Evol

chapter thirty-nine

author's note -

i just wanted to say a special thank you to three beans who are hopefully reading this, and if you are, ily.

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Monday 29th July, 2019

Brooke.

3 weeks later.

My Mum stared at me.

I fiddled, buttering toast and spreading jam on it as my Dad stumbled over his words.

"We just. . ." He said, fixing his shirt collar. "We just don't think it's a good idea for you to be around someone like him."

I raised my eyebrows at him, displeased. I gestured for my Mum to pass over the orange juice, as I still couldn't reach far distances with four healing, and previously broken, ribs.

She passed it, and then spoke. "And don't think we forgot that he lied about his name the first time he was here."

I smiled slightly, and bit into my toast. I planned to let them get it all out of their systems before I fought back, so I pushed my glasses up my nose and chewed.

"We understand that you're very close. . ." They looked at each other. Their suspicion must have been a product of Julian dropping by so often in the past few weeks. And this was just the drop-ins they were aware of, never mind all of the ones done on the sly.

"But we don't want you getting too close," Dad finished.

I stared patiently, collecting the arguments in my head.

"We'd like you to spend time with. . . More mainstream people. Less black, more pink? We really liked that girl who visited you the other day. . . What was her name?"

"Holly," I offered, putting my toast down.

"Yes!" Dad rejoiced. "Holly!"

I rolled my eyes, wiped crumbs off my fingers, and watched them. They both blinked back; my Dad's blue eyes looked awkward without a newspaper in front of them, and my Mum's forehead wrinkles were engraved with how intense she looked.

I said firmly, "I think you're forgetting a few things."

My Dad mumbled, "what?"

I was quite irritated, but forced myself to stay calm. "Who took me to the hospital when I got in the crash three weeks ago? Who stayed outside while I was in surgery and waited for me to come out, and then stayed overnight with me? Who brought me home after?"

I'd practiced plenty of times before being dropped home, making sure I had it perfect. The cover story was nearly perfect, and perfect enough to pass - car crash, Julian was over 18 - well over - but that was all that was needed to approve surgery. He did bring me home afterward, all bandaged and broken, but not exactly from the hospital. . .

My parent's eyes darted about.

"Who visits me every day, bringing me most of the work from school and helping me with it to make sure I don't fall behind? Who brings me food when I'm feeling low and craving take out because I can't get it myself? Who's been helping me walk around with a crutch so you don't have to?" I ground my teeth together at their embarrassed expressions. "Oh, that's right! Julian! All of that was Julian."

"But--" My Mum started.

"No," I cut her off. "Julian does all of this for me, and asks for nothing in return. Maybe he's the perfect person for me to be close to. And just because he likes to wear black," I spat the stereotype, "doesn't make him any different to someone wearing pink."