Seeing herself properly for the first time, April was in complete awe. She had never considered herself worthy of any form of life, and this girl who stared at her now seemed to keep that belief. But the 3D April had new faith, hope, redemption… the real April was finally feeling like she would survive the world.
The door suddenly burst open, alerting April that her unusual uncoordinated form had forgotten to lock the door. But it wasn’t Gloria or Martha or Tamsin, which would be her first guesses.
It was Billy.
He seemed shocked and windswept, and she knew he had not expected to find her there. Once look at her open flesh and his eyes widened.
She looked down at the sink and turned the tap on, scrubbing her hands first where they had been covered with blood which was now dried. She would have to wash them later, too, after she did her face, but she needed something to give her an excuse to avoid Billy’s gaze. For she would rather stare down Mother Helena than be the object of Billy’s concern.
He stared at her reflection in the mirror, not saying anything. He stood there like that for a long time. April’s fingers began going wrinkly under the tap she was still using to clean her hands, despite all dirtiness having been long gone by this point. He looked at her crinkled skin and saw in her eyes the one thing she had wanted to conceal—tears. None had fallen, but they were threatening to in the most prominently heart-breaking way.
He leaned forward and touched his fingertips to her chin tenderly, silently urging her to look at him—and not just his reflection in a mirror. Hesitantly she did turn her face towards him, and he made her look into his eyes. There, he saw her resilience and reluctance to let go of those tears which were welling up in her eyes.
“Come here,” he said quietly and manoeuvred her to sit on the ledge at the edge of the room. He grabbed a cloth from the pile—the only thing which was renewed regularly because of all of the injuries around the place—and stuck it under the tap she had not turned off. Soaking it, he sloshed the water around the sink to get rid of the blood before turning the tap off. The loss of that subtle sound made everything seem suddenly eerie.
He crouched down in front of the damaged girl who he barely recognised and gently pushed her hair off of her face to examine her. It was still in knots, but now he could see the blood source clearly. He dabbed it gingerly with the wet cloth, trying to determine how bad the wound actually was.
It was quiet for a long time, them just sitting there with Billy dabbing her cut, when April asked the question she could not understand the answer to, “Why are you so nice to me?”
He paused, his hand frozen next to her damaged cheek. He looked into her eyes for the right answer, but found only confusion, which broke his heart further. He waited for a minute then lowered his arm and tossed the cloth between both of his hands, looking at it as if fascinated by its texture and lightness. He sighed, wasting time, and raised his eyebrows before looking back up at her patient exterior. She said nothing to encourage his answer—no deliberate cough, no expectant raise of her eyebrows, no soft nudge on his foot; just her face, staring at his, giving him time to find the right words.
Does she already know? he asked himself. Is she just making me look like a fool?
But right there beside the patience was the innocence which made him feel unbearable guilt for doubting her intentions. There was also a peaceful look to her, how serene she looked—it was all in conflict with his previous memories of her.
But then he reminded himself of the question he was asked and said, simply, “I think you have a chance.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth of the matter either. It was all she needed to know at this point.
April’s expression then lost all peace, and Billy wondered if he had just sacrificed his one chance to tell her the truth of how he felt, if that had been the answer she had wanted. She then stared down at the floor, somehow avoiding looking at the cloth in his hands. She took her wristband off and twirled it in her fingers. Then she said the one thing she never forgot, “But I’m not worth it.”
Billy reached toward her with one hand and clasped hers in his, caressing her palm with his thumb. “It’s sad that you think that, April,” he told her, insisting on looking her in the eye. “You have the best chance out of anyone in this place, remember that. I have hope for you.”
April then, at last, willingly looked right into his pupils and he cringed at how her eyes bored into him. “Just because I’m the only girl around here who’s not mentally deranged or wacko or criminally insane, I’m still as good as dead. Don’t confuse the best with hope, Billy. Just because I’m the best around here doesn’t mean I’m any good. Just means my competition makes me look good.”
“I see hope where there’s promise. And you’re oozing with promise.”
April rolled her eyes and sighed, suddenly seeming too laid back about the whole thing. “Great. Now I’m oozing.”
Billy smirked and started running his fingers through her hair, trying to diminish some of the knots. Then, after a moment of deliberation, he rested his forehead on hers and looked right into her eyes. “You don’t have to be great to succeed but to be successful you must have the hope of greatness.” Billy paused, seeing in her eyes the confusion. “April, you have hope so I have no doubt that you will one day be great.”
April examined the expression deep within his eyes and said, “Then you’re a fool.” She had no doubt either—the only trouble was it contradicted what Billy had just said.
He looked at the girl who believed she was not worth fighting for. He stared at the girl he had given up on so he wouldn’t lose her. The girl who had never given up… was defeated. And he did not like it at all. Even less when he realised it was his fault.
