Her Legacy

XIV. Tell Me

"You wear a mask for so long, you forget who you were beneath it." Alan Moore, V for Vendetta

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Chapter XIV – Tell Me

Shea's house wasn't at all what I imagined it to be. I mean, I wasn't exactly sure what I imagined, but after seeing where Zoey lived, I wasn't expecting a tiny bungalow in the middle of wood and farmland.

Shea lived about a half hour drive from the beach, which made me wonder how he had managed to get home from my house and beat me to school the other day. He must've driven about a hundred miles an hour.

I tried to put on a strong and determined face as I marched up the steps to his front porch. I took two deep breaths before I knocked on the door.

I didn't have to wait longer than ten seconds before the door was opened. Through the rusty screen door, I could see Shea, and all my anger and frustration over today melted away. He was okay. He was safe. Everything would be alright.

Shea pushed open the squeaky screen door so that I could see him clearly. When I looked at him properly, I gasped. His face, his usually handsome, flawless face, was covered in yellow, aging bruises. His right eye looked swollen, but healing, and it appeared as though it might have been swollen shut at some point.

I didn't understand. These bruises looked like they could be a week old, or more. I had only seen him on Friday night. I quickly shook my confusion away. Shea had been hurt. I had had a suspicion about that, and I was right. Was this why he and my mom were arguing the other night?

I finally found my voice as I cried out, "What happened to you? Are you okay? I have been worried sick! Why didn't you tell me this happened?" in one breath.

Shea didn't invite me into his house. Instead, he stepped out onto the porch with me. He was wearing a plain, white t-shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. I had never seen Shea in anything so daggy, and so not form fitting. I wondered if this was for comfort or if he wore this because of other injuries. I could remember wearing only sweats as an adolescent when I got my appendix out as I hated pressure on my stitches.

"Sara, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"What are you sorry for exactly?" I demanded to know. I wanted to know his crimes specifically so that I could confirm some of my suspicions.

Shea reflexively reached up to run his fingers through his hair but winced and put his arm back down by his side. Pain. Quicker than anything, I was behind Shea, searching for wounds. I had no qualms with lifting up his shirt in my search, but Shea caught my hands before I could see. I still felt something beneath his shirt that was not his skin. It felt soft, like a bandage.

"Don't," he said firmly.

I sighed exasperatedly. "Shea, seriously. This isn't a joke to me. I have been worried all weekend. You don't show up at school today and Cece is treating me as though I've got an infectious disease. In fact, that's how half the school is acting. And then I see you like this! What happened to you?" I asked desperately.

"Sara, I'm sorry," he said again.

I felt the urge to punch him. But it seemed as though a lot of that had been happening this weekend. I felt anger course through me, and tears fill my eyes. I hated that I was going to cry. I wasn't upset, I was frustrated. I didn't want to seem hysterical when I was trying to be serious.

"I know you fought with my mom. I know she told you to leave me alone. She said some things that makes me think as though she's hiding something from me. As though you're both hiding something from me. I want to know what it is."