Itâs become a fact of life for Ea: grass grows, birds fly, and her father hates her, as much as her brothers attempt to convince her of otherwise. (Or at least, they used to. But whatâs energy spent on a lost cause? A waste, thatâs what.)
She tried to keep to herself tonight, but heâd found her, like he does on all the nights he needs someone to take his anger out on. Unpaid bills, one too many poor hands at the card tables, the ache and grime from work in the minesâall of it spells the kind of evening Ea makes it her mission to not be home for.Â
But sheâd had to come home. Her luck had run out, as it always does. There isnât a place her anywhere else tonight, and the rain earlier that evening had made the notion of camping out in the bed of her little truck (Antonâs, reallyâher oldest brother was generous once, before heâd deemed her unworthy of his time) too stupid of an idea even for her.
The rain is gone now, its absence carving an exit for her, an escape from the shouting and shoving. She wonât rise to the bait when Peter calls her good for nothing, brands her the family whore yet again with an air of finality that rattles her more than sheâll ever let him see.
She doesnât take the truck. Instead, she walks, pretending she has no destination in mind. This is not an emergency; thereâs nothing she needs rescuing from, not enough reason to disturb Alexei and his mother at this hour. Â
And yet despite the hour, thereâs still the sound of footsteps behind her as she sits on the hood of the car in the front drive, fingers clutching a cigarette like a lifeline.
âYouâre supposed to be asleep,â she exhales around smoke. She doesnât turn around. âItâs late.â
Alexei canât say he doesnât enjoy nighttime. Although itâs when he takes the most risk, not to mention when he does things he doesnât want to, itâs still peaceful. He might be more of a day person, but he can still appreciate the beauty in darkness. It hides what needs to be hidden, and he never has to see anotherâs face in the dim glow of failing bulbs. Things are easier this way.
Itâs past midnight when he finally makes his way home, exhausted and glad to finally get to bed - his own bed. A shower is needed, but his sore muscles call for rest, and he wants nothing more than to lay down for the night. Itâll be pleasant, he thinks - hopes. He canât stay tired like this forever, after all.
A single trail of cigarette smoke is all the warning he gets before he spots a girl in his driveway, leaning against the vehicle heâs forever trying to repair. If only heâd had the time, it would have been done by then, but heâs nowhere close to finishing it. For the moment, all itâs good for is polluting the air when the engine coughs and splutters.
âSo are you, Ea.â He passes over her comment on the time as best as he can. Yes, itâs late, and yes, he should be asleep, but heâs not. These days, he rarely gets to bed before two in the morning, and itâs starting to weigh on him. âThe only person sleeping right now is my mother, so itâs better if we stay outside - unless you need to come in?â It was an offer, just in case she was in trouble. He wouldnât - couldnât - force her to stay outdoors, after all.
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turnnoffyourmind
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