“April,” he murmured her name, hoping for a response, but she did not reply. She did, however, look away as if it troubled her to not look into his eyes and listen to him. “April,” he repeated, even softer. “April, you don’t have to look at me, but listen. You are the best of them and not just the girls in here. I’m talking about a general sense, I guess. Just listen—you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna get out of here and be so strong.”
Uncomfortable, April reached up and touched the blood with one finger, retracting and examining it. The sticky red blood shone on her fingertip and finally she risked a look at Billy. His eyes were not directed at her hand, as she thought they would be, but were instead settled on her expression, flooded at the moment with confusion and horror at her recent experience.
Billy raised his arm again, slowly, gently, wiping away the dry blood which had escaped her wound. He was intent on cleaning her up, avoiding looking into her eyes when a moment before that had been all he wanted.
“How?” he asked her, hoping she would understand.
The minute April heard that one word escape Billy, there was no doubt in her mind involving its context. She closed her eyes, pretending to savour the moment when, in reality, she was hiding her dread. It was odd how often the two scenarios were confused for one another. “I tripped,” she lied eventually. “There are a lot of sharp stones around. I was in the wrong place.” Despite having raised her gaze briefly, she lowered it again to disguise how ashamed she felt at having to lie to this boy who had never been anything but honest when it came to her.
Billy, without looking at her, detected something off in her voice, and noticed she was hiding something even before he saw she was avoiding eye contact. He breathed in and told her, calmly, “I won’t press you.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled, and only then did she realise that he only wanted to please her by saying so, and he did not mean it at all. She looked up, finding his eyes focused on the ground as he retracted his hand once more. Her voice stronger, she said, “I got slapped.”
Billy did not look at her. He stood up and, turning the tap back on, he began to rinse out the now blood stained cloth. April felt much less alone with the calming rush of water in her ears, but as soon as it was stopped, she was back on high alert. She looked up to see Billy, eyes closed and hands on either side of the sink, as if bracing himself for something she did not know was coming.
“April,” he sighed, shaking his head before turning to look at her. “You can’t… say something like that and not tell me how.”
“How many different ways are there to get hit?” she protested, coming to her own defence.
“What, they had really long nails?” Billy joked, only there was nothing teasing in his tone. He then ran a finger along her cut harshly and she gasped, winced, and retreated, horror in her eyes as she looked at him. He was no longer the boy who wanted to protect and help her. He was someone else, someone who did not care about her in the slightest.
“No, they had a ring,” April hissed at the person she thought was her friend. “And they was your mother.”
Without looking at how bad her cheek looked in the mirror, April left the room, not looking back once to see Billy’s reaction.
The door suddenly burst open, alerting April that her unusual uncoordinated form had forgotten to lock the door. But it wasn’t Gloria or Martha or Tamsin, which would be her first guesses.
It was Billy.
He seemed shocked and windswept, and she knew he had not expected to find her there. Once look at her open flesh and his eyes widened.
She looked down at the sink and turned the tap on, scrubbing her hands first where they had been covered with blood which was now dried. She would have to wash them later, too, after she did her face, but she needed something to give her an excuse to avoid Billy’s gaze. For she would rather stare down Mother Helena than be the object of Billy’s concern.
He stared at her reflection in the mirror, not saying anything. He stood there like that for a long time. April’s fingers began going wrinkly under the tap she was still using to clean her hands, despite all dirtiness having been long gone by this point. He looked at her crinkled skin and saw in her eyes the one thing she had wanted to conceal—tears. None had fallen, but they were threatening to in the most prominently heart-breaking way.
He leaned forward and touched his fingertips to her chin tenderly, silently urging her to look at him—and not just his reflection in a mirror. Hesitantly she did turn her face towards him, and he made her look into his eyes. There, he saw her resilience and reluctance to let go of those tears which were welling up in her eyes.
“Come here,” he said quietly and manoeuvred her to sit on the ledge at the edge of the room. He grabbed a cloth from the pile—the only thing which was renewed regularly because of all of the injuries around the place—and stuck it under the tap she had not turned off. Soaking it, he sloshed the water around the sink to get rid of the blood before turning the tap off. The loss of that subtle sound made everything seem suddenly eerie.
He crouched down in front of the damaged girl who he barely recognised and gently pushed her hair off of her face to examine her. It was still in knots, but now he could see the blood source clearly. He dabbed it gingerly with the wet cloth, trying to determine how bad the wound actually was.
It was quiet for a long time, them just sitting there with Billy dabbing her cut, when April asked the question she could not understand the answer to, “Why are you so nice to me?”
He paused, his hand frozen next to her damaged cheek. He looked into her eyes for the right answer, but found only confusion, which broke his heart further. He waited for a minute then lowered his arm and tossed the cloth between both of his hands, looking at it as if fascinated by its texture and lightness. He sighed, wasting time, and raised his eyebrows before looking back up at her patient exterior. She said nothing to encourage his answer—no deliberate cough, no expectant raise of her eyebrows, no soft nudge on his foot; just her face, staring at his, giving him time to find the right words.
