A Past Unwanted
Chapter Three – Watching and Waiting
Raph's eyes fluttered open to look at the wall. He grimaced, the pain in his shoulder having intensified as the painkillers wore off.
Sitting up slowly, Raph looked around the room, the harsh afternoon light softened by the curtains pulled closed across the windows.
Slowly, carefully, he was able to get out of bed, steadying himself against the side table. Limping across the room, his left arm held tightly across his stomach, Raph was able to get the door open and, using the wall for support, made his way down the hall.
Now, Raph had no idea where he was going, having never left the room he was confined to as his injuries healed. So he could only hope he was going in the right direction.
Reaching a door, he cautiously pushed it open, looking in at a bedroom. Raph blinked. The room was painted a medium blue, with white trim and ceiling. The tall four- poster twin sized bed had dusty green curtains hanging from it. The wood of the bed was stained a dark red, the color of congealed blood, streaks of black grain making the wood appear even darker. The window was dark, the blinds closed, and the whole room was dingy, as though nobody had been there in a long time. However, the general absence of dust in the room contradicted that fact, showing that someone did care, even if just a little bit.
Stepping farther into the room, Raph noted a single bookcase against one wall, a dresser, as tall as the ceiling and the same color as the bed, stood against another. Next to the bed was a side table; it's white wash and blue top in contrast to the room.
Things were littered around the room. Leather and cloth covered boxes were stacked all around, papers dominated all surfaces, and nick-knacks of all shapes and sizes were everywhere.
Coming to the center of the relatively small room, Raph saw that, laying on the bed, was a picture album, resting face down, it's covers splayed out and pages rumpled underneath it, as though someone had thrown it there.
Reaching out, Raph hesitated for a moment, before picking up the album. The black leather of the cover was well worn and the label, in it's little silver frame on the front, read 'Roxanne' in gold print.
Hesitantly, Raph opened the book.
His mouth went dry as his eyes scanned the page, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands began to tremble, his shock hitting him with such force that he slumped to the ground.
"I dye it, you know." Came a calm voice from the doorway.
Raph jerked around, brown eyes locking with ice blue ones. The album hit the floor with a dull thud as Raph tried to push himself to his feet.
"You stay away from me." He snarled, trembling.
Roxie didn't reply, she simply stood there, looking at him with her sad, ice blue eyes.
"She said I looked to much like him." She said quietly, not looking at Raph anymore, but instead at the book, now lying on the floor. Her hand tightened on the doorframe as she lowered her gaze, her black hair falling to hide her eyes.
"No matter what I did. Even after I dyed my hair, it was useless. She still saw him in my eyes. I couldn't do anything." She was trembling now, shaking from head to foot, her knuckles white against the doorframe.
Raph looked at her, confusion written in every line of his expression.
Roxie looked up, her steady gaze locking with Raph's, holding him in place.
"I'm not like him." She said, the glare in her eyes returning. "I never want to be anything like him and I would kill myself rather than join him."
"You're his daughter…" Raph began, but she cut him off.
"Did you choose your father?" she asked simply, her gaze piercing. Walking across the room, she bent down to take hold of the album, lifting it to open it to the first page, on which was a single picture.
The picture was of a hospital room, a huge man with platinum blond hair and piercing blue eyes held a tiny infant in his arms, her hair and eyes matching his. The man had a huge purple dragon tattoo running down and around his left arm, which he cradled his daughter in. Her gaze was clear as she reached for him, one hand clasped around the end of his ponytail, a smile on her tiny face.
Under the picture was written the caption: "Roxanne and Hun, Day one".
"I'm still the same girl who saved you." She said quietly, snapping the album shut, before throwing it into a corner.
"Because of him I could never go to school, I never had any friends. My mother left because of that man. Because her child looked to much like a murderer." Roxie was facing away from Raph now, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
Suddenly, a sigh escaped her mouth and her whole body seemed to deflate, her shoulders slumping and her hands falling, limp, at her sides.
"You can leave if you want, I won't stop you." She said heavily, not looking at him.
"Actually," said Raph, and he could have sworn that he saw her head perk up at the sound of his voice. "I just wanted some pain-killers."
"Aspirin or Tylenol?" Roxie asked, turning to smile at him, and Raph could tell that she was doing her utmost to keep the glee and giddy-ness out of her voice.
"Whatever works." Came the reply.