There was no sky today, only a rough woollen blanket of mottled grey that covered everything and blocked out the sun. The usual virescent hues of the countryside were muted to the point of dullness, with the wind slowly growing stronger.
Brandon zipped up the waterproof jacket he had slipped on when leaving home since it looked like rain. He wasn't going far, though. His mother had handed him a few packets of homemade potato chips and asked if he could deliver them to his best friend Ben's house only a few lanes away. He had only been too willing to do that, which was why his mother had assigned him the errand in the first place. He'd asked his sister to take over the counter at their family café and set out for Ben's house, even though he knew his friend wasn't home.
The wind was blowing leaves and all sorts of other things by the time he rang the doorbell of the single storey Craftsman-style house. It was a small house, with ivy covered walls and box windows. Ben's parents were educated and established, unlike his parents who had been running the café since forever. But despite that, not only were the two families close like a tightly knit sweater, but Thomas and Emily were also one of the most humble and hospitable couples around, choosing to live in a simple house even though they could afford something bigger and better. They also had a place in London, where Ben was doing college, but that was equally small and simple.
The door scraped open to the sight of a stocky female figure with hair wrapped in a shower cap and a hideous face. Oh wait. It wasn't her face. It was a face mask. The kind he had seen his sisters put on their faces. White with bits of orange and...
"Brandy." The face curled into a broad smile, the mask crinkling and dripping off her face. Brandon wanted to pull a face, but instead he smiled.
"Hi Elsa." It was their housekeeper, in charge of the household whenever Thomas and Emily travelled for work. She was a large woman with freckled white skin. If not for her sweet smile, she would've resembled Miss Trunchbull. "Here to deliver these," he gestured at the packet of chips he had in his hands.
"Oh, come in, lad." She moved aside, letting him enter. Brandon stepped inside the small, narrow foyer, illuminated with a filament bulbs chandelier. "You want some tea?"
"Umm... No, thanks." He followed Elsa into the living room, taking off his jacket. "I have to be back soon."
"Still managing the chip counter, huh?" Elsa laughed, looking at the state of her face in the mirror, dabbing the crinkled parts of the mask with her fingers. "I'd thought the five of you would be walking in the air in these six months."
Brandon only laughed in response. All they had to show for the last six months was a single. A hit single that had gone to No.1 the very day it released. The song was everywhere, the video was on every TV channel, and they were apparently the next big pop act of the UK. Yes, they had made a little bit of money, earned quite a bit of fame, seen their faces and names on every channel and every tabloid, and eventually got tired of hearing their own voices on radio. But they were still young lads of 18 or 19, trying to keep their lives as normal as possible amid the sudden flurry of unexpected success.
"When's the album coming out?" Elsa asked as he handed her the crisps. His parents were famous for their chips. People from distant parts of Ireland and the UK would drop in to eat and take home the delicious chips. If anything, then his success and fame had only helped the business even more.
"It's in post-production," he said, putting his jacket down on the back of the sofa. "Should be out in two or three months."
His eyes darted down the hallway on the left, where he knew the bedrooms were located. The one with the pink door was the reason why he was there.
"Izzi's in." Brandon jumped at Elsa's voice, blushed when he realized he'd been caught. "Go on. She'll be happy to see you," she smiled.
Brandon nodded shyly, turning to walk down the hallway. The door didn't look locked. He knocked, waiting for an answer. No answer came.
"Izzi?" He pushed open the door a little, found no one in. Frowning, he looked around in confusion. Elsa said she was in. Then...
He sighted the study with the door unlocked. Elsa had gone back to her own thing so he decided to take a look. The hallway was also illuminated with small chandeliers, cloaking the house in a soft yellow glow. He tried to peek inside the study through the gap in the door, but could see nothing in the low light.
And then he heard sounds inside.
"Izzi?" He gently pushed the door, putting his head in. There was a crash, like something toppling over, and then a wince. He stepped inside, found two slender denim-clad legs poking from beneath a pile of books.
"You okay?" He tried to not laugh, but couldn't help it. Isabel almost buried under a heap of thick books that had toppled from the table next to where she had been sitting on the floor. She nodded, moved her straight black hair out of her eyes, and dragged herself into a sitting position.
Isabel. Isabel Rosalia Georgiana Standish. Ben's younger sister. The prettiest girl probably in the whole town. The love of his life. Of course, he'd never said that out loud. Not to her. Not to anybody. For god's sake, he was not even 20. Wasn't that too soon?