Does she already know? he asked himself. Is she just making me look like a fool?
But right there beside the patience was the innocence which made him feel unbearable guilt for doubting her intentions. There was also a peaceful look to her, how serene she looked—it was all in conflict with his previous memories of her.
But then he reminded himself of the question he was asked and said, simply, “I think you have a chance.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth of the matter either. It was all she needed to know at this point.
April’s expression then lost all peace, and Billy wondered if he had just sacrificed his one chance to tell her the truth of how he felt, if that had been the answer she had wanted. She then stared down at the floor, somehow avoiding looking at the cloth in his hands. She took her wristband off and twirled it in her fingers. Then she said the one thing she never forgot, “But I’m not worth it.”
Billy reached toward her with one hand and clasped hers in his, caressing her palm with his thumb. “It’s sad that you think that, April,” he told her, insisting on looking her in the eye. “You have the best chance out of anyone in this place, remember that. I have hope for you.”
April then, at last, willingly looked right into his pupils and he cringed at how her eyes bored into him. “Just because I’m the only girl around here who’s not mentally deranged or wacko or criminally insane, I’m still as good as dead. Don’t confuse the best with hope, Billy. Just because I’m the best around here doesn’t mean I’m any good. Just means my competition makes me look good.”
“I see hope where there’s promise. And you’re oozing with promise.”
April rolled her eyes and sighed, suddenly seeming too laid back about the whole thing. “Great. Now I’m oozing.”
Billy smirked and started running his fingers through her hair, trying to diminish some of the knots. Then, after a moment of deliberation, he rested his forehead on hers and looked right into her eyes. “You don’t have to be great to succeed but to be successful you must have the hope of greatness.” Billy paused, seeing in her eyes the confusion. “April, you have hope so I have no doubt that you will one day be great.”
April examined the expression deep within his eyes and said, “Then you’re a fool.” She had no doubt either—the only trouble was it contradicted what Billy had just said.
He looked at the girl who believed she was not worth fighting for. He stared at the girl he had given up on so he wouldn’t lose her. The girl who had never given up… was defeated. And he did not like it at all. Even less when he realised it was his fault.
“April,” he murmured her name, hoping for a response, but she did not reply. She did, however, look away as if it troubled her to not look into his eyes and listen to him. “April,” he repeated, even softer. “April, you don’t have to look at me, but listen. You are the best of them and not just the girls in here. I’m talking about a general sense, I guess. Just listen—you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna get out of here and be so strong.”
Uncomfortable, April reached up and touched the blood with one finger, retracting and examining it. The sticky red blood shone on her fingertip and finally she risked a look at Billy. His eyes were not directed at her hand, as she thought they would be, but were instead settled on her expression, flooded at the moment with confusion and horror at her recent experience.
Billy raised his arm again, slowly, gently, wiping away the dry blood which had escaped her wound. He was intent on cleaning her up, avoiding looking into her eyes when a moment before that had been all he wanted.
“How?” he asked her, hoping she would understand.
The minute April heard that one word escape Billy, there was no doubt in her mind involving its context. She closed her eyes, pretending to savour the moment when, in reality, she was hiding her dread. It was odd how often the two scenarios were confused for one another. “I tripped,” she lied eventually. “There are a lot of sharp stones around. I was in the wrong place.” Despite having raised her gaze briefly, she lowered it again to disguise how ashamed she felt at having to lie to this boy who had never been anything but honest when it came to her.
Billy, without looking at her, detected something off in her voice, and noticed she was hiding something even before he saw she was avoiding eye contact. He breathed in and told her, calmly, “I won’t press you.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled, and only then did she realise that he only wanted to please her by saying so, and he did not mean it at all. She looked up, finding his eyes focused on the ground as he retracted his hand once more. Her voice stronger, she said, “I got slapped.”
Billy did not look at her. He stood up and, turning the tap back on, he began to rinse out the now blood stained cloth. April felt much less alone with the calming rush of water in her ears, but as soon as it was stopped, she was back on high alert. She looked up to see Billy, eyes closed and hands on either side of the sink, as if bracing himself for something she did not know was coming.
“April,” he sighed, shaking his head before turning to look at her. “You can’t… say something like that and not tell me how.”
“How many different ways are there to get hit?” she protested, coming to her own defence.
“What, they had really long nails?” Billy joked, only there was nothing teasing in his tone. He then ran a finger along her cut harshly and she gasped, winced, and retreated, horror in her eyes as she looked at him. He was no longer the boy who wanted to protect and help her. He was someone else, someone who did not care about her in the slightest.
“No, they had a ring,” April hissed at the person she thought was her friend. “And they was your mother.”
Without looking at how bad her cheek looked in the mirror, April left the room, not looking back once to see Billy’s reaction.
