps, "You're joking." And then clasps a hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean it badly."

I blink hard and can't help but smile as I pull out two towels stored under the sink, hand her one, and use one for myself, ruffling my hair.

"You're good. It's not something I usually tell people I'm getting to know. Or ever, for that matter." I pull my shirt off and throw it in the sink, wiping my chest with the towel. Echo watches me, squeezing the water out of her hair. I continued, "You can just imagine how that would go over in high school when people found out."

Echo presses her lips into a thin line as if understanding. Then she says, "I killed my mom."

I furrow my brows, dropping the comb I just went to grab onto the floor. I snap my head to her as she casually does her hair in the mirror, pulling it up into a ponytail.

"You can't just say that and not elaborate. What do you mean you killed your mom?"

She glances at me through the mirror. "At birth, I killed her," she explains. "Having me; it killed her. My dad would always tell me that I was the reason she was not here anymore and that it was my fault. When people found out, I got bullied for killing my mom." She finishes with, "So yeah, I can imagine it. Kids are little shits."

I wasn't expecting that as much as she wasn't expecting my mom to be a stripper. I'm just thankful I'm not being friendly with a murderer. She sees herself as one, though, which makes me want to tell off the people in her life that let her believe that. Then again, who? She has no one. Not her friend, not her dad. They're all gone.

This gorgeous girl is all alone.

She finishes her hair, pulling out two curly strands from the center of her head to fall over her face. Her eyes are glossy, like she might cry. I frown as she hugs herself and looks away from me.

"Echo, hey," I sit her down on the toilet, where the tears begin to drop. She doesn't make a face; she doesn't make a sound. She keeps an expressionless face full of tears.