Yet, he could never help the furious beating of his heart, or the flush of joy in his veins every time he saw her.
He helped her up, then proceeded to help her keep the books back in place.
"It's fine. I can do it." She brushed his hand away and began to collect the books from the floor. "I was looking for a book, then the door startled me, and I jerked the table accidentally."
"I'm sorry." Brandon crouched beside her, watching her gloved hands arrange the books and put them back on the table. The study was the library of the house, stuffed with books of all kinds. Ben's dad was a psychiatrist while his mom was an emotional therapist. It wasn't unusual to find books scattered all around the house. "I was looking for you."
"I figured." Isabel rose to her feet, patting dust away from her bottom. Behind her, Brandon rose as well, smiling at the difference in their heights. They both were short; he was 5'8.5" while she was barely five feet. But compared to him, Isabel was still shorter. After his mother, she was the shortest woman he'd met so far. "Why are you here?"
"Mam sent some chips for you," he said, watching her at work. She put a book under her arm, and kept the rest away in their proper places. "You love them."
Isabel turned, her dark, luminous eyes looking into his. They were warm and kind, but of late, they were only sad. And numb. It was like she had stopped feeling all emotions. The dark circles had faded a little but they still gave her panda eyes.
"Come on," she beckoned, walking out of the room. Brandon followed, turning off the light. Her room was right next to that of Ben's. It was decked in pink, had fairy lights around the windows, and potted flowers on the parapet. There were books in the small cabinet next to her bed, and on the study desk. As small as the room was, it was spotless and neat. No shoes on the floor, no clothes on the bed, no mess anywhere.
She put the book down on the night table, kicked off her slippers, and climbed on to bed. Then she looked at him and tapped the space next to her on the bed. Brandon walked over to the bed and sat beside her, looking at her small, sweet face the whole time.
Her pale, dewy skin made a stark contrast with her black hair and dark orbs. Her nose was blunt, but that could do nothing to diminish her beauty. In contrast to the blonde Irish girls around, she was so different. Probably why she stood out everywhere.
"Are you okay?" he decided to begin the conversation somewhere. She nodded in reply. "You weren't at the café today, so I was wondering..."
"I was reading." Her voice was soft, almost whispery. "Didn't feel like going out."
"How's school?"
"Okay."
"Have you made any new friend?"
She shook her head. "I've never had any friend."
Brandon's brow scrunched into a frown. He crossed his arms and looked into her eyes.
"So you mean I'm your enemy? All of us are?"
"Would that be very surprising?" Isabel's voice was flat. "When parents could put their only child through-"
Brandon pressed a finger to her lips, cutting off the rest of the sentence. When she looked at him, he shook his head.
"Please." He sighed. "Don't make yourself relive the horror. Please."
She held his finger, moved it from her lips, and held his hand for a while. The silk felt smooth against his palm, but he wanted to feel the softness of her palm, not some damn piece of cloth.
He held her hand, slowly beginning to peel away the fabric. She tried to pull away, but he held tight.
"You're hiding from me?" He raised his eyebrows. "Me, who has seen it all?"
"You don't have to keep seeing it all the time." She tried to pull away again but he wasn't letting. "Please."
"I want to see." He pulled off the glove on her left hand, revealing a deep, scary scar running down the wrist. He flinched. It still looked raw, after more than four months. If the scar on her skin was still that vivid, he wondered what the scars on her mind were like.
"Does it hurt?" He asked, still holding her hand. She had stopped pulling but was looking down at the printed bedsheet.
"Sometimes. Doesn't matter, though." She looked up, her eyes sadder now. "I did it, remember?"
Brandon sighed again, his grip slackening, allowing Isabel to pull her hand away. She didn't wear the glove again. Instead, she tugged the long sleeve of her top until it covered her wrist. Then she folded her arms in her lap.
On an impulse, he reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Isabel sighed, staring out of the closed window. It had started to rain.
He never ceased to wonder how a girl that young could have already lived a life so horrific, it was beyond imagination. In the last few months she'd visited every horrible place conceivable- hospital, police station, court, attorney's office. He didn't know how she did it. She was yet to realize how strong she was. One of the many reasons why he loved her.
"You know," she spoke, still staring out of the window. "I had thought you'd go away from me after this." She glanced at her scarred wrist. "Thought everyone would go away."
